#you can keep your miserable fuck vampires

[neckromantics]

The closer you get to Astarion, the more mischievous the two of you become.

I'm talking gossip. Grade A shit talking with your bf when someone you don't like is just out of earshot. Sometimes, when they're still in earshot if the two of you hate the person enough.

Him, nearly knocking heads with you in his rush to make a sly comment about a particularly atrocious pair of shoes that an enemy is wearing. You doing your best not to burst out laughing and failing miserably bc he's right (obviously), and now that's all you can look at while the big-bad is making their big-bad speech. He's gotten so good at talking to you out of the side of his mouth, it's honestly impressive.

You, side-eyeing him to make sure he also heard that one dumb thing someone said, and sure enough he's meeting your gaze a millisecond later. The two of you perfected the art of having the most judgy conversations with your eyes only. He slow blinks whenever he's particularly unimpressed. You make your eye twitch to ask "can we just kill this guy, already?" The eye rolls from the two of you alone cause 2d8 psychic damage at this point.

You're just always making eachother laugh tbh.

You pretend to fall asleep on Astarion's shoulder and snore whenever someone's going on and on about something neither of you care about, and he has to turn fully away from you to keep a straight face. Sometimes when he's REALLY annoyed, he'll slowly pull out a dagger and feign stabbing at someone when they're turned away- and you can't even pretend to be disapproving bc you're about to piss your pants.

One of your favorite things the two of you do is play fight.

The first time it happened, it started out as a genuine disagreement. You said something stupid- or maybe he said something stupid, neither of you can remember- but whatever it was became a serious back and forth that could have ended in tears if one of you hadn't stopped and realized how utterly stupid the two of you sounded.

All it took was one look into eachother's eyes- the absolute worst one-liner you could conjure from the back of your brain and all was forgiven. The argument soon devolved into a quip-off so intense that the rest of camp couldn't even tell you weren't actually angry anymore.

You've done it for fun a couple times, now. Usually, it's bc you're in the mood to annoy the rest of your companions after they've given you a rough day.

Astarion initiates it this time- bc he wants to be a nuisance to poor Gale, who's just trying to read his book by the warmth of the campfire. Though luckily for him, it's such a ridiculous display that it doesn't last long.

You're seething. Boots slapping hard in the mud as you storm across camp to get Astarion by the shoulders- your hold delicate despite the venom in your tone. It looks like you're shaking him a little, but you aren't. The vampire is just vibrating from having to reign in his laughter.

You look ridiculous.

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you say that into my fucking mouth, then?"

Gale looks up from his book in confusion, only to see an equally not angry Astarion fist his hands into the fabric of your cloak and yank you closer.

"Maybe I will." He growls, or maybe laughs? Gale doesn't know at this point. He's too busy shutting his book, and walking briskly to his tent- far, far away from the giggly make-out session you're about to have in Astarion's tent.

[senblades]

Hi :)

I love your art and your writing, and you have such a great grasp of these characters that I was wondering if you have any fic recs? Rating doesn't matter ;)

boy do I! (and ty for the compliment <3 <3 <3)

[cracks knuckles] alrighty:

The Dissapearence of Goro Akechi by Kupowonders - Probably my favourite fic ever, honestly- it's like. derailing the plot of persona 5 post-medjed thanks to the persona 4 accomplice ending years prior. (So, spoilers for p4 in that, too) it's. very good.

Marigolds by Colbub - Akechi gets ng+'ed to right when he started working for Shido, and has to take a good look at the future to come and be like "Aight how the fuck do I fix this". Fun times!

Daredevil, You've hit the wall by ez_cookie. Essentially, p5 Strikers but Sumire and Goro get to be in on the fun, too. And, there's a direct sequel currently being updated that's a similar premise for p5 Tactica. very very good stuff

A Tale of Two Tricksters by Zoe2k8 - Murder boyfriends! ...sort of? Angst! Angst and murder boyfriends! An oversimplification, obviously, but I'm not kidding when I say this fic is amazing and is also over a million words holy shit-

Throw away your mask by MollyPollyKinz - Another ng+ situation for Akechi, but this time the poor guy gets thrown all the way to 2009. You can imagine how well that goes (For the audience, less so for Akechi himself.)

The Crow Cries at Midnight by Dorked. hehe this one is very fun. Basically, a series of coincedencs causes Akechi to get thrown into the plot of persona 4. No time travel here! Just a grumpy 12/13 year-old Akechi trying to solve a murder mystery

The entire Tales of Chaos series by Eternalmomentss (The first one is called Like sand between your fingers) Very very good stuff! Something of a character study, I would say, of Ren and Goro. Plus, all the funky plot stuff that comes from trickster-typical bad luck and poor descision making. I really love this series hehe

uhh this post is getting very long I need to make this less wordy- lightning round?

Hunger for a life by Leonawriter - do you like vampires? I sure do! Mix that and the p5 plot and you get shenanigins. [evil laughter] a lot of shenanigins

Fishbowl by KivaEmber - Akechi has a terrible time in Maruki's reality. And I mean a terrible time

You have a beautiful smile underneath that mask by Saposaki - Akechi has a crush on Akira and Joker has a crush on Crow. No one is aware of the other's secret identity. Dramatic irony and hilarity ensues.

MASTERMiND by StumblingBlock - No Metaverse au where Akira really doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his crime family, and fails miserably

Rose and Rot by SixteenJuniper - Read this!! I'm serious!! "A fun fantasy adventure" don't listen to Juniper. You'll be in tears by chapter two. (/pos, of course) (Seriously this fic is incredible)

Redressing the Balance by Convocated - ...almost a ng+? Ng+, in the sense that shuake are getting funky visions that are very quickly derailing the standard plot of p5r. This causes problems of the "Someone get the popcorn and maybe the tissues" variety

She's got a heartbeat full of lead (And she's aiming straight for the head) by Dots - This fic haunts me, often. In the best way possible, of course; but seriously, read it

Cracked into by SydneyHorses - Ren makes bad descisions and it becomes Akechi's problem. 2/2 timeloop, perhaps most notably featuring HaruGoro friendship! Love love love this fic

Okay that wasn't as "less wordy" as I intended but it'll do

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry for the long post.. and this is by no means all of the fics that I've ever loved (nor are the ones here in any particular order) but I swear we'll be here all week if I keep going HAHA

ty for the ask (and again for the kind words), anon! Hope this was helpful and to your tastes! (I... hope you like Shuake HAHA it's present in most of these- I assume you do, since you came to me (points at literally everything shuake I've made) of all people, but uh. Some of these fics are gen if it's not to your liking?)

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Fifteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut and angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : I'm sorry for using the word buttocks. I'm deeply ashamed rn...

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MASTER LIST

Chapter Fifteen

Sleeping in until three in the afternoon helped you skip the worst of your hangover, but you didn’t feel any better. In fact you felt like shit.

You hated what you’d done to Matt, hated that you kept dragging Karen into your problems and, most of all, you hated that you kept letting Billy have so much power over you. Something needed to change, you weren’t prepared to carry on that way. You’d reached your lowest point, felt broken in a new and more painful way.

It had to stop.

The idea came upon you slowly, starting as an insidious notion while you were eating breakfast that only seemed to become more insistent as you showered.

You needed to leave.

Every reason you had to stay had evaporated last night. You didn’t belong here with any of them - maybe you didn’t belong anywhere at all. And you were just so so tired of every day feeling so miserable and alone.

Before you really knew what you were doing, you’d stepped out into the penthouse and made your way to the elevator, to the intercom, to your only way out.

The intercom crackled and buzzed far louder than you expected. You hit the button twice and then waited. It was the middle of the day, Lissa was probably sleeping, but impatience got the better of you and you hit the button again. You barely noticed the tears that were rolling down your cheeks, your finger jabbing the button again.

“What are you doing?” 

His voice filled the penthouse and, for a moment, you didn’t dare turn around, you just kept pushing the intercom, over and over, not wanting to face him.

“I said -”

When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you finally turned. 

He was right behind you, far too close for comfort. Billy seemed taken aback by your tears and you took that moment of confusion to pull away from him and to start moving back towards your rooms.

“You win,” you told him, barely keeping your voice from breaking. “I’m done. I’m leaving.”

“What?” 

There was hurt in that word, a pain that he didn’t deserve an ounce of pity for but, still, it turned your stomach to think that you might have upset or hurt him in any way. But that was the difference between you and him, you cared about his pain while he barely even seemed to notice yours.

“I’m leaving,” you said again, “I quit.”

“No,” he said like he didn’t understand, like he couldn’t figure out what had led to the decision. 

“No?” You repeated, heartache and anger filling your voice. How dare he try to fight for you now. “You don’t get to tell me no after everything you’ve done to me, Billy.”

“I -” he started and stopped, uncertain which of his many crimes against you that you were most upset about. “I'm sorry. I fucked up, I know I fucked up, but -”

Against your better judgement you stopped dead in your tracks and turned to face him.

“But what? What excuse do you possibly think you have for keeping me prisoner and lying to my friends?” You asked, your voice getting louder each time he made you respond to him. “This is what you wanted.”

“I didn't want this.” His voice rose to match yours, almost frantic. “I just needed time to -”

“What? Find someone else?” You snapped. “Two someone else’s? Did you take them all to bed last night?”

“No,” he answered just as sharply. “I wanted to - before you, I would have - but they aren’t you. You’re the only one I want.”

“Am I supposed to believe that? After all the lies?”

“I just spent the last few weeks trying to get you out of my head, but I can’t.” An uneasy desperation started to fill his voice, every word sounding more fraught than you’d ever heard him. “You’re like sunlight, I - I can’t stop thinking about how you feel and, when I’m not with you, I miss you so fucking much.”

“Stop lying to me!” Your own voice turning just as fraught, hating that he was doing this to you now that you’d made the difficult decision to leave.

You started moving again, getting closer to the door leading to your rooms and, of course, Billy realised that if you reached your bedroom, he wouldn’t be able to follow. When you tried to open the adjoining door, you soon found his hand on it, stopping you. You turned, pressing back against the wood, trying to create some space between you as you glared at him, silently demanding he move.

“Please, just listen to me,” he tried again.

“Why?”

“Because losing you would kill me.”

His confession seemed to suck all the air from the room and, while every rational part of you was screaming at you not to believe him, the way he said it sounded so certain, so raw. 

“You wanted to send me away,” you told him again. “You wanted me to leave.”

“I wanted you to be safe,” he said, his gaze dropping to your broken arm, his voice breaking. “Just look at you, look what I did...”

He’d been so cold and emotionless after it had happened, when he’d first asked you to leave, but hearing him now, seeing the look on his face... you finally understood just how much the situation had fucked him up. It seemed like your decision to leave had unnerved him enough to force some honesty from him.

You couldn’t speak. It felt like all the anger had drained from you and, instead, there was something else inside you, the sort of pain that you couldn’t put a name to. He’d hurt you. Over and over. And you weren’t going to make excuses for him, but now he was finally letting you see how much it had hurt him too, it left you feeling unsettled.

“I thought I could let you go if it meant you’d be safe,” he muttered, his gaze still fixed on your cast.

“And now?”

You watched as he took a shuddered breath, tension coiling in his body as he struggled to find the words. The silence seemed to stretch on and all you could hear was the echo of your heart, pounding in your chest. And you knew Billy could hear it too. 

With every second that passed in silence, you started to lose hope.

“You terrify me,” he confessed in a whisper. “Everything about you, the way you make me feel; it’s all terrifying to me. And I can’t - I don’t understand it.”

You didn’t dare speak, wanting him to continue without prompt or provocation. Anything he said had to be because he wanted to say it. This was his chance to finally be honest and lay all of his cards on the table before you left. So, you waited, barely breathing as he seemed to fight with every rational part of himself to say the words.

“I wish I could stop feeling like this. I wish I could just let you go.”

“Why can’t you?” Your voice broke as you tried to hold back a flood of fresh tears. “You don’t want me, so why keep me here?”

“Stop saying that. Of course I want you. It kills me how much I want you,” he told you, still not looking at you, still staring at your arm, his head hung. “But it kills me just as much knowing that I’ll lose you no matter what I do. Even if you stayed by my side the rest of your life, and I’d still have to watch you grow old and slip away from me.”

Your breath caught, realising you’d never thought of it that way. When you’d told him you wanted to stay, you hadn’t been thinking about the future, about spending your life with him. But Billy wasn’t like you, a year to him would seem like nothing in the grand scheme of things. So would your lifetime. 

“You’ll grow old and die, and you’d miss out on so much because of me. There’s so many things I can’t give you… so many things you deserve...”

The thing that hurt most of all was how he’d obviously thought all of it through, how he’d considered what a future together would look like, but he hadn’t once tried to talk to you about it to find out what you wanted.

“I know I can’t keep you, but it’s just -” he let out an agitated huff “- it’s not fair. You’re the one person who makes this life, this existence bearable, and you hate me. You were the best thing to happen to me and I ruined it. I just wanted a little more time...”

Finally he looked up, his jaw clenching uncomfortably, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I don’t want to hurt you again but I don’t want you to go,” he almost pleaded. “Please, don’t go...”

It was your turn to talk, the moment to stick to your guns and tell him you were leaving, but the words just wouldn’t come. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks and you hated how much pain you were both in. Finally, he’d been honest and it was enough to make you wish he’d stuck with his lies.

“Please, say something,” he said after a minute had passed in silence.

“I’m tired, Billy,” you confessed, “I’m so tired of everything always being a fight or an argument...” 

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I’ve put you through all of this.”

He dared to reach for you, his fingers brushing over the back of your hand, a ghost of a touch. But that touch was a comfort that you had been desperately craving, a comfort that you’d tried to find with Matt the night before, a comfort that you were finally realising only Billy could provide.

“Everything seems so pointless without you,” he muttered.

As much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the exact same way.

You loved him and nothing was going to change that.

Your heart stuttered, your hand slowly turning, cautiously letting your fingers brush against his before lacing them together and taking hold of his hand. A relieved sound escaped him and you felt his fingers tighten around yours.

“I won't hurt you again,” he promised and, this time, you actually believed him.

He reached for your cheek, thumb gently wiping away your tears.

A minute must have passed and neither of you seemed willing to move or pull away, so Billy cleared the distance and kissed you. It was soft at first, a tender reaffirmation and reignition of all the feelings you’d been trying to snuff out. He pressed closer, the kiss eventually turning more heated until his body was against yours and your broken arm was wrapped around him, cast pressing into his back and pulling him against you.

It was a slow descent into frenzy, but you both seemed to know where it was heading.

When he lifted you off your feet, your legs wrapped around him. You barely paid attention to where he was taking you, too caught up in his kiss.

Under different circumstances you might have taken a moment to realise that you were finally seeing his bedroom; you would have paid more attention to the dark and cold colour scheme and the smattering of photographs on the wall, or maybe you would have noticed the large walk-in closet, filled with his suits. But all you saw was the bed and all you wanted to pay attention to was Billy.

He kept kissing you and, by the time he put you down, your legs felt weak.

You both moved on auto-pilot, both needing and wanting so desperately that undressing each other was just a formality. There was no wonderment in slowly uncovering him because you’d seen him so many times and, this time, you were aching for so much more. You barely even pulled back from the kiss to look at him as his shirt, then pants, fell away.

Once you were both down to your underwear, you reached for him, your hand cupping his cock, feeling how it was already throbbing and hard for you, the tip already peeking out from beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers.

“Hummingbird,” he groaned as deft fingers unhooked your bra and pulled it away from you.

His hands slid up your stomach to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh and tracing his thumbs over your achingly hard nipples. He kissed you again, languidly and slowly. Your hand cupped him and stroked him through his boxers, earning another groan that you happily swallowed down, his hips moving, gently pressing himself into your touch.

A hand gripped your waist as he slowly guided you backwards. When you felt the bed against the back of your legs, you moved, climbing onto it and pulling him with you, 

You fell back, legs instinctively parting for him, allowing him to settle between your thighs. He tested the water by pressing his hips down against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against you.

“Billy,” you gasped, arching your body into his.

“What do you need, hummingbird?” He asked, though you were already certain that he knew the answer.

“You, Billy,” you answered, already breathless, “I need you.”

He reached down between your bodies, cupping you through your panties, biting his lip when he felt just how wet they were. Billy didn’t bother trying to remove them, he settled for tearing them away from your body.

“You’re so wet already,” he said, wasting no time before pushing a finger inside you, causing your back to arch. He pulled it out just as quick before pushing in two and starting to fuck you with them.

“Billy,” you moaned with the intensity of it. 

It had been over six weeks since he’d last touched you, but he hadn’t forgotten a thing. You cried out as his fingers curled inside you, your walls clenching around him, gripping him tight. But it wasn’t his fingers you wanted, and Billy seemed to know that.

“I know,” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. “Soon, hummingbird, I just need to make sure you’re ready for me...”

“Please...” you heard yourself begging, completely losing yourself to him.

“First you’re going to take my fingers, then my tongue, and then you’ll get my cock,” he told you.

Just the thought of it had you shivering.

Your breath caught as a third finger slipped inside you, stretching you and pushing you closer to an orgasm you didn’t have permission to have. At some point, your fingers had tangled in his hair and you were tugging far harder than you should.

“Do you want to come for me?” He whispered into your ear, and all you could do was keen in response. “Then come for me, little hummingbird.”

It was automatic, your body doing exactly as he wanted. You cried out and moaned his name as your walls started to convulse and flutter around his fingers. Fingers that kept moving, dragging out the sensation of ecstacy. You pulled his lips to yours and kissed him, trembling and moaning as his tongue found yours.

But he didn’t linger. Soon he was moving down your body, lips and tongue trailing a clear path from your lips, over your chest and stomach, and down to the apex of your thighs. You shivered in anticipation, seeing his dark eyes staring up at you from between your legs, his fingers parting your folds and -

“Billy,” you cried out as his tongue slid against your trembling flesh.

Your back arched and you tried to lift your hips to press against his mouth, but Billy quickly gripped your thighs and held you in place, determined to stay in control of your pleasure. His tongue moved to your clit, licking with the lightest pressure, barely a ghost of a touch but it was enough to have you breathless.

Finally his attention moved lower, lapping against your slick entrance before pressing the tip inside. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, so possessively, your hips would have shot off the bed but, instead, all you could do was cry out as his tongue continued to lick into you.

At some point, your fingers had found their way to his hair again and you were holding him just as tightly as he was holding you, trying to pull him against him, demanding more. And Billy didn’t disappoint. 

He fucked you with his tongue, not stopping to give you permission to come but, instead, fixing you with a hungry look. 

Your whole body tensed before you came on his tongue, but Billy didn’t stop. He continued to devour you, returning his attention to your clit, pushing you from one orgasm right into the next.

“Please,” you begged, feeling like you were about to shatter into a million tiny pieces, “no more. I can’t take any more.”

And, finally, he relented. Billy crawled back up your body, his chin and lips glistening with your wetness. He kissed you eagerly and your lips parted for him, tasting yourself in his mouth, while your hands forced his boxers down.

You’d already come three times, but just the press of his cock at your wet entrance was enough to make your breath catch. You were already intimately familiar with how big he was but it still made you nervous. Looking down you watched him tease his tip between your folds until it glistened with a mixture of your arousal and his own pre-cum.

Then, his cock surged into you, filling you in one rough thrust, catching you off-guard and causing your over-sensitive pussy to tremble as you struggled to adjust to his size. He pulled back before filling you again and again before coming to an abrupt stop buried deep inside you, leaving you shaking beneath him.

He looked down at you, a mixture of remorse and shame on his face and it took you a moment to realise why; he thought he was being too rough with you.

You reached for him, your hand pressing against his cheek. 

“It’s okay,” you told him softly, “I don’t want you to hold back.”

“But what if I -” he started and you shook your head.

“Are you here with me? Are you in control?” You asked and Billy gave a definite nod. “Then fuck me, Billy.” You told him, feeling your cheeks warm at how brazen it sounded.

You moaned as you felt him start to move again, every hard inch taking what he needed from you, every thrust causing your walls to flutter and clench, gripping him tight. Everything had been building to this moment, months of foreplay finally leading somewhere. It was no wonder he couldn’t hold back. 

“Fuck, hummingbird, you keep gripping my cock like that and I’m not going to last,” he groaned through gritted teeth. “Is that what you want? You want me to come inside you?”

No words left your mouth, just an eager, desperate moan as you stared up at him, lust and desire written all over his handsome face, putting to rest any lingering doubts that you had about his feelings for you.

He kissed you again and again, and you lost yourself to everything he was doing to you. You lost yourself to him. Every time he pulled back, he left you feeling empty and every time he plunged forward left you feeling like all your prayers had been answered.

“Come for me,” he demanded, as if he knew it was building in you before you did.

As commanded, your body started to shudder, coming undone as you moaned his name. His hips slowed, leisurely fucking you through another orgasm, sending more desperate sparks of arousal through your body. It was overwhelming. It was too much and not enough at the same time. You weren’t sure you could go on but you were certain that you couldn’t stop. You wanted more. You wanted everything.

And luckily for you, Billy was just getting started.

“You good?” He asked, his fingers brushing sweat slicked  hair away from your brow.

“Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, too overcome to even force a smile. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

Billy smiled, kissing you softly, still moving slowly, waiting until your walls finally stopped trembling so much.

He gripped your leg, his hand behind your knee, pulling it upwards, opening you to him, while his other hand reached over you to grip the headboard. For a second he paused, looking down at you, waiting for permission. You bit your lip before nodding.

Nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of what followed. He pulled back slowly before plunging his thick cock into you again, deeper than before, making you realise that you hadn’t taken all of him before then. You let out an incomprehensible cry as you felt his tip graze your cervix, the sensation causing you to clench around him.

Looking down between your bodies, you watched as he started to fuck you, his hips setting a relentless pace, his grip on the headboard helping his powerful movements as he pushed you down into the mattress with each thrust. You felt out of control. No, you felt like you were giving control to Billy, letting him have it because you knew that was what he needed.

“Look at me,” he demanded, sounding just as breathless as you were.

Your eyes found his, and that sight alone was almost enough to make you come. His jaw was clenched and his unblinking eyes were watching every flicker of emotion that passed your face. He was looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, like he was committing every second of this to memory and leaving you feeling more wanted than you ever had.

“My hummingbird,” he groaned, “I’ll never let you go.”

You couldn’t answer, not when every rough, rapid-fire thrust of his hips was forcing moan after moan from you. 

Your hands slipped down his back over cold, sweat-slicked skin, right the way down until your fingers were gripping his buttocks, pressing your fingernails into his flesh. That only seemed to spur him on, moving faster, harder, claiming you with every shift of his hips.

“I want to feel you come again,” he told you.

This time you tried to hold back, fighting every urge that told you to give into the pleasure, wanting it to last, wanting Billy to keep fucking you into the mattress. But then you felt his hand on your throat, just beneath your chin, not squeezing, but gripping tight enough to get your full atention.

“I said I want to feel you come,” his voice almost became a growl, his fingers tentatively tightening their grip on your throat.

You couldn’t deny him. You don't want to, not when you were completely at his mercy. This sudden escalation should have scared you, but some part of you trusted him, some part of you was enjoying this and was desperate for more. Finally, there was no doubt in your mind that he wanted this, wanted you.

Your head fell back as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you, his fingers gripping tighter as he continued to drive his cock into you. You swore and cried out his name, over and over as he forced you through the most intense climax of your life. Your vision went white and Billy kept going until you couldn’t take any more.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving your body desperately clenching and grasping around nothing, feeling unbearably empty. Your whole body shuddered with the intensity of it all, and Billy just watched as you fell apart for him. It seemed to go on and on, your body shaking uncontrollably, your eyes refusing to focus. You felt starved for touch, and even though you were falling apart, you felt needy and desperate for more than just the touch of his fingers on your throat.

Billy didn’t move until the worst of the tremors had subsided, pulling his hand from your throat as he lowered himself over you again. His lips pressed against yours in a chaste and gentle kiss, a tenderness in his eyes, as he slowly sank his cock back into your sensitive pussy. 

This time his movements were gentle, allowing you to really enjoy the feel of him inside you. Your fingers slipped through his hair and even though he was being so gentle now, you still felt tender and overwhelmed. It felt like something had broken inside of you, like he’d managed to fuck your head empty, and now all you could think about was him and how good it felt everytime he filled you with his cock.

His hands framed your face, holding you as he kissed you, and it felt like everything had been leading to this moment. Now that you’d both sated the urgent desires that had been building in you over the last few months, you could finally take your time with each other. 

You lost yourself in the gentle kiss, in the feeling of him loving you and not just fucking you, slowly climbing towards another orgasm and, this time, Billy seemed primed to join you. 

Towards the end, he started to pick up speed, his groans stacking, his face buried against your neck.

“Come, hummingbird,” he grunted.

The moment you let go, you felt him start to pulse inside you, the sensation causing you to shiver. He gave a couple more thrusts before finally stilling deep inside you, groaning against your neck as his orgasm gripped him.

When you’d pictured sex with Billy, this was not how it had played out, this was not how you saw it ending. You felt boneless, completely overwhelmed and exhausted. For a few moments you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And, when he finally pulled out, you felt the telltale trickle of cum between your thighs.

For the next couple of hours he held you. Neither of you spoke, both having said so much already. You drifted in and out of sleep, always waking to find him holding you securely, his cold body pressed to your back. 

You were half-asleep when you felt his fingers between your legs, parting your folds and guiding his cock into you. Your back arched against his chest as he started to fuck you from behind, letting out a soft moan as he teased your clit. His free hand gripped your chin, turning your head so he could kiss you, slipping his tongue between your lips before you could think to say anything.

His movements started off slow and sensual, letting you enjoy the sensations of him moving inside you and the way your body stretched to accommodate him. You still felt tender from earlier but any discomfort was quickly forgotten.

“Fuck, hummingbird,” he muttered against your lips, “your tight little pussy takes me so well...”

“Billy,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut, still exhausted but wanting more.

“I’ll never get over the way you grip my cock. It’s like you were made just for me,” he continued in that low, seductive mutter. “Can you feel it?

“Yes,” you whined as your hand awkwardly reached behind you to settle on his hip, wanting to touch him.

It stayed like that for a few long minutes, Billy taking his time with you, smiling at every gasp and moan he managed to pull from you.

Then, without warning, he started to rut into you, his movements becoming desperate and sloppy until you felt him twitch and pulse inside you. You started to shift your hips, clumsily riding him as he spilled inside you. Realising that you hadn’t come, he resumed teasing your clit and groaned in your ear.

“Come for me, hummingbird,” he pleaded and you soon did as you were asked.

“I love you,” you moaned, turning to press your face into the pillow as your body succumbed to the pleasure coursing through it.

All Billy gave was a hum in response. There was no question in your mind that he’d heard those three little words, even as his body shivered behind you, and he lost himself in his own pleasure. After everything, you didn’t expect to hear it back, you didn’t expect him to confess more than he already had. You just wanted him to know.

You let out a soft whine as he pulled out, too exhausted to move or lift your head again, your eyes closing. Billy pulled you tight against him and held you there until you fell asleep again.

The next time you woke, it was to Billy getting out of bed. You watched him stroll into his walk-in wardrobe and he didn’t notice you were awake until he returned with a suit and shirt.

“I’m really sorry,” he told you softly, “I have to go in to work for a few hours, Frank’ll kill me if I don’t, but you can stay in here and rest and I’ll see you when I get home?” 

There was something in his voice that almost made it feel like he was asking your permission, like he didn’t know how you were going to react. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you wanted to react; you’d just spend the afternoon having the most earth-shattering sex of your life, and now he needed to go to work.

“Okay,” you muttered sleepily, knowing you couldn’t keep him from his job, not after all the time he’d already lost.

You watched as he headed into his bathroom and you listened as he took a quick shower before emerging dressed and ready to go. If you had been so tired you would have appreciated the sight of him in his light grey suit, looking devilishly handsome. Instead you could barely lift your head when he kissed you goodbye.

Around half an hour after he left, you managed to get up and return to your rooms. You took a long shower, exhausted but unable to keep your mind from racing over everything that had happened and what that meant going forward.

Everything he’d said, the way he’d looked at you when you were together; it was too much. It played over and over in your head until it became deafening in the silence of the penthouse. He’d been right about everything. You suddenly understood why he’d tried so hard to keep some distance between you, why he’d never wanted anything beyond the physical. You knew that losing you to illness or old age would kill him.

And you loved him far too much to put him through that.

You were left with only one option; hurt him now to save him from more pain later.

(Or maybe it wasn’t that at all, maybe you were just scared that he was going to hurt you again. As much as you hated yourself for your little admission of love during sex, it still caused your stomach to knot thinking about how he hadn’t said it back. What if he never said it?)

It wasn’t long before you found yourself by the intercom again, pressing the button, waiting for a response and, when you finally heard Lissa’s voice...

“I need my things, I want to leave...”

End Note : 😅😅😅😅 like I said last week 'trust me, I have a plan'. At least they actually got to fuck this time 😅 Also, just as a potential warning, I'm not 100% sure if next weeks chapter will be on time; I'm away for a couple of days and my birthday is next weekend. I have already started chapter 16 though so I will try to get it posted at the normal time. If I can't get it done, I'll post something to let people know and probably try to post two chapters the week after.

Also, I now have an AO3 account (it's hungermakesmonsters) I'm planning on posting things there as well as here but things will probably always end up on tumblr first, so don't feel like you have to follow me there or anything. As always, thanks for all your support and the likes/screaming in the comments/reblogs! Have a great weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

@goldenbeskar @mydarlingnana @strwbrrynd @cheshirecat484 @jvanilly

@ashy-kit @jazzclubprincess

[thebramblewood]

For a brief moment in her eternal existence, Lilith was well and truly shook.

Previous / Next

[incessant pounding at door]

Lilith: It’s nearly sunrise! Who would be calling at such an ungodly hour? [expectant pause] Fine. I suppose I’ll answer it then. Helena? [immediately composes self] Well, isn’t this an unexpected pleasure?

Helena: Let’s get one thing straight, Lilith Vatore. I’m only here as a last resort. I won’t let you have your way with me. Caleb warned me about you.

Lilith: [bemused smirk] Oh? So that’s what’s been keeping him busy.

Helena: [barreling forward] And I read your book. You don’t come off well.

Lilith: It’s hardly my book. That journalistic hack is the bane of my existence. No one alive still cared about the Vatore name until he started nosing around. I’d kill him, but it'd just make more trouble than it’s worth.

Helena: How can you talk about it so casually?

Lilith: What?

Helena: Killing people!

Lilith: Because it’s what vampires do. It’s as natural to us as breathing, darling.

Helena: Caleb doesn’t kill people, does he? I don’t think he even drinks blood.

Lilith: Caleb, bless his heart, is a miserable fucking sadsack. Clinging onto one’s humanity is a thankless task, one he’s bafflingly decided is his personal cross to bear. But we’re above humanity now, Helena. We’re elite. We’re supernatural. Nobody can fucking touch us. Our power is limitless, so long as guilt doesn’t get in the way.

Helena: I’m not interested in power. I didn’t ask for any of this. Are you even sorry for what you did?

Lilith: Of course! I thought you were dead until five minutes ago, and I have been mourning the loss.

Helena: [scoffs in disbelief] For yourself maybe. You didn’t give a shit what happened to me. I have no future because of you!

Lilith: Oh, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You’ll make a remarkable vampire someday. I can sense it. I understand you and Caleb have been… bonding. While you’re here, though, you may as well learn from both of us. You might be surprised whose lessons you prefer.

Helena: We’ll see about that.

Lilith: Make yourself comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a little chat with my dear brother.

[doctorcurdlejr]

Niko!! what'd you think of I saw the tv glow. I finally saw it last night and noticed you posting about it so I wanted to know your thoughts :)

Levi!!! I was JUST wondering what you were thinking about the movie after I saw you posting about it as well... we are so media discussion pilled in this way, it's awesome. ANYWAYS I've had so many thoughts since I first saw it and I've been trying to turn them into something coherent for a little bit now.

Ummm okay I have written 1k+ words about this movie, the suburbs, and escapism via teen TV.... clearly I was dying for somebody to ask this I guess so thank you for indulging me <3

First and foremost, I absolutely loved it! I've seen it twice now and the first time I watched it I got to see Jane Schoenbrun talk about the film right after. I already really liked it from that first watch alone. I found it so deeply relatable to my experiences - both in terms of growing up gay and trans, but where I am now in my 20s trying to navigate adulthood. Hearing what Schoenbrun had to say really cemented my feelings and thoughts about the film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a big influence on the movie (it's why Amber Benson makes a cameo as Johnny Link's mom). Even though I don't have the same emotional link to Buffy since I never watched it, I recognize it as the same type of warmth I experienced growing up with Riverdale. When Owen says he feels like his insides have been scooped out but that he's too afraid to look and have that wrongness everybody knows is there be confirmed, Maddy simply responds "Maybe you're like Isabel. Afraid of what's inside you." Tears forming but not falling, breathing shallowly, I grabbed the paper and pen the theater keeps at the seats for people to order food with and wrote that line down - the slip of paper is still somewhere in my car. Writing it now almost feels lame in its simplicity, but it felt like my insides were being flayed open.

During the director discussion, Schoenbrun talked a little bit about this idea of how truly fucking bizarre it is to grow up in the suburbs. Like, when we think about the pinnacle of normality in American culture, it's the image of middle-class cis-hetero-white suburbia. At the same time, despite this cultural dream of normality, everybody is hyper-aware that the suburbs are one of the least normal things ever. So, the ACTUAL cultural understanding of it is that it's where we go to, like, passively kill ourselves (*George Costanza voice* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY YOU KNOW!). This idea isn't new, I mean there are so many films and shows about navigating that specific bizarre dissonance from Rebel Without a Cause to Heathers to Twin Peaks. Probably half the pre-teen to teen TV I watched obsessively growing up, stuff like Strange Days at Blake Holsey High, Making Fiends, Truth or Scare, and eventually Riverdale, were never shy about being weird and morbid and saying "yes, the suburbs are exactly as bizarre and lethal in the ways you can already feel in your bones at 13." I Saw the TV Glow does a really good job of keying not only into that mental dissonance but more specifically into how those of us who have felt so intrinsically weird and different and wrong fell back on these shows like they were capable of doing the emotional version of a rescue breath maneuver after being drowned.

In high school, if there were two things about me that any person who even vaguely knew me could list off it was that I watched Riverdale, and I was a lesbian - and I was mocked more for the Riverdale. At that age, I was, without a doubt, the most miserable I have ever felt in my life. I rarely left the house because my family lived in a development that made me want to scratch my skin off when I walked out our front door. Owen didn't leave the house for days, afraid Maddy could somehow force him out. I sobbed constantly and frequently to depressing indie rock on the floor of my closet while hoping my family would just once read the (honest to god) KEEP OUT poster plastered on my door since I didn't have a lock on it. Owen didn't leave his room for days, afraid of what Maddy recognized in him. I didn't go on dates and kept my chest binder shoved to the bottom of my bookbag while wearing dresses that could've come from a how-to-be the perfect 50s housewife manual. Owen didn't leave his bed for days, afraid of Maddy touching his neck and Isabel's dress. I also watched Riverdale with the kind of zeal you see in a Pentecostal who has found God and started speaking in tongues to let you know it. I own a button that says, "Don't Make Me Go Dark Betty On You," I cherish it in a way that is only achieved by knowing exactly how corny and trite it is and then moving straight past that because well actually, and most people wouldn't get this, she's holding back something deeply dark and wild and- and disgusting. something painful yet intrinsically her. but i get it, obviously. or maybe not obviously! hopefully not obviously, but- basically, I'm just saying I get it: the experience of reflection and recognition through the other and all that.

Whatever, the point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Clearly, I’ve been enchanted by the film’s narrative and meta-textual language. If you're familiar with it, you can see how Schoenbrun built this movie like a long-form dream episode of a canceled teen show filmed in Vancouver. Lynchian? Yeah, sure. Riverdalesque? THIS we cannot possibly deny. Schoenbrun said they included Amber Benson as an act of healing the inner rage experienced at Tara’s death in Buffy. This is a Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa ending Riverdale with a bisexual polycule after his gay Archie play got ceased-and-desisted type move. There’s probably more I could say about the soundtrack and the visuals, but I’ve hit over 1k words on this, so I’ll leave it at I enjoyed this movie a lot. :)

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in!

[whitegoldtower]

How my favourite Skyrim NPCs sleep:

Ancano: In the college? Miserably. Spends most of the night irritable and on the verge of tears because everything’s damp and cold. Avoids his room as much as physically possible until he’s practically asleep on his feet. If you’ve taken him home with you, however, he will sleep like a baby. He doesn’t move around, doesn’t make a sound, merely curls up all soft and warm. He tolerates about half an hour of cuddling before shooing you away.

Ondolemar: Values his beauty sleep, strangely enough. He works late, but also sleeps late. He’s never been seen walking around the keep any earlier than 10AM. He snores and drools. Doesn’t enjoy being cuddled because he gets too warm. There is a barrier of pillows between you both.

Cicero: If you can even get him to sleep in the first place, he’s a little angel for the first two hours. Not a peep. Perfectly still… and then his leg jerks. He giggles, then wails, then rolls over about three times before becoming peaceful again for another thirty minutes before the process repeats. There’s a dagger under his pillow. An accident waiting to happen. If you’re brave enough to sleep next to him, you’re probably going to wake up with bruises from being kicked.

Vingalmo: has his hair wrapped up in the finest silks to sleep. The only vampire who sleeps with his legs dangling out of either side of the coffin - he likes the feeling of the cold draught on his feet and, for some reason, sleeping with his knees touching is a sensory issue. If you’re in the coffin with him, your only option is to lay on top of him because he is an utter starfish.

Teldryn Sero: Menopausal Mer, my beloved. Kicks the covers off because hot flashes are hell, and sleeps against the wall with his legs pressed against the cold surface like a fucked up little spider. The sheets are almost always damp. If you’re sleeping next to him, he won’t bother you, and might even lean over to give you a little kiss if he wakes up in the night, but at some point you will roll over and feel some foreign object underneath you before realising that he keeps Ye Olde Dwemer Lost Mary in the bed with him.

Neloth: peepaw is back and forth the fucking toilet like clockwork. You HAVE to sleep against the wall because if he wakes up and has to climb over you to get out of bed he will make it your problem. You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen and grunting before he comes back to bed with a magelight bright enough to light up blackpool fucking tower, and then he promptly rips the covers off you to keep himself warm.

Erandur: is a cuddler. He will cuddle you and keep you safe and warm, will make sure that you’re all tucked in and comfy, and he will fall asleep after you do. You wake up before him, though, and he’s probably snuggling a pillow with the bedcovers up around his ears.

Elenwen: has to wear an eye mask because she sleeps with her eyes open. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look like she’s breathing. Is she even alive? You question as you lean over, and then she draws in a large breath, sighs, and makes a vaguely disgusted sound before rolling over. Occasionally chuckles in her sleep. She does cricket legs under the blankets to get comfy and will 100% put her feet on you, either to cool them down or to subject them to a new texture.

Lydia: likes to spread out and doesn’t like to share. If you do end up sharing, make sure those bedsheets are fucking safety pinned down because she rips ass like a champ. Other than that, she’s pretty cuddly once adjusted to having you next to her, and doesn’t kick around or make too many noises. It would take a literal bomb going off to wake her up once she’s asleep, and she *will* get pissed off if you wake her up and it’s not important.

Farkas: is actually really fucking funny. You can hold a conversation with him. He has a really specific ‘sleep chuckle’ which is literally the Skyrim NPC laugh in his voice (the “heh heh heh”). However, he also sometimes makes some rather lewd sounds. Dude whimpers. He’s a professional little spoon (which is funny considering his stature), and adores being cuddled from behind. Also loves having his back rubbed - it will send him to sleep.

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 1: Blow out all the candles

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 6,010 rating: T13 warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and gore, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing outright spoken about, if there's anything else to be tagged please let me know

a/n: it's here! and it's proofread! i'm very excited to put this out because i've been working on it for actual months by now. i think about this when i go to bed at night and i look forward to the weekend to keep writing. i don't know that there will ever be smut—there might be, i just haven't properly considered it yet—but there will be a lot of self-indulgent soft moments with the bastard.

please let me know what you think, and comment if you'd like to be tagged for future updates!

You feel like shit.

You feel like shit, there are burns all over you, and the whole of your party smells like soot, death and disappointment. Well, at the very least, you, Lae’zel and Astarion do. Karlach seems to be managing perfectly fine if her boasting is anything to go by. And she tends to smell like smoke most days, to begin with.

Shadowheart, bless her, manages most of the minor wounds on her own. Chastises you gently for running into a burning building again—this time literally. Her lecture has no bite though; she can see on all your faces that this latest encounter has left an extremely bitter taste. In all of your mouths, not just yours or hers, and not just because of the smoke.

Once you no longer look like more of a corpse than your actual undead party member, you drag your feet back to your tent. Grab a change of clothes, pull a bucket from by the fire—with a promise to a whingeing Gale to bring it back, clean and preferably full of equally clean water—and thoughtlessly head towards where you’d last seen running water. It would suck, it would probably be freezing, and the idea of being mostly unarmed in any state of undress makes you want to curl in on yourself and disappear into the Underdark. Maybe let the monsters there take you, while you’re at it. At least then you wouldn’t have to worry about an uninvited guest in your fucking skull.

But there is work to be done. Horrible, dreadful work. You know you’ll sleep… maybe not better tonight, but at least not as miserably, you hope. All that physical exertion has to be good for something.

You try not to think of the people at Waukeen’s Rest as you walk. Conveniently—or supremely inconveniently—there’s already someone in the clearing you’ve wandered into. The shock of white hair lets you know it is, in fact, Astarion who’s sat at the water’s edge. You figure the only reason he hasn’t noticed you yet is because he seems very… aggravated. His back is turned to you, but you can tell he’s violently trying to scrub something out of his hairline.

Probably the same blood, gore and soot that’s dried into yours.

You raise the bucket in your left hand and knock into it with your right. The vampire flinches and spins around so quickly you wonder if secondhand whiplash is a thing. There’s a moment where his face displays what you’re almost certain is fear, before he controls his expression into something more akin to familiar annoyance.

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

You wrinkle your nose at his almost pouty tone. Lately, Astarion’s been especially bitter with you. No idea why; maybe it’s because you turned him down those two times he propositioned you? You hadn’t figured he was serious. He flirts all the time with nearly everything with a pulse—probably things without if given half a chance—how would you ever know if he was being genuine?

…or maybe it’s the whole conversation with Raphael. Hm. Well it’s not like anyone—except Astarion, apparently—could fault you much for not wanting to trust a devil. At all. Ever.

You’re thinking too much about it.

Instead of offering an immediate answer, you approach Astarion with a not insignificant amount of caution.

“I can…” you start, but trail off. If you offer help—which he clearly needs, what with being unable to see his own reflection and therefore see his own face to wash the dried blood, soot and grime off of it—he’s going to refuse you. If you try to impose yourself, you’re probably just… not going to make it to see the next morning, actually.

So you hedge your bets and, after taking a few more careful steps forward, reach your hand out, palm up.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing vaguely at the washcloth Astarion’s holding. He predictably narrows his eyes at you. His gaze flickers between your outstretched hand and your face as though there’s some form of deception there that he should be able to see.

His right leg shifts, just barely. You already know that’s the side that has a small dagger hidden in the boot. You do your best to pretend you don’t see or know.

You’re not sure you do a terribly good job of it. Astarion sighs—a terribly loud, put-upon sound that just reminds you of a child being told to clean their room.

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

You’d sigh yourself if you didn’t think it would set him off even more. So instead you approach, carefully and slowly as you can manage without looking too terribly awkward. Once you’re a foot or two away, you grab the washcloth and give it a quick rinse in the river. Once you’ve wrung it out, you maneuver the bucket upside down to sit on it and scoot yourself a bit closer to the… very obviously displeased vampire.

You barely catch yourself; when your right hand comes up to his face with the washcloth, your left immediately follows. It hovers by his cheek and you freeze, for a moment, and try to remember to breathe under Astarion’s extremely judgemental stare.

“Can—do you mind?” you ask, barely over a whisper, quickly glancing at your left hand. You’re already curling your fingers to pull it away.

The vampire spawn rolls his eyes like your antics are truly the most boring thing in the world before answering.

“Whatever gets this over with the fastest, if you don’t mind. I would really love to stop wasting time on a face I can’t even see.”

You nod and try not to swallow thickly. But you don’t think any effort matters. The sound of your thundering heart would probably bury any other sound your body would make anyway.

His skin is incredibly soft, but you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying so. You focus on what you’re meant to be doing, focusing on a spot above Astarion’s left brow. Then the right brow. You do your best to remember to breathe through your nose the whole time. No talking. No fast or twitching movements. You pray the smell of death and fire are enough to overpower whatever your breath smells like.

You don’t realize when he closes his eyes. Maybe after the second or third time you gently push his head this way and that. You run the washcloth around his ears, along his jaw. Meticulously avoid the two puncture wounds on his neck.

“As good as it’s gonna get,” you whisper, quickly casting your eyes down before Astarion opens his, and busy yourself with folding and refolding the washcloth. Take a deep breath and look back up while you pass the cloth back over. “Still gonna want to dunk your head, though. Hair’s still…” You gesture vaguely at what should be a shock of pure white.

It’s… well it’s not entirely white anymore.

There’s a moment where you catch an unusual expression on Astarion’s face. It doesn’t last long enough for you to be able to figure it out. And where maybe you would’ve asked, any other time, today doesn’t—the timing doesn’t feel quite right.

“Well then,” you start, grabbing the bucket by the handle and quickly moving to the river to scoop up a decent amount of water. You pretend it’s not heavier than you think it was. You’re trying to figure out what you should say as you leave—if anything at all—but your companion makes the choice for you.

“Thank you,” he says, not quietly, but not with the usual bravado you hear from him. It’s enough to make you pause. “I would hate for my slovenly appearance to ruin vampires’ prim and proper reputation,” he continues, and you can’t help but let your mouth twist into the smallest grin. “Even though red is my colour.”

You snort in amusement, but quickly shake it off. There is something you want to be saying, actually, and you open your mouth before you can lose your nerve.

“When you’re done, can you—do you mind passing by my tent?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as he wrings out the washcloth. He doesn’t move, despite the fact that you’re pretty sure he wants to slighter back to the water’s edge. You cut him off when he opens his mouth; you’re not sure you’re ready for whatever biting one-liner he’s got ready for you.

“Actually nevermind, I’ll just—I can see you tomorrow morning. It’s not that important.”

You beat as hasty a retreat as the weight of the bucket of water lets you.

You help Gale for supper. Wash, peel and cut various vegetables, fetch more water by the riverside—Astarion has blessedly left by the time you crouch back down by the bank—and take the time to throw the ball for Scratch a few times. By the time the sun begins to sink into the horizon, the smell of deliciously spiced duck, stewed in with a mouth-watering variety of vegetables, wafts over to you and lures you by the fire where your companions have assembled.

Your local vampire is, predictably, absent. You find yourself wondering if the smells that are so tantalizing to you now would be repugnant to you if you had survived on the blood of pests for two hundred years.

Supper is generally a calm affair. You catch up with whomever was absent from the adventuring party for the day, offer Gale some praise for the meal, indulge Wyll with a few dances—kept at a very polite and respectable distance—and eventually settle by the fire.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart seem to have made peace, for now. They watch each other from their respective tents. There’s not as much contempt and disdain as there was a few nights ago when they’d tried to kill each other. You’re relieved they no longer feel the compulsion to ask to the rapidly mounting pile of absolute bullshit you have to deal with. As if mindflayer spawn in your brains and the looming threat of annihilation weren’t enough to sate their need for excitement.

Well after the sun has set, Wyll rests a hand on your shoulder before sitting himself next to you by the fire. You nod in acknowledgement and quietly retreat to your tent. You’ve set yourself up far enough from the campfire if only just for some solitude after a day surrounded by other people and death. Close enough to the water that, when you return to camp at the end of the day, you’ve an easy time just shrugging off your armour and clothes and just walk into the water after sliding into a well-loved, black cotton slip.

You’ve sat yourself behind a makeshift low table—really just a few planks of wood, scavenged from a damaged dock, atop a pair of crates you’d emptied—and open your journal to begin writing. You were never an avid diary-keeper before being abducted by the nautiloid. Never saw the relevance of it. Not that you could remember to keep track of your daily activities, either way.

But now that so many things happen in only the span of a handful of hours, and so much planning to do, and so many people to remember... you find it easy to sit down at the end of the day and write down everything you saw. You write about Halsin’s release from the dungeons in the defiled temple. Write about how conflicting he seems as a man, and as an elf—so incredibly large, and his speech is so incredibly gentle and soft until it suddenly is... not so much.

You take a moment before writing about your encounter with Abdirak. You keep it brief; the only person reading this journal should be you, after all, and you trust yourself to remember how you felt, beneath the mace, and how you feel now, trying to untangle those feelings.

You omit Astarion’s interjection, much as you do spend a minute thinking about it.

You’re flipping to your fourth page of daily notes when you hear a gentle knocking on one of the wooden poles holding up the canvas of your tent. You don’t look up from your writing but call them in, anyway. You gesture vaguely in front of you, motioning in what you think is the general direction of the cushion set in front of your makeshift desk.

“Sit,” you command. “I’ve just got to... finish. This sentence,” you add haltingly. You have to cross and rewrite a word, spend a few more seconds completing your sentence, before finally putting the quill down. When you look up from your notes, you hastily shut your journal, still-wet ink be damned.

There are... probably too many things written down that you wouldn’t want Astarion to see, especially if his current smug expression means anything.

“What, too caught up in waxing poetics about my boundless charms?”

You scoff at the play of arrogance before pulling one of your smaller packs into your lap and stuffing the journal back inside.

“If you must know,” you start, tossing your back near the back of your tent. As far out of reach of a rakish rogue as you could manage in such a small space. “I was writing down my expectations for the day tomorrow. Which includes going back to the grove to collect our reward from Rath.”

Astarion raises his chin and you and narrows his eyes. “Suspiciously selfish of you, bard.”

You shrug your shoulders and lean back on your hands, letting your legs stretch out in front of you. “I’m not as tooth-rottingly sweet as you seem to think I am. My altruism is also self-serving.”

Astarion shifts and pulls a knee up to rest his arm against and leans in. There’s a glint in his eye you recognize. Your heartbeat flutters, for a second; you could say that you don’t like it when he looks at you like a roast to carve, but closer to the truth would be to admit that you’re terrified of it for lack of knowing how to respond.

You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve got too many people relying on my decision making, besides. I can’t afford to extend a hand if I can’t be sure we won’t all get bit. I very much intend on having us all get to Baldur’s Gate in one piece, and live to see our brains roommate-free.”

Astarion scoffs and leans back. You breathe a little easier now that he’s back to being more aloof and judgemental rather than overly-observant.

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” he replies, feigning interest in the cleanliness of his nail beds. “The fact that you’ve assumed that kind of responsibility for... what, exactly?” He turns his gaze to you, and you can feel more than see the derision in his eyes.

You look down and take a moment to think. The obvious answer, the first one that comes to mind, is that you feel you have the moral obligation to help when you’re able to. It’s how you were raised.

Another answer, just as true as the first, is that you hope that if you treat others with kindness, maybe they’ll allow you mercy when you need it. Self-serving altruism, just as you’d said.

“Safety,” you eventually respond, lifting your eyes to Astarion’s and tilting your head. “Same as you, I figure.”

Astarion bristles at this, but only barely. You can see it in the tension appearing in his shoulder and the way his face seems to become a little more taught, a little more rigorously controlled.

“Safety, you figure?”

You hum in agreement. “I’m the one you chose to bite that night.”

Again, he scoffs. “Because you were the one least likely to stake me, darling. Not because I thought you’d keep me safe.”

“You thought I’d keep your secret safe, though” you say, pulling your legs back towards you and lean in to rest your elbows on your desk. “I was the safest risk because somehow, all of you with the brilliant exception of Wyll, think I’m a bleeding heart with no sense of self-preservation.”

“You quite literally wandered into a room full of smokepowder barrels with a torch in your hand. A lit torch.”

“I didn’t know there would be smokepowder there, come on!” you exclaim in defense. You compose yourself almost immediately; you know Astarion’s just trying to rile you up. Looking at him, he’s not quite smirking, but there’s the pull of an expression there that feels like it could be satisfaction.

You sigh and run a hand down your face. It feels like a cold shock to have him speak so casually with you now when he felt so unapproachable by the river, earlier. Maybe it’s the fact that he chose to come see you, come into your space, makes it feel different. You feel more in control, if only a little.

In here, you still have the pretense of being the leader of your eclectic group. By the river, stripped of armour and excuses, you felt untethered.

“Whatever. Is there a reason for your visit or were you just bored with getting under everyone else’s skin?”

Astarion fakes hurt and offense, a hand to his chest. “You wound me! You’re the one who asked me to come to you, or has the tadpole knocked the memory loose?”

You lean back a little. You had forgotten. In the midst of the food and the dancing and the writing, you had completely forgotten that you’d asked for him to seek you out. You had, however, figured he would actually wait until the morning. Or maybe another week, if you survived that long. Or never at all.

You were never quite sure what Astarion thought of you at any given point in time, nevermind how seriously he would take your words.

“Right. I just fi—it’s. Right.” You trip over your words, before leaning off to one side to grab at a small pouch. You pull at the drawstring as you right yourself, and plunge a hand in to pull out its singular content.

You hold it up in front of your eyes for a second. It had started as a peculiar stone, but with some time and effort and possibly too much polishing, had revealed itself to be a particularly beautiful opal. Clear nearly all the way through save for a single starburst of vivid colour in the center, tendrils of refractive colours reaching out for the edges.

It had reminded you of sunlight, when you had first held it up to a candle after the final polish. And then, unbidden, you thought of Astarion, and his complicated and upturned relationship with the sun.

You slide the pendant, carefully wrapped in looping metal wires, strung on a simple braided leather cord, over the desk to Astarion.

“I found this in the village,” you explain, trying to calm the panicked thrumming of your heart. “It reminded me of you so I... well, it’s yours if you want it.”

This felt like a good idea at first. While grinding down the rough edges and sanding the surfaces smooth, it felt like a kind gesture. Currently, it feels like maybe you might have given Astarion even more to relentlessly tease and bully you with. Like perhaps you’ve found something that would add another weight to you both.

You keep your eyes on the table. See Astarion slowly reach for the pendant to hold it up in front of his own eyes. You swallow thickly and motion to the candle at the edge of your desk.

“If you hold it up to the light, it looks better.”

He wordlessly nods and follows your directions. The stays motionless for several seconds, and you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. His expression doesn’t change at all, and that makes you even more nervous.

This feels like the riverside all over again. You never know how Astarion will accept kindness, you realize.

“...I don’t understand why you would give this to me if it reminds you of me,” he eventually says, though his eyes are still riveted to the flame-like starburst of the stone. “Why would I keep it?”

You flounder for a second and do your best to try and remain composed. I just wanted to isn’t going to be an acceptable answer. When Astarion turns his gaze to you, otherwise unmoving, you hold a hand up.

“Give me a second,” you rush to say, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down at the wood of your desk to think. There has to be a string of words you can put together that will make sense, even to someone like Astarion. Surely.

Some bard you are.

“I suppose,” you start slowly, placing your palms flat on the desk. Astarion brings his arm down. You don’t see what he does with the pendant. “I wanted you to have something that meant someone thought kindly of you.”

You expect to see a sneer on his face, or something akin to disgust, maybe revulsion. But, no, he’s returned to examining you again. You feel the tadpole squirm behind your eye and squint against the discomfort. Is he trying to...?

Well, fair enough.

You hardly have any control over the tadpole—not that you want to control it, you only want it out of your skull—but do your best to try and let him see you finding the stone. Try and open the door just wide enough for that single experience.

Astarion, of course, pushes his luck. Though he’s about as skilled with using the tadpole as any of you likely are at this point, and gets pulled into your mind like a receding wave. Your mind shows you sharp, white teeth and crimson eyes. A shock of silver-white hair under moonlight just as his face comes into view. Teeth at your neck and the feeling of uncertainty of what any of this means for you. The flood of relief when you realized your campmate was just a vampire, and that he was never intending to do anything worse than taking a sip.

Astarion withdraws suddenly and violently from your mind. The absence of him feels like the bleeding gap left by the removal of a particularly large splinter. There’s a headache beginning to drum just behind your eyes that has nothing to do with the illithid parasite. You rub at your eyes with the butt of your palms to try and ease the soreness there. When you pull your hands away, the expression you see on Astarion’s face is indescribable. There’s horror there, but understanding and a non-insignificant amount of apprehension.

“Next time,” you croak, clearing your throat and rolling your shoulders. “I would appreciate if you just asked.”

“I did, and you let me in,” Astarion answers, uncharacteristically soft and quiet. He says nothing else before standing up and turning to leave your tent. You feel aloft in the wind before he turns around to add, “Thank you, for your gift.”

The canvas of your tent moves back into place. Your candle keeps burning. The quiet of the camp is only broken by the habitual night time sounds of nature, the occasional sound of Scratch’s collar, and the crackling of firewood when Wyll throws in another log.

You whistle sharply, two tones, and you hear Scratch eagerly making his way over to your tent. He pushes the canvas out of his way with his snout and quickly comes to sit in front of your desk.

“Is something bothering you, friend?” the dog asks, tilting his head to the side. You smile when one of his ears flop over.

“I’m alright, boy,” you answer with a relieved sigh. “Mind spending the night here with me?”

Scratch stands back up excitedly, tail wagging. “Of course!”

You make short work of moving the planks of wood to the side and stacking the crates out of the way. Unfurl your bedroll and pull some salvaged sheets for some extra padding. When you lay down, Scratch curls up at your side. You put an arm around him and distractedly scratch at his back.

When you trance, you try to keep your mind as clear as possible. You need to be sharp, alert and aware for the day tomorrow. You need to clear the rest of the goblin camp, prepare yourself for the brutality of it. And then report back to the grove and Zevlor once you’re done.

This does not prevent ruby eyes shining like stones from appearing in the shadows every now and then.

You walk to the grove with everyone in tow. You, Astarion, Lae’zel and Wyll are covered in blood and probably viscera. Karlach seems mostly untouched, and though Gale and Shadowheart look exhausted, they seem perfectly fine. Nothing a nice, long rest won’t fix. Probably.

In front of the large wooden gate, you call out to Kaldani.

“Let them know it’s done,” you shout up. “The goblin camp has been cleared!”

There’s shouting as the gates open, and immediately the tieflings begin to swarm you. Zevlor appears out of practically nowhere. Alfira even makes an appearance to interrogate you about the goblin camp, the defiled temple. You end up following her deeper into the Grove to sit and regale her with your... well, you suppose they are heroic endeavours, but you take a moment to sincerely let her know it was horrible. Yes, you whole group is competent, yes, all together you make for a terrifyingly effective strategist. But slaughtering people who don’t know any better because it was kill or be killed isn’t something heroic. It is not magical or fantastic. It is brutal and it is bloody, and when you say that, you wrinkle your nose.

You’re still covered in blood. And gods know what else.

Alfira makes sure to convey her understanding, lets you know that she won’t be composing something wonderful and fantastic. She tells you she wants to make it a cautionary tale; being influenced by powers you cannot see and compelled to perform acts of cruelty yet unmatched. The grit and resolve it takes to prevent such a thing, and the knowledge that sometimes you must choose means for ends you cannot promise. It’s a bit much, but you appreciate it.

You don’t bother letting the rest of your crew, swarmed as they are, know of your departure. You slink off to go collect from Rath, as you had mentioned. Leaving the inner chamber and escaping unnoticed, however, was a significantly greater challenge. As you’re attempting to make a quick escape, you get held up by Zevlor. He offers to pay you for your help—the word makes you grit your teeth—and given that you’re alone and no one else can complain about your decision making, you refuse. Looting the defiled temple had provided you all with more than enough tradeable materials to make for a sizable amount of gold.

And you have a feeling the tieflings are going to be needing whatever they can get their hands on far more than your lot will.

You accept Zevlor’s offer to celebrate your party tonight, if only because you don’t have the heart to turn him down. And maybe also because the idea of drowning your sorrows in several bottles of wine and ale sounds like an amazing idea.

Shadowheart is the only one that spots you trying to make a hasty getaway. She smirks at you before looking away, back to whoever she was conversing with. You let out a sigh of relief and trudge your way back to camp.

By the time you make it by the extinguished fire, you’ve already taken off your breastplate. You feel better already, without the weight of it on your shoulders. Make your way over to your tent and make quick work of the rest. Staring at the pile of metal and leather, you find yourself wishing you knew any transmutation spells. Prestidigitation would be very useful right now.

You disrobe, piling your clothes into a wicker basket, before slipping into your cotton shift. Grab the wicker basket and make your way to Astarion’s tent. You pilfer one of the six bars of soap the man has before making your back back to the waterside. You’d at least like to be clean of blood and dirt and have the possibility of wearing clean clothes if you’re going to be up all night drinking to what you suppose is a job well done.

You let your face screw up in disgust while you scrub at your face with a threadbare washcloth. Evil as goblins may be, you’re still unsure about the near-thoughtless slaughter of the children you found in the dungeons. There’s something off-putting about anything resembling genocide. You let yourself get angry, in between scrubbing your hair with soap and dunking your head in the water to rinse it out. Angry about being in the horrible position of leading a group of people with different ideals, angry about the stupid fucking worm in your head, angry about everyone looking to you for the correct path to take.

“Correct path my left fucking nut,” you spit, flattening your wet hair away from your face. “Like a bard’s supposed to be a moral fucking compass.”

“Well, isn’t that unusual,” you hear from the riverside, and take a moment to close your eyes and brace yourself. You take a deep breath before turning to face Astarion.

“I hardly think bathing is unusual,” you retort back, twisting and wringing the water out of a tunic particularly roughly. “Did you also escape ahead of the tieflings, then?”

Astarion leisurely kicks a log—probably one that was by the fire—before taking a seat a few feet away from the water. He looks... alarmingly clean for someone that emerged from the same hellish depths you have. You don’t listen to his reply, but instead try to remember whose face you remember seeing in the grove. His was not one of them.

A twig hits you in the forehead and stuns you out of your thoughts.

“What in the world was that for—”

“I was asking you a question,” Astarion says, leaning an elbow on a knee and cradling his chin in his hand. “But it seems someone was too preoccupied with my shoulder to properly pay attention to me.”

“I realized you didn’t follow us to the grove,” you trail off, turning back around to continue washing your clothes. You freeze, for a moment, realizing he very well could have seen you sneaking the bar of soap from his belongings. You resume your scrubbing, determined not to bring it up if he doesn’t. Not like Astarion hasn’t pilfered some of your own things before.

“I did,” he replies with all the drama of someone being called a liar. “I simply left once the news had been given that we’d been successful.”

You hum to yourself. “So you left before they even opened the gate to let us in, then.”

You hear a scoff, then, “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“You’re the one who was saying I wasn’t paying attention,” you say with a bit of a huff, twisting and wringing out your trousers before slinging them over your shoulder. “What was the question?”

There’s a long enough pause when you’re scrubbing and rinsing your undergarments that you wonder if Astarion’s just left. You let the clothes fall back into the wicker basket you’d wedged in some tall grass and turn back around.

He isn’t looking at you. You don’t think you ever quite understood the concept of someone looking through you until this moment. Astarion’s gaze is, technically, you suppose, on you. But he seems far away, like recalling a memory he isn’t quite sure how he feels about.

“Well?” you prompt, grabbing the wicker basket and making your way to ground.

“When we spoke, last night,” he starts, and you find he sounds a little unsure of himself. Hesitant, maybe? “When you... let me in.”

You’re not sure if you shiver because of where the conversation is going or because your dripping, waterlogged shift is making you cold. You don’t say anything and wait for Astarion to continue.

“The first night I—when I bit you, what...” he trails off and looks away. His face contorts into something like disappointment, but you’re not quite sure what with. “What is it you were scared of?”

You busy yourself with finding a nice, wide rock, exposed to the sun, to lay your clothes out to try. Do your best to make sure everything is flat and won’t wrinkle.

“I was scared of the same thing any woman would when she wakes to a man looming over her.” You try to keep your voice level and not let the vitriol—the result of equal parts rage and terror that Astarion couldn’t possibly ever have had any hand in—out of your voice. “It wouldn’t have been the first time,” you add quietly.

You turn around to wring the water from the bottom of your shift. You keep your eyes down as you twist the fabric, but catch Astarion standing in your periphery. When you do look up at him, after he’s taken a few steps toward you, something horrible and expanding twists in your stomach.

He looks ashamed, somewhat, but there’s something else in his eyes that takes you a moment to place. It’s understanding, it’s knowing that he had put you in a position that he, himself, is intimately familiar with. It’s the kind of look you seldom ever see on a man. It rends your heart, a little bit.

“Right,” you say suddenly, moving to shake and wring the water out of your hair. “Glad we’ve got that out of the way, so if it’s all the same t—”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion blurts out. Like the impulse to apologize for his transgression was stronger than the need to preserve whatever image he’d constructed himself. “I wouldn’t have—if I’d known—”

“You could have,” you interrupt him in turn. When you look down at your hands, you can see your veins honeycombing in a familiar pattern. You still the shaking in them by picking up the hem of your slip. “I’m not being fair to you, sorry. I can understand why someone in your position wouldn’t have been asking for everyone’s personal circumstance.”

“How—what do you mean by that?” Astarion asks, frowning like he thinks you know something he doesn’t. You shake your head.

“The expectation would have been for you to share your own history,” you explain, making your way to your tent. You pretend you don’t loathe the feeling of dirt and grass stuck to your feet. “Even if you’d lied, that would’ve all been blown away as soon as we got to Bladur’s Gate, wouldn’t it?”

Astarion looks down and away. You shrug your shoulders as he follows you. Busy yourself rolling and tying up the fabric that served as a door to your personal space. You turn your head just in time to see him open his mouth to speak, but whatever he starts saying is lost under Gale’s booming greeting.

“There you are! We were wondering where our fearless, valiant leader had gone!”

You glance over Astarion’s shoulder, where you can see Gale leading your merry band of misfits, before looking back at the man in front of you. He already looks detached and aloof again.

“Suppose I’ll leave you to your social duties then, darling,” Astarion says as way of a parting greeting, and ambles over to his own tent and disappears inside.

You let Gale fill you in on the plan—wherein the tieflings will pack everything up and, on their way out of the grove tonight, will come celebrate their ‘liberation’ with the camp. You sit on the small stool you have set in front of your tent and only half-listen while coming through and braiding your hair.

You don’t see Astarion again until well after the sun has set.

[pursuitseternal]

✨⚔️Chapter 3–“Little Huntress:” update to “Love Me, Hate Me” ⚔️✨Enemies to lovers retelling

Astarion x Tav (Katja) | M chapter | 3.8 K

🎨 by @dafna-winchester

Summary: After being bitten, Katja spends a restless night, learning for once that monsters are sometimes made… not born. One wayfairing stranger makes her confront these feelings, forcing her to question that straighter and narrow view of the Gur… much to Astarion’s delight.

CW: Act 1 spoilers, Astarion’s trauma rears its head, corruption kink incoming, Gandrel scene retelling

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Katja tossed and turned and then tossed some more.

Blood replenished, but her stomach curled in on itself with hate and disgust. At least, yeah, that’s what she thought it was. Sitting up in her dark tent, legs tangled in her bedroll, she stared at her wrist in the dim light of dawn. Those fang marks stared right back at her, angry, red circles ringed in darker flesh from the ice of his bite.

It… wasn’t supposed to feel that good, was it? She flopped herself back down on her other side. Or maybe it was, maybe it was supposed to pull her under his spell, weaken her constitution to make her hot and wet and dripping with the need for his cool touch on her cheek and between her…

“Fuck,” she hissed to herself, kicking her covers off completely. It was no use, she would be miserable tomorrow with no sleep.

Maybe just some fresh air? Just a walk to clear her head… the rest of the revelry had shut down long ago, the fires smoldering. With everyone so drunk, no one stayed awake to stoke it, she realized.

Dangerous. Katja groaned, taking on the responsibility that, once again, no one else noticed. She grabbed some grass, some sticks, poking and feeding the fire until it was strong again. Strong enough to keep the scary monsters away.

“I might have one good eye,” a warm, jovial voice spoke from behind her, “but I can see you got to fire-tending before me.”

Wyll stood calmly behind her, his face turned into that casual, confident grin. It made Katja’s heart steady, even as it made her wrist sting with pain and shame. “Well, I figure if you want something done right… “ She reached far enough over for another log from the pile, the cuff of her sleeve creeping up to reveal those angry, red circles.

Fang marks.

Any monster hunter worth his salt would recognize them.

And Wyll was worth… a lot of salt.

“Katja,” he whispered, watching as she gruffly pulled her sleeve back over the bite wounds. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” came her reply. For once, her cold, distant, grumpy nature worked in her favor and hid the lie. “You should see the other guy,” she made her lips laugh.

“I bet he looks sated, happy, and stronger,” Wyll jested back, folding his arms over his chest. “I may have just joined your party, but I can see the tragic charm of your… friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” she interrupted with vehemence, standing and squaring her shoulders, ready to argue.

But Wyll just laughed, warm and rolling, holding his hands up in surrender. “Easy, Barbarian,” he spoke in jovial tones. “I’m not judging. I might have killed my fair share of monsters and fiends, but never a vampire. Those are harder to find outside their hunting grounds. They don’t make themselves as… dramatically obvious as our companion.”

“Dramatically obvious? You mean loud and annoying,” Katja rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t resist glancing at his rose and scarlet tent where he was trancing.

“At the very least, he might be a menace and an egomaniac with a flair for the dramatic and a penchant for bloodshed, but Astarion isn’t soulless, heartless, or of the infernal persuasion.” Wyll trailed off, a distant look in his one good eye. “You’re not beholding your soul to anything truly evil…”

Katja scowled. “How can you say that?” she scoffed, grinding her own booted toe in the dirt and ash. “Aren’t you the Blade of Frontiers, the best monster hunter on the Sword Coast? You should be appalled at me… tell me I’ll be banished from Selûne’s light just for thinking all the depraved… impure… unholy…”

“Ah, ta, ta,” Wyll stopped her, frantically waving his arms. “I’m a Warlock, not a Priest. I don’t need your confession, by Balduran’s beard.” He shifted uncomfortable on his feet for a moment, and Katja wanted nothing more than to be divinely smitten right then and there.

“Gods… I don’t know what to do,” she sighed, her scarred face looking into the night sky, a canvas for her inner turmoil. “He told me if I let him feed, I can have the head of his Master as a bounty for my tribe. I’ll be Chief Hunter for sure, but…” That face grimaced with something other than pain.

“Katja,” Wyll spoke softly, assuringly. “I’ll be the first to admit ignorance on the ways of the Gur, but I do know one thing about battles— the enemy of my enemy is my….” He gave a flourish with his hand, waiting for her to finish the tried and true phrase.

Katja just waited, dark eyes wide and waiting on his wisdom. “What?” she asked, a few beats of silence later.

“Seriously?” Wyll’s face broke into a goodhumored and skeptical grin. “Friend. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Astarion is not… my friend,” Katja’s hackles bristled at the mere insinuation. Again.

“It’s a phrase? Like, choosing the lesser of two evils?”

“Why would I want a lesser evil?” Katha shook her braided head. “I want the no-evil-option.”

Wyll gave a heavy sigh. “What I mean is… maybe Astarion isn’t as he appears at first. Some monsters are born…. Others are made.”

That made her pause, her little nose scrunching, her blonde head tilting. Her dark eyes darted to Astarion trancing on his bedroll in front of his tent. Even from here, she could see the little rise and fall of his chest, taking sleepy breaths he technically didn’t need. His fingers curled into that shape Elves did. His pointed ears twitched in his reverie, whatever he relived in his meditations clearly affected him. His jaw clenched, and those breaths came faster and more frantic.

She hadn’t even noticed that Wyll had withdrawn to sit by the fire, or that her feet had led her closer to observe Astarion in his rest. He muttered to himself, names and grunts that sounded half-formed in his throat. If she crouched… yes, if she crouched she could hear names— Dal… Petras… Violet… Cazador. That last one was a snarl on his lips as his eyes flashed open. His breath was too quick, his eyes dark and dilated with rage, and… were those tears pooling in the corner of his eyes?

Unsure what came over her, but she reached out to soothe that pain. Katja pressed a hand to his own, only to get a face full of fangs and death-cold breath as he pinned her under him in the dirt.

“What are you doing?” he snarled, his thighs trapping her waist, his hands grabbed tight on her wrist and the other now on her throat. But in two blinks of his eyes, he released her. Her hands and throat at least. He raised himself up, a smirk on his sweaty face as he kept her pinned beneath his legs.

“And here I thought I was the nightcrawler that slipped into beds to seduce the sleeping…” he purred, but his voice seemed a little tight, less velvety than his usual simpering tones. “What’s wrong, darling? Come for a cuddle?”

“Get off me. I was just trying to help,” she snarled, pushing on his belly and thrashing beneath him.

“Oh, I bet you were,” he leaned down again, “in fact I can think of something very hard you could help me with… maybe a few times….”

Katja stared at him, neither angry nor submissive. Just those dark eyes boring up into his face as she stilled. “What was your nightmare about?”

Astarion froze for the splittest second. Then he breathed a laugh. “I wasn’t having a…”

“Who’s Dal and Petra’s and Violet?” she interrupted.

A reluctant groan, and he slipped off her, settling with one knee bent into his chest, his head tilted back to look into the stars. “My siblings,” he muttered after a moment. “Not… not my literal siblings, mind you, the other six spawn Cazador sired.” For that moment, as the moonlight bathed his pale skin, making his silver hair glow as if it were kissed by the stars, Katja’s heart stopped. He could have been any ordinary seductive Elf, with his mouth shut and his eyes closed.

Sitting up, she waited for more. But he didn’t offer anything, not yet.

“Why were you crying and thrashing and…”

“Alright, enough, you intrusive vagrant,” Astarion leveled his crimson glare at her, unamused… well maybe a little amused. “Cazador would send me and my six siblings into the city to bring him victims, we… couldn’t say no, compelled by him and his every dark whim. I had to lure his prey back to the palace by every means necessary, most especially with the gifts I was given…” He gestured dramatically the whole length of his body, from shimmering grey hair, to his bare chest, to the tips of his unclad toes. “If we failed, or disobeyed, or resisted, he would torture us… or even compel us to torture ourselves.”

His hand gripped around hers like a vice, pulling her closer as he twisted around. “You were too busy hating my undead guts to probably notice, but here…” As he turned, he placed her hand on the back of his shoulder. Rises and ridges, jagged and rough script circled in scars across his whole back.

“Moonmaiden’s light…” Katja whispered in shock.

“More like Cazador’s sadism,” Astarion scoffed in derision. “It’s a poem, composed and carved in my flesh one night, punishment for nothing more than the fact I existed.”

Katja couldn’t help herself, her fingers running over the weird shapes and whorls of his cool flesh. “Reason enough for nightmares…” she murmured.

Astarion turned once more, his finger tracing down her own jagged line in her cheek’s flesh. “Well, you told me of your scars,” he shrugged, almost gently, “I figured maybe I could do the same, since we do have our little… understanding now.” That look of vague kindness shifted, twisting back into that smirk of suave seduction. “And… I might have noticed that you didn’t stab me in the back, given the opportunity.”

“Don’t hold your blood-stinking breath, vampire,” Katja scowled in that little way of hers. “Just because I’m not killing you doesn’t mean I like you.”

“I’d be offended if you did like me, or if you stopped having murderous thoughts about me,” he crooned.

Katja grinned, turning her head and brushing her hands together to hide it as she stood. “Night,” she bid politely. Too politely.

His hand gripped hers roughly from her side. His thumb tracing over the fresh mark. “I think that tortuous nightmare left me… strained,” he purred, voice smooth as Cormyran silk. “You wouldn't mind soothing me a bit more with one last nibble, would you?”

Katja clenched her teeth, begrudgingly sitting back down on his bedroll. Their bodies decently far apart, she judged with a satisfied smile.

His bite was no less painful this time… nor less pleasurable. She tried to hide the way her back arched, concealing that tiniest clench of her thighs and her cunt. But more unnerving was how he just… stared at her.

He only took a few polite swallows before his tongue jutted out to lick the puncture wounds closed. “Finished?” she sniped at him, pulling her wrist away with white hot hostility.

Astarion just smiled and licked his lips, dabbing a finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “For now, my little treat,” he replied, a voice of silken seduction and venom all at once. “Don’t forget to say your prayers before you sleep,” he called, that sadistic lilt in his honeyed voice.

And Katja grumbled as she slapped her tent flap closed behind her. “Moonmaiden, deliver me…” came her prayer.

As she wrapped her hand around those icy wounds in her wrist, she ignored the needling thoughts in her brain… Did she really want to be delivered from this… from him?

The next morning was filled with acrid bog stink and rot. Katja could sense it, the Hag’s lands rife with dark magic meant to eat you alive. No way in the nine hells would she let some Hag offer her a cure. Gods…. If she thought about it long enough, she realized this was one story she could never tell to her tribe.

If she ever saw them again, that was.

It was just one monster after another… infecting her, helping her, possibly curing her… fucking and feeding from her….

With that though, Astarion turned his head, smirking over his shoulder. Fuck, Katja wondered, was he listiening through the tadpole?

A nice solid glower only made him scowl in return before focusing back on the road ahead. Katja took that as a victory. She’d show him she wouldn’t cow to all his demands; she might agree to make him stay strong with the boon of her blood, but he wouldn’t order her or control her… or dominate her…

Oh, that last one made her shiver just a little. Swallowing, she forced away the ghosts of his touch on her body and the memory of his mouth on her skin. Focus on finding the Hag, she reminded herself. Focus on the vapors of the bog and that stink of powdered iron vine…

Powdered iron vine? She froze in her tracks and squinted up the hill. “Astarion,” she hissed.

“Yes darling?” he turned and walked backwards, hands gripped into the straps of his pack, “I thought you were pretending I didn’t exist, too ashamed of your lover of a Vampire Sp—”

Katja lurched forward and clapped her palm over his sneering, ignorant mouth.

“What the hells do you think…” he muttered and hissed under her grip.

“Ah, stranger,” a warm voice bid them as a traveler approached them. “Forgive the aroma… Powdered…”

“Iron vine, yes,” Katja interrupted as she awkwardly released Astarion’s mouth, lips that now gaped in disgusted surprise. “Kushti divvus,” she greeted, guessing which dialect of her people he might speak.

Another Gur.

Apparently she guessed correctly as he eased his stance. This Gur was stocky, built for the hunt and the glory of their people. Surely he was the best of his tribe, and by the necklaces and strands of bone trophies and beads on his belt, he always got his quarry. Forcing a smile, she made every sinew in her body follow suit. If he suspected the monster she kept as company… Well, there would go her only chance to use him for Cazador’s head, for her own pride and promotion and future. A prize like that would serve her far more than some weather beaten old coot.

“A fellow child of Selûne here?” the stranger grinned, hands on his hips as his weathered, tanned face grinning wider.

Katja grunted, careful to show deference to an elder. “The scent of iron vine is not unfamiliar to a younger hunter,” she bowed her head. About to reach her hand out in greeting, her gaze caught the fleeting sight of those infernal bite marks. Shame seared through her, and she stuck it in her pocket. “Are you hunting so far out from tribe lands?”

Astarion’s honey voice took that tone that jeered with all the snark in his undead soul. “Pfft, is every Gur a monster hunter? How quaint you have more purpose than just vagrant cutthroats…”

Katja shot him a look, one that was supposed to do as much damage as her axe, one he wasn’t supposed to just blow off with that well-practiced, easy smirk of his. “Ignore the Elf,” she stressed the last word, “he talks too much.”

“Fairest and wisest beings are not my quarry,” the stranger arched a dark brow. “My name is Gandrel, and I am indeed seeking a monster, a Vampire Spawn, in these lands. His name is Astarion, and I am to bring him back with me to my tribe. I hope that the Hag of these lands will help me flush him out after the sun sets tonight.”

“Is that wise? Using one monster to trap another?” Katja folded her arms, insolence edging her tone. “If he’s just a Spawn, why risk more of your soul to seek aid from a disgusting Hag?”

Gandrel paused, his dark eyes skimming over the short little Barbarian, that glance quickly taking in each of her companions. Then, he scanned her up and down, no detail would be missed, not with his wizened experience. His brow furrowed in suspicion, his gaze was quick and sharp.

Shit.

“Did your elders not teach you respect, child?” Gandrel suddenly shifted onto his toes. “Your own presence in these lands is… curious, too young and insignificant to be on your own hunt. Which begs me to ask you… how did you come by those fang marks on your wrist?”

Katja could feel Astarion coiling like a spring beside her.

“They are fresh,” Gandrel’s thick, cracked lips turned in a chilling half smile. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say they were given out of… familiarity. The wrist isn’t a Spawn’s first choice of bite unless they mean to draw out the life of their victim for reasons of torture, mercy, or affection.”

Katja’s pulse was deafening. The burn of shame was immeasurable, only outmatched by the swirling, gut dropping angst that churned in her belly to think that another Gur would take Astarion from her. He was hers… her prize that was. Her chance at the head of a Vampire Lord.

Fuck this guy, she decided.

“Well, Astarion,” Katja gave the Vampire a twisted smirk. “Which one is it?”

The Pale Elf suddenly flexed his muscles, a wide and wicked smile on his face, catching the scent of ambush in the air. “Torture, it’s the torture one,” he purred. “Just to be clear.” Unsheathing his daggers, he bowed his head in mock submission. “Together, my little vagrant?”

“Impossible,” Gandrel’s eyes went wide. “But… the sun!” His panic set in, the inconceivable truth of a daywalking Spawn all but shattering that experienced air.

“The only thing impossible is your survival,” Astarion purred, running a finger down the sharp edge of his blade. “I’m going to enjoy this…”

Only once he was licking Gur blood off his dagger did Astarion finally catch his breath. They paused just off the path, cleaning their blades and resting before finding the same Hag their unwanted intruder had sought. He watched Katja as she knelt by the Gur’s corpse. Rudely, she had denied him feeding from this foe, and his curiosity had gotten the better of him. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as she muttered prayers, placing two coins over his lifeless eyes before standing once more.

It was almost picturesque, this scene of pious devotion and tradition. Two things he loathed. And because they were Gur practices, why that only made him loathe it more.

She took her sweet time standing in that congealing pool of blood before she moved once more. A few paces away, and she stopped and turned to use one of a few spells her tough Barbarian brain knew. “Arde!” she called, and the corpse burst into a mass of flames. Their enemy was no more, just ash and smoke.

Astarion sat back on his heels, narrowing his eyes. Katja was a curiosity, a conundrum he couldn’t quite pick apart. And it irked him to no end. What started as a small way of exacting his revenge against a whole people on one little girl now became… complicated.

He hated the Gur, those cutthroats that took their ignorance out on him one fateful night outside of the Magistrates’ offices. The night he died in this world. Shuddering at the memory, he forced himself to assess this blonde braided beauty more carefully. She stood in a silent vigil, mumbling her Selûnite prayers one after another. She looked so… immaculate, pious, untouchable. Pure. It made his stomach lurch into his throat. In excitement, in anticipation.

A thought niggled the back of his mind, that part of him, ruthlessly cruel and oh so skilled at manipulation, plotted long and hard. Those thoughts reverberated with the notion of how much fun it could be to show her just what she missed on that straight and narrow path of the Gur.

A little corruption would go a long way, he smirked. Besides, he owed her a good time after taking his side.

He suspected her ambition protected him, her need to keep him alive so she could claim Cazador’s death as her final offering to become chief hunter… or whatever those backwater people called it. He didn’t care, so long as someone helped him kill that bastard.

Ever the conundrum, she stepped into the ashes, kicking them up with her boots. As all the dust had settled, then she reached in and retrieved those same two coins.

That… that made him smile. “Well,” he purred and resheathed his dagger, “perhaps there’s some hope for you after all. I was beginning to think you were no fun at all.”

“Why waste two coins?” she harrumphed, putting them in her pocket. “He’s not going to need them in paradise.”

“Yes, yes,” Astarion purred. “Eternal rest grant unto him, etcetera etcetera…” Those crimson eyes leveled at her, all brimming with primal hunger.

Katja shuddered, trying very hard not to feel like a mouse in a trap. Trying hard to remember she was the hunter.

“You know, I could show you a different sort of paradise.” He crept closer on silent feet, the tip on his tongue dabbling the teeny corner of his lips. “You wouldn’t even have to go through death to reach it, perhaps just a little death… once or twice if you’re very responsive.”

Katja’s scarred face twisted into a perplexed frown. “How can anyone die a little?” she sneered.

Undeterred, he grabbed that bitten wrist, pressing his full, smirking lips to that pulsing vein beneath. “Oh my dear, I’m glad you asked. My tent, tonight. Once the others are asleep, I’ll make sure you are thoroughly illuminated, my little huntress.”

[thechaoticdruid]

[This Bites] (1)

Pairing: Astarion x F! Chubby! MC

Plot: Through some mysterious and very miraculous events, a young woman finds herself literally stuck with a character from her current video game obsession. You can guess it already. It's an isekai type fanfic. Except in this case Astarion is stuck in our modern world.  I was gonna call the MC Tav, but since the actual game character Tav is mentioned I just named her Winnie. 

Content Warnings: Death….sorta, An asshole of a stepdad, MC uses She/Her pronouns, eventual smut and sexual content in future parts. Characters may be Ooc, grammar/spelling mistakes are possible. MC has very low self esteem. Depressed MC.

Chapter One: You are here!

Chapter Two: Here!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Argh I knew something would go wrong with this game!” The female huffed, staring down at her computer. Her eyes scanned over the error message titled ‘Character not found.’ She gritted her teeth in frustration. “God forbid I try mods….” 

The young woman groaned, shutting her laptop and falling back onto the bed. Apparently after finally installing a cheat mod onto Baldur's Gate 3 the game decided to retaliate and locked her out of her save files. She couldn't even create a new character either! The same ‘Character not found’ message seemed to pop up no matter what she did. The girl’s name was Winnie, a college student in her early twenties who was still living at home. Not too long ago Winnie had gotten the game upon release. She'd played it several times since then and even yet was still able to find some hidden secrets she didn't notice the first time. Honestly this game had really helped with her current state. Life had just been dull and miserable. All her friends had moved on and had their own lives now and she really wasn't the best at making new ones. 

She had a dull boring job, did online writing classes and also had to put up with the asshole her mother married. This game had been a godsend for her these past few months. It gave her an escape. A way to be someone else, at least for a little while anyway. 

Not to mention live out her somewhat cringey teenage girl fantasy of dating a walking red flag of a vampire. In this game she felt important. Like she was some badass heroine who was ready to take on any foe.  Not the shy, scared, awkward woman who she saw in the mirror.

Her cat Maddie broke Winnie from her thoughts as she hopped up onto the bed and crawled onto the young woman's chest. Winnie ran her hand over the cat's thick fluffy black fur.  Maddie gave a small mew before purring noisily and gently kneading her claws into Winnie’s chest.

Winnie sighed, scratching the sides of Maddie's face as she was soothed by the feline’s pur. 

“WINNIE! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!!” A gruff male voice shouted from the other room, causing Maddie to jump and scramble off of Winnie and hide under the bed. 

The brunette haired girl sighed and got up, walking out of the room and cautiously stepping down the hall. 

“Yes, Brian?” Winnie spoke up as she entered the kitchen.  She looked over to see her stepfather stumbling about. Brian was a rather large man with short dark hair and beard. He was well….very unpleasant.

“Where are the goddamn car keys?” He growled out. 

“Dunno, I don't drive.” Winnie said calmly as she leaned up against the wall, “mom probably put them somewhere. Check the coffee table by the recliner.” 

Brian stomped off, a tiny tan fluff of a dog following after him.  He grabbed the keys before walking back into the kitchen. 

“I'm going to the store. Keep that stupid cat of yours in your room! It keeps shitting all over the carpet!” 

“I've told you over and over. Maddie only goes in the litter box. It's your dog that keeps making a mess in the house because you don't take him outside when he needs to go.” Winnie rolled her eyes.

“Don't fucking talk back to me! You're lucky your mother lets you stay here, if it was up to me you'd have been kicked out of here a long time ago.”  Brain snapped, making Winnie flinch a little at his tone.  “Now make sure the trash is taken out before I get back.” He said before stomping out the front door and slamming it behind him.  Winnie flinched once again at the loud sound before letting out a sigh and pulling the trash out of the can despite the fact that she distinctly remembered her mother telling Brian to take it out this morning. 

Winnie took out the trash before coming back inside heading back to her room. Her eyes scanned over her laptop as Maddie crawled out from under the bed.  She walked back over and opened the device, logging herself on before attempting to open her game back up.

[Character not found.]

Winnie groaned before filling out a bug report and then putting her computer up. She needed to get ready and go to work anyway. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~

A few days had passed and nothing seemed to work. Winnie had disabled and deleted all the mods, sent in about a dozen but reports and still nothing. The only thing left she could try now was uninstalling the game and then reinstalling it. 

Winnie sat on the bed waiting patiently for the game to download though she knew it would at least take an hour. She pulled out her cellphone, noticing a text from her mother. The message was informing Winnie that Brian and her mom wouldn't be home until late tonight. At least this meant she'd have plenty of peace and quiet in the meantime. The young woman spread out on her bed, stretching her limbs before slowly closing her eyes, resting lazily.

Time passed as she slowly dozed off…Eventually she was awoken by the sound of beeping? It was some strange noise that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She quickly looked over to her laptop and her eyes widened as she noticed it seemed to be going crazy. Blinking and beeping.

“What the fuck!?” She exclaimed, grasping her computer and frantically clicking the mousepad. 

Then the screen went black before seemingly returning to the home screen. However, everything on the computer was gone save for one shortcut. Baldur's Gate 3.

The game’s shortcut sat in the very center of the computer, practically screaming at Winnie to click on it. She clicked it and the game opened up. 

Everything seemed to go as normal up until the title screen.  Winnie’s eyes widened in shock as she noticed all of the menu options were gone aside from (New Game).  She raised an eyebrow before clicking on the only option available and waiting as the opening cinematic played. Everything continued as it usually did. Winnie created her Tav, a human druid with an urchin background, then proceeded to hop into the game. 

Winnie did a bit of a speed run, moving through the Nautiloid as quickly as she could. She recruited Us, Lae'zel and freed Shadowheart before reaching the helm and crashing the ship.

Upon reaching the ravaged beach was when things began to get strange. 

The game buffered and blinked a bit, skipping the scene where Tav would check themselves out followed by some voiced narration. Tav was kinda just there on the beach. 

“Oh God. The game is glitching….” Winnie whined. She sighed in annoyance before clicking on the ground where she wanted Tav to walk. Winnie REALLY did not feel like uninstalling the game and waiting another hour to try again so she decided she'd play for as long as the game would allow.  Winnie had Tav wander over towards where Shadowheart would normally be laying after crash, only to find an empty space where the half elf should be.  Winnie groaned assuming it was another glitch before continuing on along the beach. While most things were there like the dead bodies and the intellect devourer enemies, Winnie did not see any sign of Shadowheart at all. Not even near the ruins where she'd be if she wasn't rescued by the player.  Winnie decided to quickly go and look for the other characters, sneaking her way past the little brain creatures and moving down the path where Astarion, the elven rogue companion, would be waiting to ambush the player.  He was Winnie’s favorite. She had a soft spot for sassy morally grey characters with tragic backstories. And he was also secretly a vampire to boot which just added to the appeal.  Winnie had her Tav approach the area before she let out a sigh of relief seeing as the vampiric elf was in his starting area shouting for help like normal. At least the game wasn't completely broken.

“Hurry I've got one of those brain things cornered.” Astarion’s dialogue began as soon as Tav got close enough to interact with him.  “There in the grass, you can kill it can't you? Like you killed the others?” 

“Uh….I kinda actually didn't kill any of them…Heheh.” Winnie chuckled before dragging her mouse over the dialogue choices.

1. [Easily, stand back.]

2. Kill it yourself. You seem capable.

3. Leave

Winnie clicked on choice 1 before her Tav walked over to check the tall grass for the intellect devourer that was actually non-existent. 

Instead a wild boar leapt from the grass and made Tav jump in surprise, giving Astarion the perfect opportunity to strike. He pinned the druid to the ground, pressing a dagger to her neck.

“Shhh…Shhh….Not a sound…Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” The vampire practically purred out.  Winnie blushed, a shiver going down her spine. There was a reason she always found herself choosing the elven vampire as her character’s love interest. Initially when she first got the game she felt he came off as a pompous prick (which he is) but damn he was so fucking seductive. It drove Winnie absolutely mad. Not to mention it helped given he had sweet delicious character development later on in his story and actually could be kind of a sweetheart… To the player at least.  

The romance in this game had to be Winnie’s favorite aspect of it. She was very romantically inexperienced to say the least and this just added to what made the game her perfect escape from reality. It made her feel like someone actually liked her. Winnie prepared to select the next dialogue choice when suddenly she noticed they had changed. 

1. [……….]

2. ………..

3. ……….

4. ……….

She looked up and saw a smirk form on Astarion's lips, his eyes appeared as if he was staring back at Winnie from through the screen. Before she could speak Astarion slit Tav's throat and let them drop onto the ground.

“What. The. Fuck.” The brunette haired female went pale as she stared at her computer screen. Astarion sighed in what sounded like relief?

“Finally, we've done that old song and dance so many times! The novelty has completely worn off.” He stretched out his arms, before wiping his dagger on the ground. “It feels so invigorating to try something new, wouldn't you agree?” 

“Uhh…..What's going on?” Winnie asked aloud. She was shaking a bit in both confusion and a little fear.  Her character was kinda just laying on the ground dead…and Astarion was talking….to her!?

“Oh dear, it seems I've gone and frightened you. Ahaha!” Astarion chuckled before appearing to move closer to the screen, even going so far to place his hand on it…

“Hello darling…”

[emeritus-fuckers]

Ohhh the Direct headcannons were so good!!Thank you for feeding me,but I would like to know what do you think he would be like if he was a yandere

The Director as a yandere

TW: mentions of suicide.

He/him pronouns used for the Director.

You know how in DND vampires can't love, the most they can do is obsess? (All my DND knowledge comes from people explaining things in Baldur's Gate 3 with actual DND lore on TikTok btw)

Yeah, he's no exception. He might only be a dhampir, but it's still a thing with him. He doesn't love.

In all fairness, he doesn't really obssess at first, either. You're just one his many puppets.

He pulls on your strings, ruins you, has fun.

And then he plans to discard you, just like all the rest.

Somehow, though, you managed to keep his attention. Not on purpose, of course, but you've made yourself... entertaining.

And so he decided to keep messing with you until he got bored of you.

Except... he didn't. He just got more and more into messing with you.

Eventually, he just... becomes a prominent figure in your life. A life that he chose to make very... entertaining.

Entertaining for him, naturally. For your side of things, a better term would be fucking miserable.

He basically pushes you to the very limit, almost driving you to end it all because of how bad he made it.

And then he actually makes an appearance. He allows you to see him. Not as your tormentor, but as a savior.

He builds you up, just like he burned you down.

And he still pulls the strings behind your back, making you miserable.

Naturally, you end up clinging to him more and more.

And he'll keep it that way, as long as your reactions are amusing enough.

If they stop keeping his interest, he relishes in destroying you completely.

He even visits your funeral, just to chuckle and leave you in the ground.

In a few weeks, he won't even remember your name.

~

Written by Nosferatu.

[hornyjail23]

Reaching nearly 100f\38c where I live so thinking of best and worse partners to have in summer.

Werebeast\yeti\sasquatsh-just as miserable, if not more so, than you with the heat. Sleeping is the only relief from the heat but falling asleep is difficult. Also, they may be in heat and just want to fuck and how your are not dressed doesnt help. Good news is if the get wet, they stay nice and cool for a long time.

Vampire - one of the best as they are always nice and cool. The problem is with your extra heat radiating off you drives them wild and the shorter nights. They do complain however of how they can smell your scent in the coffin as they try to sleep.

Swamp beast\tentacles\frogmen-nice as they are always cool too thanks to the water they constantly need. But the extra humidity they bring is sometimes unbearable.

Mothman- only out at night when it's the coolest. Can use their wings to fan you. They also love your body heat and sweat.

Demon-one of the worse in summer. No matter how hot, they have had hotter and is still comfortable. They also radiate heat making it worse. And if you are spending your time naked or nearly naked, they can't keep their hands off of you.

Angel-nice as they are always the perfect temperature regardless of season. They can also fan you with their wings but can also provide daytime shade unlike mothman. They may complain that it's sinful to be dressed so scantily if you are wearing any clothes at all, "well if God didn't want my bits flopping around, he shouldn't have made it so hot."

Alien- depends greatly on the type of alien. Some love the heat, others are dying from such intense sunrays. Regardless though, they should be able to rig up some nice tech to improve your ac. But this may raise your utility bill a lot. Once this is done, you and them may be more ready for some probing.

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

Can I request Ashley x Vampire male reader please?

Ooohhhh

CW: Light Stalking and Forced feeding of blood

Ashley Graves x Male!Vampire Reader

You’ve seen a lot in your time on this miserable earth

War, famine, weirdos in power alike

…but Ashley Graves is….certainly something

Nightly hunt for blood led you to the secret meeting place of the Cultists.

You fully intended stealing the stale blood they used for the summoning circle when something….fresh caught your attention

You peered around the corner, your nose being your main guide as the fresh scent of blood filled it. Though the animal blood would serve- fairly decently, it was the equivalent of a sad TV dinner. You had assumed the hooded figures left, having done their little dance and went about their day- but no. One figure remained…

…and two- goth people?

The smaller of the two goths, a woman with pink eyes and black hair tied into a messy ponytail, sliced the hand of the cultist- who seemed far too eager to have their blood taken from them. Your eyes narrowed as her and the other goth- a man with shaggy bangs and green eyes- went over the circle in the fresh blood. It appalled you to see them waste such a thing.

The horrid music began, causing you to flinch back and cover your ears from the assault. How could any demon be summoned with that?!

From the muffled music you barely made out the demonic scream as the demon left, and with it the music. You blinked, slowly accepting that it was safe to uncover your ears when you peered back around the corner. The cultist was upset, about something or other- but the goths were….unphased.

Especially the smaller one.

The hooded man left in such a huff he didn’t notice you, and if he did he didn’t care. You looked back and the two were making their way to the elevator.

Mortals like this were too interesting to pass up…

So you stalked them. Their motel room was close by, and they went back in…

But- came right out with their stuff?

Confused, you began to follow them again only to bump into someone also tailing them.

They didn’t spot you, far too focused on following the pair into the park

Trailing behind the person, they hid themselves in the foliage

….free meal!

Andrew stood in stock horror at what he was watching. Gun held at the ready, but too much of a pussy to pull the trigger.

You were hunched over the now dead body of the hitman that had been chasing him and his sister. Far too engulfed in your meal- he hadn’t spotted you.

“Andddrreeewwww! Did you get him?” Ashely peered over his shoulder, her own eyes widening a bit.

The new voice caused you to look up from your meal. Hunched over like a goblin, you gave the siblings a stare akin to that of a dog that was chewing something he shouldn’t. Silence filled the air until Ashley broke it.

“Can we keep him?”

Andrew protested and protested- but Ashley made up her mind with you

A guard vampire! Every girl’s dream!

You were not happy being considered this girl’s “pet”- but frankly this woman terrified you.

Her reactions to things most mortals would flee in terror towards was….indifferent. If anything she was giddy

She even asked if you were going to share the hitman

So you became her “pet”. Her guard vampire

You were instructed to wait in the car as the Graves siblings took care of their parents- you were okay. The AC was on and you were listening to your favorite music.

Ashley inevitably came back though, alone and upset

“It’s so fucking stupid!” Ashley was leaning with her back against the van, her arms crossed under her chest as she glared down at the ground. The window had been opened and you folded your arms over the lip of window slot, listening to her woes, “Andrew is practically sucking mom’s dick, I thought the quarantine would’ve made him on MY side, but nooooooooo!”

“Your mother..” you finally spoke up, “We don’t like her?”

“Oh we hate the bitch!” Ashley confirmed, “But, I have a plan. One Andy can’t say no to!”

You lazily hung your arm over the car door like a cat, “And that isssss?”

Ashley gave you a devious look, mischief glinting in her eyes.

“You hungry?”

Unlocking the car and leading you to the Graves Family home, Ashley invited you in

Good cause you couldn’t have entered if she didn’t

Once again you were instructed to wait, this time in the basement, while she coerced Andrew into her plan

It wasn’t long til she was leading her mother down there, holding her at gun point

If she had anything to say to you, she couldn’t due to the weapon being held at her head

You so desperately wanted to jump the bitch and feast then and there, but Ashley had other plans.

Eventually her father joined, and Andrew had to take care of something while Ashley set up another ritual

“When it comes to mothers Ashley, I am a fucking Saint!” Mrs Graves hissed, leaning forward against her restraints to make her point.

You narrowed your eyes at her from your perch on the washing machine. You knew nothing about this whore, but you liked none of what you were hearing.

“Leave my mistress’ name out of your mouth.” You shot daggers at the bounded mother, if you can even call her that.

“And that thing!” She shouted to Ashley, “What even is that?”

“My pet!” She crossed her arms nodding, you nodded too- far too proud of that title, “You and dad wouldn’t let me get one so I got one myself.”

Mrs Graves’ eyes narrowed, her pupils darting between you and Ashley, “You…can’t be serious.”

“I am! Wanna see me feed him?”

The gears were turning in Ashley’s head, you could tell her primary thought was “How fucked up can I make this so my mother freaks out”. And she seemed content with where she landed. She took the knife she has used to cut into the meat bags, and carefully sliced into her hand. She turned to you, beckoning you down from your perch.

The new scent of blood made your mouth water, pupils dilating at the sweet scent. You hopped down from your perch, approaching Ashley. Before you could open your mouth to say something, she forced her cut into your mouth.

You choked on her blood, it overwhelming your tastebuds. Your hands clasped around her wrist, eyes cracking open slightly. Your eyes met Ashley, her glare telling you that if you pulled away- you would regret it. Knowing how this was going to go, you closed your eyes again and did your best to swallow the blood.

Her parents rightfully freaked out by what they saw, Ashley pulled her hand away and finally let you breath

Andrew soon returned, and things went about. The card limit was no more, the talisman was recharged, and Ashley made the 3 of you a lovely soup.

A part of you feared this woman, while the other part held nothing but respect and adoration for the fucked up mess she was

This started as “haha vampire follows the Graves Siblings” to “You are now her pet”- which ya know, is an appropriate amount of fucked up given this game. Hope you enjoyed dude, love your incorrect quotes <3

[borathae]

↳ Index [Chapter 18 - Chasma]

• Chasma (Latin, chasm)

Warnings: violence, like a lot of violence, graphic cursing, big sad, fear of abandonment, suicidal thoughts & self-hatred, lots of hurt & comfort moments sprinkled in between, there is more hurt than comfort though 

Wordcount: 11.5k

a/n: :(

You wake before Yoongi. He has his back turned to you. His legs are pulled to his chest and his hands are between his knees. He looks small like that and on other days you would have called him cute. But this morning it feels wrong to call him cute. You feel like you don’t deserve to call him like that.

You don’t think you have ever seen him in so much distress before.

Last night ripped you apart.

How he touched you with shaking hands, how his voice almost broke with every word he spoke, how he cried so miserably.

It is burned into your memories and haunts you.

You feel awful. You feel so fucking awful that your stomach aches and you feel close to throwing up.

You never thought about how he feels about you offering your blood willingly. Not because you wanted to be selfish, but because you always considered that act to be something between you and Taehyung. And after all, there are many things you and Yoongi share which you don’t share with Taehyung either. Not because you want to keep secrets from him, but because you want to keep some things between you and Yoongi to keep them feeling as precious as they are. And that was also how you felt about giving Taehyung your blood in intimate situations. It was a precious moment between you and him and you wanted to keep it that way. But now Yoongi knows and having seen just how easily you broke him with that confession, makes you realise that maybe just maybe this carried far more importance to it than you initially thought.

The things you keep from Taehyung are moments where Yoongi naps in your lap, moments when you and him cuddle for hours, moments when Yoongi is a complete cutie or acts silly just for you. Those are the moments you want to cherish and keep a sweet secret between you and Yoongi. But those moments don’t go against the greatest morals of Taehyung. They are innocent moments.

You kept the secret of blood drinking from Yoongi. You kept the fact that you willingly seek out to be weakened by someone. And you know how Yoongi sees it. He feels betrayed. He swears to keep you safe, to fight the world for you and he works tirelessly to keep his promise. And now you revealed to him that you willingly put yourself in danger.

You are aware that Taehyung would have never gone too far and that he sees those moments as romantic, but you also know how you felt last night. You felt cold and weak and really fucking confused. And that makes you realise that you have gone too far.

But what hurts most is knowing that Yoongi feels hurt. You hurt him. You may have hurt him by putting yourself into danger, but what truly sealed the state of his heart was that you did so by letting someone drink your blood. Yoongi said it himself. He may despise most of what vampires do, but what truly makes him hate himself is having to drink blood.

And last night you told him that you don’t see all the effort he puts into not giving in to his urges. You may not have said it that way – hell, you didn’t even mean it that way – but you know Yoongi so well by now. He doesn’t say his truest truth, he can’t say it, but behind his stuttering and shocked looks and shaky breaths lies how truly hurt he is by a situation. 

You didn’t always know. That is why the situation in the prison cell all those long months ago escalated the way it did. But you know by now, because Yoongi has opened his entire heart to you. You know by now, because you are the only person Yoongi sleeps next to. You know by now, because you are the only person to know how his body feels naked. You know by now, because you are the only person who knows how truly silly Yoongi can be. You know by now, because you are the only person who knows that he loves to be the little spoon and that he sulks when you get up for pee breaks and that he also loves hiding his face in your chest when he gets flustered. You know, because Yoongi decided that you are worthy to carry his heart and see him for who he truly is.

And that is also how you know that last night you cracked his heart.

And it rips you apart.

Perhaps it would have ripped you apart even more if you knew that Yoongi had never fallen asleep. And that he used those painful hours to stare at the floor with lifeless eyes and his heart aching so unbearably that he considered turning it all off. It feels as if there was a splinter of cursed wood stuck in his chest and it was killing him slowly. His eyes are so heavy, burning so much. His lungs ache too, struggling to breathe. He also can’t stop feeling cold. It managed to turn his hands icy by now.

He feels hands then. Not his own, because they don’t want to find the energy to move, but yours. Warm and soft. They find their way under his shirt and, as you draw closer to press yourself against his back, find their home on his chest. You wiggled your arm under his head as well, holding him with such strength Yoongi feels how your muscles are tensing.

The touch carries great soothing in it.  

He hears a soft sob then. Not his own, because his voice doesn’t want to work, but yours. Sad and guilty. His hair muffles most of it and as you inhale he feels you tense in the ache of heartbreak.

His hands find energy again. He rests his hand on top of yours.

His voice finds strength again.

“Don’t cry”, he whispers. He feels so broken and yet the thought that you cry breaks him even more. Yoongi knows that he is fucked up for putting himself so low, but he can’t help it. Your tears hurt so much that he wants to fight the spots on which they fell.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. 

“I made you feel as if everything you do for me isn’t appreciated by me, but it is”, you spill tears on his neck as you find refuge in him, “it is, but I made you feel as if it wasn’t and it rips me apart because it was never my intention.”

Your hand leaves his shirt just so you can intertwine your fingers with him.

“I love you so much, holy fuck I sometimes can’t breathe because I love you so much and I broke your heart”, you whimper, “I never wanted to break your heart.”

“I know.”

“Yoongi I just want to be home. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be home and hug in the sitting room and then talk silly stuff. I just want to be home with you.”

Yoongi closes his eyes, but the hot tear still escapes him. He rests his cheek on your hand.

“Me too.”

“Let’s run away. Let’s stop looking for Namjoon. Let’s not tell the others and run away. Let’s go back home. Just you and I.”

Yoongi turns in your arms, looking into your incredibly sad eyes.

“What are you talking about? Don’t say that.”

“All of this went to shit b-because of our stupid journey. I ruined everything.”

“Princess no”, he whispers, “what are you saying?”

“I want to be home. I don’t want to ruin even more.”

“No ___, no”, he speaks softly, “why are talking like this? Don’t say that you ruined everything.”

“But I did. If we never went on this journey, I would have never met Jimin and, and he would have never p-poisoned Taehyung again a-and I would have never hurt you by being so reckless and offering my blood.”

Yoongi furrows his brows at the mention.

“I don’t want to do this anymore”, you shake your head violently, “I don’t want to have someone drink my blood anymore. It, it upsets me so much because I, I realised that, that it hurts you w-when I, I do. And I, I don’t want to do that anymore. I, I don’t, don’t want to hurt you. P-please believe, believe me. Please Yoongi please.”

“Princess hey”, he whispers, pushing you on the mattress softly. He touches your temple. He uses no magic on you for he knows that his touch is enough, “calm down, you’re losing yourself in the emotion.”

He watches you fight your way through the painful thorns of panic. Your eyes are racing from left to right without a destination. So he caresses your temple.

“Come back to me, princess. It’s save to, just come back”, he whispers.

Your eyes lock with his’. Now they have their destination. With him. He has you with him again.

“There we go. You did so well”, he praises you, wiping your tears away.

“Yoongi can you please forgive me?” you ask weakly.

“Yes”, he says without hesitation, “yes I can.”

“Can, can I fix this again?”

“Yes, princess you can.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“What do you need right now?”

He falters, breaking eye contact.

“Don’t ask me that. I don’t know”, he says.

“I’ll do anything.”

He looks into your eyes, meeting determination.

“I don’t know”, he whispers, “I feel hurt and betrayed.”

“I’m sorry”, you croak, feeling your eyes burn in tears.

“I know”, he assures you, “I just need time to get over this.”

“I won’t do it again”, you say, shaking your head, “I don’t want, want to make you feel as, as if I, I don’t know a-about your issues with blood drinking. I, I n-never did it out of spite for you. Please believe me.”

“I know…I guess”, he says, looking away, “I just…fuck princess, let’s just not talk about it anymore.”

He lies down, pressing his hands to his face.

“But then I’ll feel like I fucked it all up.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“You didn’t, ___”, he says with his voice slightly raised. He lifts his hands from his face, looking at your face with widened eyes, “I told you that you didn’t.”

“Oh, okay”, you whisper, pulling back in insecurity. You sit up, “I’m sorry. I’ll just uhm, sorry yeah.”

You want to leave the bed to take a shower, but Yoongi pulls you back, holding your hand impossibly tightly.

“Hey, I’m sorry”, he says softly, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you”, he whispers, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“No, it’s okay”, you say quietly.

He sits up, shimmying closer until your legs are touching and he can place his hand behind your butt to gain closeness that way.

“Let’s go downstairs and see if Kook’s awake already, yeah?” he suggests, “maybe you two could hang out today and sing karaoke again. Maybe Hobi and Seokjin and Emma could join too, I’m sure you would have lots of fun with them.”

“Are you not going to join us?”

“Karaoke is not my type of entertainment. It’s way too noisy.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I’ll meet up with an old friend. Harriett. She has connections to the Koronen coven.”

“What’s the Koronen coven?”

“A very powerful coven of witches. They hate Namjoon.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

“No, she’s rather wary of strangers. Besides, we’re going to a few very dangerous places today. I don’t want you going there.”

“Okay”, you whisper, “but it’s not because you’re mad at me is it?”

Yoongi kisses your cheek and gets out of bed.

“I should be home tonight, but if I’m not you should stay with the others”, he says, avoiding your question that way.

He disappears in the bathroom then and seconds later you can hear the water run. The door he closed and locked.

Yoongi comes out of the bathroom to you lying on the bed. “the bathroom’s empty now, you can take a shower if you want to”, he tells you, walking past you to get some clothes out of his suitcase. He picks out random black pants and a black shirt.

“You should go now, the water’s still warm”, he says, having his back turned to you as he puts on his briefs and later jeans. He closes the zipper and button, finding it quite peculiar that you are so quiet.

He turns, looking at you for longer. Your right hand is covering your eyes and your lower lip is trembling.

“Princess”, he says, hurrying to the bed. He sits down on the edge of it, tugging your hand away. Just as he thought. You are crying.

“Don’t cry, princess.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your fingers are clutching his hand so tightly. They are drenched in anxious sweat.

“Love, hey. Don’t cry.”

“I, I can’t”, you stutter, spilling new tears, “I don’t want to lose you, please don’t leave me Yoongi please.”

“I won’t leave you. Please stop”, he whispers, caressing your cheeks.

You whimper and spill new tears.

“Please ___, stop crying.”

You sob and Yoongi feels so helpless that all he can do is force you to sit up and pull you into a deep kiss. You squeak in surprise, try to breathe, clasp his shoulders. He knows that you are surprised, that maybe he should have asked before, but he just had to kiss you. He didn’t know what else to do.

There were times where he would have left you if you acted that way. Because you overwhelm him in such situations. He doesn’t know what to do to stop your tears and because of it, he becomes nervous and quite frankly just a little bit frustrated with his own inability to console you. Many months ago he probably would have yelled something about you being childish and then ran away, but not these days. He doesn’t want to yell or run away, he wants to know that you actually stopped crying. Because he loves you and knowing that you are upset in any kind of way makes him ache oh so incredibly much.

And so he kissed you. He kissed you because he didn’t know what else to do.

Yoongi pulls back, drying your tears away with his thumbs.

“Stop crying. I’m not leaving you”, he says, staring into your eyes so deeply that he fears he might get lost in them.

“I’m sorry”, you whisper and hiccup quietly, “I’m s-so dramatic.”

“You’re not, just don’t cry anymore please.”

You nod your head weakly, lowering your eyes.

“Come here”, he says and pulls you into his embrace.

You rest against him weakly. Eyes closed and cheek against his naked chest. Your hands are on your own lap, but yearn for a feel of him. Your heart aches just a little bit less because his scent engulfs you and his hug is safe.

“Let’s get you cleaned up now”, he says, standing up with you in his arms.

Yoongi sits you down in the bathtub, turning on the water. He sits down at the edge of it. You clasp him instantly, resting your head on his thigh as he runs his fingers along your temple. You close your eyes. The water is warm, filling up the tub slowly. The sound of it is loud in the small room. 

Yoongi caresses your temple until the water reaches you above your breasts. Then he moves – forcing you to lift your head that way – and turns off the water. He sits back down, cupping your face to tilt your head up. Like this you have to look into his eyes if you wanted to or not. You really wanted to. Even if it makes you tear up instantly, even if the sight of his dark brown, beautiful eyes breaks your heart. They are still so incredibly soft for you. Even if so much pain clouds them.

Yoongi begins soaking your hair and skin in water, using his hand for it while the other still cups your cheek. It is a tedious process, slow, but neither of you mind. Silence surrounds you. Except for the sound of water as he scoops it up, the trickling of it whenever it runs down your head again and the repetition of the two sounds as he soaks you more and more. You both try to ignore how the water becomes redder and redder as time passes. Remnants of last night. Remnants of your biggest mistake and his greatest heartbreak. Now gone from your skin and yet remaining in the water as a cruel reminder. 

When Yoongi finally finished wetting you, you are crying again. Quietly and with too many sniffles escaping you. Yoongi leans down and kisses your forehead, cradling your cheeks as he does. You squeeze your eyes shut, sobbing softly. 

Yoongi straightens up, turning away to prepare shampoo. He foams it up in his palms and turns back to you, spreading it in your hair slowly and gently. 

You can’t bear to look at him. You close your eyes. It hurts so much to know that you hurt him. And it hurts even more because right now, he gives you so much comfort. To be treated so tenderly after everything that happened, it feels like coming home. And this feeling makes you sick in guilt today. 

Yoongi finishes off by running his soapy fingers along your ears, cleaning them carefully. The bubbles crackle quietly in your ears. 

Yoongi lifts his hands and seconds later you can feel warm water trickle over your scalp as he uses the showerhead to wash away the shampoo. He goes slow and precise, making sure to cover your face as he reaches your hairline. The water still manages to run along your paths at some parts, but the feeling is relaxing. A sensation which once again leaves you sick in guilt.  

Yoongi turns the water off and opens the drain. It gurgles loudly as the water becomes less and less. He begins running his fingers over your face, brushing away the water. 

You open your eyes once he reaches your hairline, shivering when he run his fingers over your forehead.

Your gazes meet again. The view breaks your heart. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks wet from tears. 

“Yoongi”, you press out, reaching for his thigh even if that soaks his pants in water. 

“You’re clean now”, Yoongi gets out, voice frail in sadness and hands cupping your face again. Tears roll down his cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry”, you croak, sobbing painfully as you reach up and cup his cheeks. 

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into your touch.

Your foreheads connect, he wraps his fingers around your wrists.

“I’m so sorry”, you whisper shakily.

“I know”, his voice is pitched as he fights a sob. 

The bathtub is empty. The air is cold around you. You shake because of it, but you know that there is so much more which makes you shiver. You are so upset, so angry at yourself, so fucking disappointed.

Yoongi wraps his arms around you and lifts you out of the bathtub. It soaks his clothes but he doesn’t mind. 

He sets you down on the edge and wraps a towel around you, rubbing you dry while your head is resting against his tummy. He lifts you again once your body is dry, carrying you outside so he could dry your hair on bed. Just with a towel to get rid of all the access water. He drapes it over your shoulders once done, looking down at you. 

You claw at the hem of his soaked pants, face contorted in a sob.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t say that anymore. I know.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“Me neither.”

“Yoongi”, you croak.

He places his hands over yours.

“I want you to have a nice day today. So please hang out with the others, I’d feel so much more at ease if I knew you had fun.”

“I can’t”, you shake your head.

“Please try”, he whispers and kisses the crown of your head, “now let’s get you something to eat. Come on, stand up. You can have some of clothes.”

“The really comfy ones”, you say quietly, holding his waist so tightly Yoongi wonders if you would ever let him go again.

“Of course, the really comfy one”, he promises you.

Yoongi was right, Jungkook is already awake when you come downstairs. He is chatting with Hoseok and Seokjin. The breakfast era was empty otherwise, which gave the small room an almost homely feeling to it. As if you owned the place.

It was also probably best that there weren’t other people around. Your conversations shouldn’t meet the ears of unsuspecting humans. 

“Good morning”, Seokjin greets you first, scanning you from head to toe, “are you feeling okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You look kind of sad today.”

Hoseok and Jungkook turn, now inspecting you as well.

Yoongi enters the room behind you. They end up inspecting him as well.

“I’m okay, just slept really badly”, you say.

“Oooh ___”, Hoseok teases, wiggling his brows at you.

“No, it actually wasn’t that.”

“Oh, uhm”, Hoseok’s eyes drift to Yoongi, “are you guys okay?”

“It shouldn’t concern you”, Yoongi hisses, “stop sticking your nose into things that shouldn’t interest you, you nosy fuck.”

Hoseok blinks in confusion. This is the first time Yoongi snapped at him that way. So whatever happened between you and him must be serious.

“Sorry, I was just worried. That’s all.”

“I know”, Yoongi says dryly, “sorry, that was uncalled for, I just…” he looks at Hoseok with tired eyes, “…I’m tired.”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. It’s fine”, Hoseok says with the worry growing in his voice.

“Come on guys, sit with us”, Jungkook offers, “I’m sure some breakfast will do you well.”

“Thank you Kook, that’s sweet of you”, you say.

“I won’t stay. I have people to meet”, Yoongi says.

“Come on hyung, one bowl of cereal won’t hurt”, Jungkook insists.

“No. I don’t like cereal.”

“What? Everybody likes cereal. Hello?”

“I don’t.”

Jungkook huffs out air in frustration. Yoongi’s stubbornness impresses him just as much as it annoys him.

“Well then at least stay for some coffee”, Hoseok offers him.

Yoongi eyes the two vampires with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks at you then and how you look oh so tiny on your chair. He knows it is because you are sad.

“Fine”, he gives in, choosing the chair next to Seokjin to sit on. It is the one facing you.

Jungkook prepares Yoongi a cup and then pushes it over the table. He goes to fill your cup as well, but you deny him with a shake of your head.

“I’ll get tea later, thank you”, you murmur.

Hoseok puts his hand on your upper back, making you turn your head.

“Should I get it for you?” he offers.

“No, it’s okay. Sorry, I’m so weird today”, you say and get up, “I’m going to go myself, it’s okay.”

You turn and leave only to end up colliding with Jimin as he enters the breakfast room confidently. He ends up pushing you to the side, twirling around to study you from head to toe.

“Sorry sweetheart, didn’t see you there”, he says and twirls again to continue his strut to his chair.

You lift your head, meeting Taehyung’s eyes. He studies you from head to toe, looking unsure about how to approach you. You gulp, staring at him with widened eyes. Your heart feels both as if it is standing still and racing.

Holy fuck, why are they here? You could have sworn that they would be clever enough to stay far away from Yoongi at Charles’ place. Do they have a death wish?

“Are you alright?” Taehyung asks, inspecting your neck in case you still carry his bite marks. You obviously don’t, which confuses him. You should be covered in marks and yet you aren’t. Taehyung wonders if Yoongi fed you his blood. He can’t imagine that he did. Yoongi would never feed you his blood, he is too careful for that.

“Yes”, you say, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s a relief to hear. I was really worried for you. I looked for you all night. I only found you because Hoseok answered my texts.”

You don’t know what to say and so you look to the side instead. Hoseok gulps under the intense and angry look Yoongi sends his way. Somehow he gets the feeling that he fucked up, but he has no idea how and why.

“Were you leaving?” Taehyung asks you.

“I was just getting some tea from the vending machine.”

“I see. Shall I accompany you?”

“No”, Yoongi throws in, “sit. Now.”

Taehyung sneaks a nervous glance at Yoongi.

Yoongi rolls his wrist and points at a chair, snapping his fingers just once. His face is stone cold.

“I rather not.”

“Sit”, Yoongi hisses.

Taehyung gulps then drags himself to the chair with a lowered head.

Yoongi stands up and begins rounding the table. He picks up a knife along the way. Hoseok used it to cut his breakfast beforehand. The metal sings on the wooden surface. It glistens dangerously as he twirls it between his fingers.

“Uhm what is happening?” Hoseok asks in a whisper.

“I have no idea”, Seokjin answers him.

 Taehyung’s face collides with the surface. Once. Roughly and loudly. It shakes the entire table, making the porcelain sing loudly.

“Yoongi, what the hell?” you gasp, hurrying to him only to stop when you watch him slam the knife straight through Taehyung’s hand and pin it to the table this way, forcing the younger vampire to scream up in pain. 

“Yo bro, the fuck?!” Hoseok screams and jumps off his chair. 

“Hyung, what are you doing??” Jungkook squeaks out while Emma and Seokjin are too shocked to find words and you scream for Taehyung’s sake.

“Are you fucking insane?” Jimin spits, “what’s legitimately wrong with you, you bastard?”

“Shut the fuck up, Park Jimin. It’s not your turn yet”, Yoongi barks, twisting the knife in Taehyung’s hand which makes him whimper and then cry out in pain.

Jimin closes his mouth, eyeing Taehyung with fear in his eyes.

Yoongi turns back to Taehyung, staring at the side of his face with ruby eyes. He twists the knife again. Taehyung sobs, trying to wiggle away, but failing miserably.

Yoongi leans closer until his lips almost touch Taehyung’s ear. 

“Can you feel it?” he asks with poison in his voice, “can you feel how it’s cutting into your little bitch hand over and over again? It’s fucking torture to heal with a knife in your hand, isn’t it?”

He demonstrates his words by twisting the knife and renewing the wound. Taehyung cries out, clawing at the table with his free hand. 

“Please stop, please”, he begs in snotty sobs.

Yoongi ignores them, dragging Taehyung’s head up with a strong grip around his hair. 

Taehyung is bleeding out of his already healed nose. It was broken once. Yoongi doesn’t let go of the knife, keeping it deep inside Taehyung’s hand. The latter tries to reach for it but gives up when Yoongi twists the blade in warning.

“I was thinking of ways to hurt you all night”, Yoongi whispers darkly, “oh the fucking things I thought of, you have no fucking idea. I thought of peeling the skin off your bastard face, breaking ever single bone in your body and of ripping out your bitch fangs”, he spits, forcing his fingers into Taehyung’s mouth. He claws his jaw apart, making Taehyung gag from how harshly he digs inside his mouth.

His head falls against Yoongi’s stomach, his jaw breaks open as Yoongi uses his strength on him.

“Mngng”, Taehyung lets out, reaching behind himself to hit Yoongi, but the latter barely feels it. His eyes are pitch black, staring down at Taehyung.

“I thought about doing it over and fucking over again until your body couldn’t keep up with healing anymore”, he spits, forcing Taehyung’s fangs to the light with one expert press to his gums. 

Taehyung hits Yoongi harder, fearing for his fangs as the latter wraps his fingers around them. 

“Yoongi, please stop”, you beg in a trembling voice.

“Leave him alone!” Jimin screams, but Yoongi ignores him. He gives Taehyung’s fangs a soft tug. 

“-ease”, Taehyung chokes out and sobs, “-ease ‘on’t.”

“I said leave him alone!” Jimin yells and attacks Yoongi with a pair of chopsticks. He rams them right through the side of his neck, using so much strength they come out the other side of it. Yoongi’s head tilts to the side, but otherwise his body stay unaffected.

“Holy fuck!” you screech, collapsing into Jungkook’s arms as your knees give up in shock.

Yoongi releases Taehyung’s face, stepping back from him for now. He turns to Jimin and rolls his shoulders. Then he growls, tugging the chopsticks out slowly. 

Jimin stumbles back, lifting his hands in defense as he clearly didn’t expect Yoongi to survive such an attack. 

“Wait, wait, listen”, he stutters.

Yoongi twirls the soiled chopsticks in his fingers and rolls his neck. Then he steps closer.

“Wait!”

Yoongi jumps at Jimin and slams the chopsticks right into his eyes. He takes Jimin by a bundle of his shirt to lift him and throw him against the wall. Jimin stays down once he fell, wheezing for air as his trembling fingers claw at his ruined eyes.

“It’s not your fucking turn yet, you impatient fucking bitch”, Yoongi spits and turns back to Taehyung.

He grabs him by his hair, tugging his head back.

“Where were we? Oh yeah, your punishment. This right now is the mildest punishment I could think of”, he growls, “hear me, Kim Taehyung? If ___ didn’t care so much for you, I'd have done things to you, which would have made the shit Namjoon did to you feel like a fucking holiday in comparison.”

Yoongi leans closer.

“You think you’re oh so funny, don’t you?” he growls, “___ trusts you. She goddamn fucking trusts you not to end her life and what do you do? Play with it just to get off.”

“You’re insane. You know nothing. I don’t get off on it.”

“Fuck, you fucking fuck”, Yoongi grips Taehyung’s back of his head and slams his face down again. He keeps it pressed down afterwards, despite Taehyung wiggling desperately, “you didn’t even fucking deny it. So you are playing with it. Holy fuck, you bastard”, he growls, squeezing Taehyung’s skull oh so tightly that it threatens to crack.

“Ah Y-Yoongi. Ouch, ah it, it hurts”, Taehyung whimpers, “p-please stop it, it hurts.”

“Yeah? It hurts? It fucking hurts? Good”, Yoongi squeezes harder, “I hope it does. You bastard fuck, do you really have no respect for her?”

“Hyung please it hurts. Ah my head, please stop.”

Yoongi carries madness in his eyes, squeezing down harder until it actually cracks.

“Ah, ah please. Ah.”

“Stop it you asshole! You’re hurting him!” Jimin barks, showing off his true face even if his eyes still cry black blood. They’re horrid to look at.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Or I’ll crush his skull right here and now and make you spoon his brains for breakfast”, Yoongi warns, pressing down on Taehyung’s head.

Jimin hisses, but stops when he hears the painful whimper Taehyung lets out. His face morphs back to human instantly.

Yoongi scoffs, looking back at Taehyung. He puts pressure on him again, forcing a loud wail out of Taehyung.

“You’re killing me!” Taehyung sobs and tries to reach behind himself to slap off Yoongi, “please stop, this is killing me!”

“Good. Die”, Yoongi spits with his voice scarily vast of empathy.

“No!” you call out with tears in your eyes, “stop that! Yoongi stop”, you beg, tugging at his wrist, “he’s had enough. Please you’re hurting him! Stop please!”

Yoongi lets go of Taehyung instantly. He huffs out air, staring at your face with angry eyes.

“Please calm down”, you beg, trying to calm him down by caressing his wrist, “please don’t kill him. Please.”

He inhales, grinds his teeth.

“Fuck”, he presses out and rips his arm from your grasp. He doesn’t attack Taehyung again, which means that at least somehow he listened to your wishes.

“You are going to stay away from her from now on”, he spits, “hear me? You crazy bastard don’t deserve her.”

“What?” Taehyung whips around. His eyes are glassy but filled with more anger than sadness, “why should I?”

“Because you drank her blood!” Yoongi screams, flashing his fangs, “how could you do something so fucking disgusting to her!? She’s supposed to be safe with us! We are supposed to keep her out of harm, to treat her with respect, to make sure that she never hurts! And you treat her like your living blood bag! You fucking disgust me!”

“You don’t know what you are talking about. She is not my blood bag! I would never hurt her!”

“You hurt her last night! You hurt her each time you took her blood! Each and every fucking time your disgusting best friend and you took her blood, you caused her harm. How dare you try to defend your deeds right now. Do you want me to actually scrape your fucking face off?”

Taehyung blinks, feeling lost for words for a good moment.

“You say you love her but willingly cause her harm. How dare you call this love. How dare you call her darling when, when you…” he trembles in emotions, “…when you use her in such disgusting ways!”

“You know nothing”, Taehyung spits and rips the knife from his hand. He is so angry that he doesn’t feel it, healing within seconds. He jumps up, making himself bigger.

“I know everything!” Yoongi roars, holding back from jumping at Taehyung only because you are clasping his arm oh so tightly, “she has been sick for days. Dizzy, weak, without focus. You were with us when she complained about dizziness, you were with us when she shivered no matter how warm we tried to keep her. Last night I had to fucking feed her my blood because her wounds didn’t stop bleeding! My blood! You made me give her my curse, you ugly bastard. And all you can say now is that I know nothing? I know far more about how love should be than you!”

“Hah!” Taehyung exclaims and laughs angrily, “you are truly such a…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, not when he sees how hurt you look by the entire situation. The tears don’t seem to stop streaming down your face and you are shaking all over as your fingers clasp Yoongi’s arm desperately.

“Why are you so pressed?” Jimin however doesn’t seem to care about your state, “when she was bleeding too much we just fed her our blood. Relax. We had everything under control.”

“You did what?” Yoongi spits. 

You are frozen on the spot. Jimin just exposed his secret.

“You drank his blood?” Yoongi is addressing you with so much painful anger in his voice that you barely dare to look at him. 

Your eyes meet. He is gawking at you. Gawking at you with big eyes and disbelief on his features. 

“It was...it was, was once.”

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, touching his chest. You know that gesture. This hurt him. 

“Yoongi”, you press out, trying to reach him, but he takes a step back.

“He’s a Glutton, you stupid, fucking girl.”

The sound gets sucked out of the room. The floor feels uneven. The air hurts as it fills your lungs. Yoongi cursed at you. For months he didn’t. And now he did. You feel taken back to a time you never wanted to be taken back to. A time where Yoongi couldn’t stand you and you reciprocated his feelings. You hate thinking about those times, but now you have to. Yoongi cursed at you and you feel so fucking guilty.

“Yoongi”, you whisper shakily, feeling your eyes fill with new tears, “I’m sorry.”

“Tch”, he turns away from you with iciness in his eyes.

“Yoongi it wasn’t like this, please”, you try, touching his arm.

“Don’t touch me”, he hisses, ripping his arm free from you.

“My love”, you whimper and sob, “please, oh god, I’m so sorry. Yoongi, please.”

He ignores you, staring at Taehyung with dark anger, “you are gonna stay away from her, Kim Taehyung.”

“Me? Why me?”

“You-”, Yoongi steps closer, reaching for Taehyung’s face as if he wanted to punch it in right here and now. He stops when he watches Taehyung flinch in fear and seconds later squeeze his eyes shut. 

“What’s your problem?” Jimin again, fuelling the fire, “stop pretending as if you’re the only person with a right to ___”, he spits, “so what Taehyung drinks her blood? She’s got enough of it. As long as she’s still running around happily he can do whatever he wants with her.”

Yoongi whips around, staring at Jimin with utter madness in his eyes.

“I told you to stay the fuck out of this”, Yoongi growls.

“Yeah? You’re such a prude fuck. What’s so wrong about a little bit of blood sharing? It’s not like the girl is dead. Calm down Min Yoongi, you can still play little bodyguard for her. Your little hero role isn’t over yet”, he challenges, “weak, little ___ still needs you, don’t you worry, you won’t lose your leverage on her.”

“Seriously shut the fuck up, Park Jimin”, Yoongi warns, boiling in anger.

Jimin wipes the blood from his healed eyes, mocking Yoongi by leaning on the table and flashing him a dirty smirk.

“You have no right to her, Min Yoongi. You are nothing but a parasite. If I remember correctly she was Taehyung’s first before you locked him up and forced her to like you, because let’s be real if you hadn’t, ___ wouldn’t look at you for even a second”, he says.

This was a mistake. So Jimin finds out seconds later when Yoongi picks him up, throws him against the next best wall and makes sure he stays there with a ripped off chair piece right through the stomach.

Jimin cries out silently, contorting his face in utter pain.

“Jesus fucking christ!” Hoseok exclaims, saying what you all think out loud.

“Don’t fucking test me today”, Yoongi growls, carrying two voices in his throat. One so familiar and the other demonic, truly and utterly demonic. Darkness seems to surround him and slowly but surely swallow the light in the room. Black fogs creeps out of the shadows, sucking up every ounce of warmth from the air, “I’ll let Taehyung live for the sake of ___. But you? You are just a washed up piece of shit nobody needs here. So one more word from you, one more fucking word and I’ll pull out your intestines and use them to hang you from the ceiling like the ugly fucking piglet you are.”

Jimin stares at him, whimpering in both pain and fear.

“You hear me, Park Jimin? If you think that I’ve gone soft because of my emotions, you are mistaken. I will give you the most painful death imaginable and I will laugh doing it”, he whispers darkly, twisting the stake in Jimin’s stomach and making him yelp up in pain.

“Let him go!” Taehyung yells, running to Yoongi only to get forced to his knees as Yoongi grips him by his throat and pushes him down.

He turns, giving view to his truest features. Hoseok and Seokjin, who have never seen them before, seem to make themselves smaller, knowing very well the meaning of this face. Like pack animals, whose instinct is to behave once their leader shows true anger. Maybe it truly is an instinct. A Creator putting his creations into place. It would be fitting.

“You two will start to behave around here. If I find out that you or your piece of shit friend willingly put ___ in any kind of danger again, I will rip you guys to pieces without any kind of hesitation. This right here is the last chance you are getting and if I were you, I would take it to run as fast as you fucking can. Are we clear?”

“Yes”, Taehyung croaks, fighting for air.

“Good”, Yoongi releases his neck, turning back to Jimin to pull out the wooden stake. He drops it, wiping Jimin’s blood in the latter’s shirt even if that makes him flinch in fear.

“Clean that shit up, I don’t need other people seeing it”, he hisses.

Then he turns, looking at the others, but ignoring you. His face was human again. The light has returned to the room.

“You guys make sure you have a nice day. It’s sunny outside, I’m sure the light will do you well”, he says calmly and closes the distance between you and him.

He stops, looks at you with an all too familiar frown. It hurts so much to have him wear that face for you again. 

“Yoongi it, it wasn’t like you, you thought it was”, you whisper, reaching for him with trembling fingers. 

He catches your hands before you can touch his chest however. His grip is cold. Not in temperature because his skin carries warmth, but in tenderness. Cold and distant. It’s not meant to comfort but to push you away. And that is exactly what he does. He pushes your hands away. 

“It’ll get late today”, he says coldly, watching the tears fill your eyes without the desire to do anything against them.

Yoongi steps back and looks at Jungkook.

“Make sure she’s safe. I trust you.”

“I will, she’ll be safe with me. I won’t leave her side”, Jungkook promises him, nodding his head.

“Good.”

And with that Yoongi turns to finally leave, abandoning a room of confused faces and aching bodies.

The air is thick, suffocating even.

You have Jimin and Taehyung at one end of the room, holding the other whilst trying to check for wounds. And then Seokjin, Emma, Hoseok and Jungkook at the other end of the room, surrounding you while their eyes were locked on them.

“What the hell was that about?” Seokjin asks.

“Yeah seriously. I thought I knew what Yoongi looks like angry, but this right now was legitimately terrifying. Even the room got darker, I was so scared”, Hoseok agrees.

“What did you guys do?” Jungkook asks as he hugs your shaking form against his chest. You can’t stop sobbing, clutching Jungkook for dear life.

Taehyung turns his head, scoffs and turns away again. He continues talking to Jimin, holding his stomach eventhough his wound has long healed, “it’s okay Mimi, we’re safe now. Please don’t be scared anymore, I’m here. Oh Mimi, why did you challenge him?”

“Because he hurt you and I’m a fucking idiot”, Jimin presses out, cradling Taehyung’s face as he checks on his once broken nose.

“What did you guys do?” Seokjin stresses.

“Shut up”, Taehyung spits, “you wouldn’t try to understand us either way. Admit it, we’re the villains no matter what we do”, he says with a shaking voice.

“He said that you put ___ in danger. That you drank her blood. What was that about? Is it true?” Seokjin doesn’t want to give up however.

“That was Yoongi overreacting”, Jimin says, “he was nothing but an emotional, little baby acting up. What’s his problem? Just because he thinks he’s in love with ___ he can be a total asshole to us? Maybe he should go back to turning off his emotions if he can’t handle them.”

“Don’t talk about Yoongi like that”, Jungkook warns, flashing his fangs.

“Or what Youngling?”

“Oh you want to go? You lost your strength remember? I’m stronger now, so shut it.”

“Yes? And I have Taehyung. So try to go through him first. Right, Tae?”

Taehyung flinches when Jimin nudges him with his hand. He blinks rapidly, trying his hardest to stop his lower lip from trembling.

“I asked you a question, Tae”, Jimin insists.

“I, I want to go”, Taehyung presses out, making himself smaller.

“Hey”, Jimin nudges him harshly, “don’t chicken out now, they’re treating us like shit right now. Stand up for yourself.”

Taehyung lifts his shoulders to his ears, lowering his glassy eyes.

“Taehyung”, Jimin says loudly, “you-”

“Stop manipulating him!” Jungkook spits.

“What’s your fucking issue?” Jimin throws back, “don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Do you?” Jungkook growls, “I’m fed up with you ruining everything good for Tae just ‘cause you can’t get any friends besides him.”

“Aww, is your little ego hurt because he chose me over you?” Jimin coos.

Jungkook lets out a laugh of disbelief. The only reason why he hasn’t punched Jimin yet is because you are still sobbing in his arms and he doesn’t want to let go of you.

“Please stop”, Taehyung begs in a whisper, tugging at Jimin’s jacket, “please, let’s just leave, please.”

“Why? Jungkook really thinks that he has any right to you. I was with Tae for centuries. Do you really think that someone like you could have ever replaced me? You’re a sensitive, little baby, he’d have grown tired of you sooner or later.”

Jungkook lets out a sound of surprise while Taehyung whimpers and shakes his head.

“Careful”, Hoseok steps in between, lifting his hand in a warning manner, “you should think about what you wanna say next very carefully.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll punch you?” Hoseok furrows his brows, “I can take a lot, but hurting my friends is where the fun ends. Understood?”

“Should I be scared of you?” Jimin says and laughs.

Hoseok purses his lips and runs his eyes up and down Jimin’s face. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and clicks his tongue.

“You know”, he speaks dangerously calm, “you remind me of someone.”

Jimin chuckles mockingly.

“You remind me of Namjoon”, Hoseok says.

Jimin’s smile falls, his eyes fill with painful shock.

“It’s kinda sad.”

Jimin turns away and for just one second, he is flustered by the situation. He catches himself quickly however, taking Taehyung’s hand to tug him to his feet.

“Let’s go”, he says and runs, dragging Taehyung with him.

“Good. Run”, Hoseok says coldly with his dark eyes lingering on the doorframe for one more second then he breaks away and turns to you, “hey ___ we’re here”, he says with softness in his voice and hurries to you.

“I want to fucking die”, you sob into Jungkook’s chest, “it hurts so much! I can’t do this anymore!”

“Hey, don’t say that”, Jungkook soothes you , rubbing your back, “please don’t talk like this. You’ve got us.”

“You got it all wrong, please listen to me! You’ve got it all wrong!”

“What? Talk to us, baby”, Jungkook says while the others comfort you with soft touches on various spots of your body. Hoseok rubs your arm, Seokjin pats your head and Emma caresses your hand.

“I didn’t want to drink Jimin’s blood! I, I didn’t want to do that! Please believe me.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook gasps.

“I didn’t want to, please believe me”, you didn’t hear him. It is like you can’t control what is coming out of your mouth. You are begging for your life, begging for your right to be understood.

“Okay, okay hey”, Jungkook says and hugs you tighter, “tell us what happened. Slowly. Yeah?”

“I didn’t want to, please believe me! Please!”

Jungkook looks at the others for help as he can’t get you to calm down no matter what he does. They seem just as lost. Everyone except Emma. She is staring at you with furrowed brows.

“___ told me that Jimin forced her”, she says.

“What?!” the others exclaim.

“When?!” Hoseok almost yells the word from how shocked he is.

“It was that night they went out together”, Emma speaks for you as you can’t talk.

“And you came home drunk?” Seokjin gasps, gripping your arm gently, “___, was it that night?”

You nod your head, sobbing louder.

“What the hell ___, why didn’t you tell us?” Seokjin gasps.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Seokjin says.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to drink his blood, but was forced to.”

“How? I still let him do it to me”, you choke out and sob.

“Don’t ever say this again”, Seokjin says and tugs you away from Jungkook just to cup your face with a certain strength. The kind of strength that demands your attention. His eyes are keeping you pinned to him, his stare is intense and urgent, “hey, ___”, he speaks softly yet with enough emotion to know that this is serious, “I need you to understand that this wasn’t your fault. Please ___ tell me that you know that what he did to you was not your fault.”

“But-”

“___. You have to understand this”, he says, widening his eyes in seriousness.

Hearing this from Seokjin feels different. You know that Hoseok wouldn’t judge you for whatever you do. You are aware that Jungkook is too understanding to find judgment in his heart. And you also know that sometimes Seokjin disagrees with a few of your choices and that he stands by this disagreement. So having him repeat to you over and over again that what Jimin did was not your fault, feels like finally being allowed to accept a truth you were too afraid to believe in fear of being a bad person.

“Jinnie”, you press out, squeezing your eyes shut as a new wave of tears came crushing down on you.

“I know, it’s going to be okay. You’ve got us”, he whispers, “do you want to be hugged?”

“Yes please, I can’t take this anymore”, you sob and as if on command your friends spring into action, taking you into the tightest and most loving group hug ever.

Just like always when one of you is sad. You will lean on each other and hug it out until it hurts only half as much. 

You end up hanging out in Jungkook’s room, ordering junk food and playing board games but all of you knew that no amount of fries or fun little games could cheer you up. It distracts you, but doesn’t really make you happy. How could you when half of your little family is fighting oh so terribly?

So you end up giving up on games after two hours, ordering more junk food which will grow cold on the floor.

You even ordered ice cream because Seokjin wanted some and for the next hour you all ate ice cream and tried to talk about everything except what was truly on your minds.

You decide to eat dinner in Hoseok’s room. Take out. Chinese for a change. It’s really good, but feels wrong to eat. You shouldn’t eat, not when half of your dinner partners are nowhere to be found. You all stared at the chopsticks in your hands, but nobody dared to mention what they reminded them of, what image will always be associated with them from now on.

So Hoseok suggested watching a movie. It made the worry less and even managed to make all of you laugh at a few parts.

The movie has been over for hours now. The others are all sleeping soundly upstairs. They think that you are sleeping as well, and you were trying to, but in the end you couldn’t. So you left your room again, seeking something other than the loneliness and your thoughts.

Not that you could truly escape either of them. Even now, sitting in the foyer and staring outside at the rain, you feel oh so lonely in your painful thoughts. The fluorescent light above your head purrs deafeningly, the coffee vending machine in the corner behind you hums in an unpleasant frequency. The smell of acidic floor cleaner and wet rug hangs in the air. You haven’t seen any staff ever since you checked into this motel.

It is raining and Yoongi and Taehyung aren’t here. They are out there somewhere, getting wet and cold, when they should be inside where it is warm and dry. It hurts you so much to think about it.

You turn upon feeling a shadow linger behind you. 

Taehyung. He is alone.

“Darling”, you gasp, jumping up to hurry to him, “darling, you’re back. I’m so happy that you are back. I really thought that you would run away. Oh today was such a mess. Oh dear, you are all wet. Oh darling, I’m so glad that you’re okay”, you babble, reaching for him.

Taehyung catches your hands before you could touch him, holding you by your wrists. His eyes are cold. 

“Tae?”

“I’ve got a question for you”, he speaks alarmingly coldly. It sends shivers of anxiety down your spine.

“What?” you ask him, feeling your heartbeat speed up. Why is he looking at you with so much distaste?

“Who is the enemy here?”

“What? Nobody. Tae, I don’t understand why you are asking me this.”

“I can’t tell yet”, Taehyung says coldly, “what do you think of blood drinking?”

Cold sweat runs down your back.

“Don’t ask me that”, you whisper.

“What do you think of it?”

“I, I don’t”, you stutter.

“Be honest with me. For once be goddamn honest with me.”

“What?” you don’t understand what he is trying to say with that.

“What do you think of blood drinking?” Taehyung insists.

“Fuck”, you press out and lower your eyes, “Tae, I don’t know what to say.”

“The truth. Now”, his harsh tone makes you flinch.

You study his face with scared eyes. He looks at you in a mixture of anger and disgust. You have no idea why. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask him quietly, feeling sick in anxiety.

“What do you think of blood drinking?” he ignores you to ask instead, “tell me.”

Your eyes race over his face.

“Why are you acting this way?”

Taehyung steps closer and for the first time since you met him, you are scared when he does, stumbling back until the back of your thighs collide with a dresses.

“Tell me”, he insists in a cold and demanding voice and flashes his eyes ruby.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I just…” you can’t bear to look at him.

“Go on.”

“I think that maybe we should stop doing it from now on”, you whisper, lowering your eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Taehyung scoffs, “I knew it.”

“What?” you ask, looking at him in confusion.

“Jimin was right. I didn’t want to believe him and yet here we are.”

“What? I-I” you feel lost for words, “what? I don’t know what he has to do with any of this.”

“He told me that you would try to get out of this situation by forcing me to give this up. To give up our thing.”

“This situation?”

“Us.”

“Why the actual fuck would you think that this has anything to do with us?”

“Because Jimin said so. He told me that you will manipulate me into bending my own morals. Why would you want me to give up our thing?”

“What is our thing?” you insists, hating your voice for breaking at the end.

“The blood sharing”, Taehyung hisses.

“That’s what you consider our thing?”

He nods his head.

“Taehyung, last night wasn’t our thing. Our thing is soft and romantic and lovely. Last night was something fucked up. I barely had a pulse left and couldn’t stop bleeding. If Yoongi hadn’t fed me his blood, I’d be dead right now.”

“I had everything under control.”

“Did you really?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“You know what I mean. We were stupid and reckless and went too far. And…and you wanted it to stop being our thing.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You told Jimin to beg for my blood. I didn’t consent to this.”

“But…it’s Jimin.”

“And I don’t want Jimin to drink my blood. Not after what he did to me.”

Taehyung looks at you with widened eyes.

“But this is Jimin. He is with me for everything.”

“Well, I don’t want him there”, you say, furrowing your brows, “he hurt me a lot and he keeps hurting the others.”

“I, I don’t understand. It’s Jimin”, he says with the sort of tone in his voice that lets you know that right now he is shocked about how something so normal to him seems so peculiar to you.

“Taehyung, I know, but I just…don’t want to include him.”

Taehyung blinks in confusion, letting out a sharp breath.

“He was right. Holy fuck”, he mutters.

“I don’t get this.”

“I never thought that you could be this person and yet here we are. I’m so disappointed in you”, Taehyung says coldly.

“What? What do you mean?” you feel tears fill your eyes.

Taehyung lowers your hands and lets go.

“Jimin told me what really happened at the club. He said that you begged him for a bite and that you forced him to give you his blood because you didn’t want me to worry”, he says, “how could you lie to me like that? How could you pretend that you don’t want him now? You truly think me such a fool?”

“What?!”

You feel numb in shock. Jimin lied and Taehyung believed him?

“He said that?” you choke out. 

“Oh cut the crap”, Taehyung hisses, “you are a terrible liar. You want him gone. Don’t pretend as if you aren’t.”

You shake your head. 

“He, he is lying to you. I, I didn’t beg him. He bit me and then forced his blood onto me. Please believe me”, you stutter.

Taehyung scoffs, “it was a mistake coming here. Fuck, I was so stupid believing that you were different. You are all the same. Nobody wants what’s best for me and all they do is manipulate me. Don’t stay up for me.”

“Tae”, you reach for him, only grabbing air, “Taehyung please come back!”

The door closes. 

“Tae, come back. Why are you saying that?” you whisper shakily, “Tae, please let’s talk about it. He is lying to you.”

But the door stays closed and the night is lonely.

You return to the armchair and cry. You cry because nothing else helps. Taehyung believed the lies. All because you had to open your stupid mouth and tell him how you felt about blood sharing. You are such a stupid fucking idiot. No matter what you do, you fuck it up in the end. No wonder you always end up alone. No wonder nobody really wants to be with you. The thoughts begin to hurt too much to stay in your brain. And so you keep crying and thinking without remembering and hating yourself way too much. And it hurts so much that you want to scream and yet you can’t.

“What are you still doing up?”

Time passed and it felt endless.

You turn, locking eyes with Yoongi. His clothes are wet, as is his hair. You force down your sniffles, wiping at your eyes quickly. He doesn’t have to see that. You know how worried he gets when you cry and he shouldn’t have to feel that way tonight. For once he deserves to not give a shit. 

“I can’t fall asleep”, you press out as best as possible, hoping that your voice sounds normal enough.

“I see”, he says and then stays silent. 

You keep seated, feeling too scared to experience the same treatment again. If yet another person dear to you pushes your hands away tonight, you will officially break. So you stay seated, minimising the damage to your heart.

“You uhm”, you clear your throat, “got wet.”

“Yeah, it’s storming like a bitch outside.”

“I know, I was…really worried for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s storming and I just…” you swallow down the lump in your throat, “…was.”

“Mhm, don’t. I’m back. Can’t catch a cold anyway.”

“I know.”

You look at his hands. He has something between his fingers. Something delicate and red.

“What’s that you’re holding?” you ask him.

“Just...a leaf, uhm”, he shows you a little leaf, “I picked it on my way back. It’s red. Do you want to have it?”

“Yes, maybe”, you whisper. 

“Okay. I’ll put it in water upstairs.”

“Thank you.”

Yoongi shifts in his stance, letting his unsure eyes run over your features. For just a second you let him and then you turn back to the rain. He picked a leaf for you. You feel so guilty that you want to cry. He shouldn’t have had to do that tonight. 

“Where are the others?” he asks. 

“Upstairs. Sleeping.”

“Ah. All of them?”

“Jimin and Tae aren’t back if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ah.”

The floorboards creak as he shimmies again.

“I did what needed to be done.” 

“Probably.”

“You’re safe with me, don’t be scared.”

Your gazes meet. Yoongi lowers his eyes.

“I’d never hurt you”, he whispers.

“I’m not scared of you.” 

“Okay.”

He turns then, just slightly as if he was trying to leave.

“I shouldn’t have called you stupid today. I apologise”, he says. 

“No. I deserved it. Don’t apologise.”

“Mhm.”

He shimmies, touching the side of his neck. A cautious step closer to you. Stop. A step back again. Hand on his neck. Fingers twisting the leaf gently. A deep breath. A sigh.

“I’m gonna put that plant into water now. It’ll only wither otherwise. The rain outside, am I right?”

He leaves for real afterwards, abandoning you with your overwhelming feelings. Today was too much. The tears begin anew the moment Yoongi is out of the doorway. They are silent at first, before quiet sniffles join them. You muffle them in the sleeve of your shirt, keeping your eyes open to stare at the rain through your blurriness of tears. 

It feels as if everything is crumbling under your feet. Tae is gone because he thinks that you want to separate him and Jimin. What if you will never see him again? What if Jimin is able to convince him that he is better off without you? He already managed to make him believe that you were a liar. What if you truly lost him? 

And to make matters even worse, Yoongi is still clearly upset with you as well. He is trying not to show it, but you know that he is. What if he will never find it in himself to forgive you? What if he realises that what you did was so utterly revolting that he never wants anything to do with you again? What if you have lost him too? 

And what if Tae comes back? Will the fighting continue? Will they ever make up? How will you ever make them forgive each other? 

It makes you so sad. All of it. You are so incredibly sad, drowning in guilt on top of it. This is all your fault. All of it. You made Taehyung leave and upset Yoongi and because of you they are fighting. If you never even stepped into their life, then all of this would have never happened. This is all your fault. Once again you burned down something so important just because of your own selfish childishness. This is just like with Cookies and your house. It’s your fault. You are the reason why everything is in ashes. 

“Hey. Love.”

You lift your head, locking eyes with Yoongi. His clothes are dry, his hair isn’t. He seems worried, studying your features with a frown. A tiny whimper leaves you. You turn your head away. You can’t face him. You aren’t worthy of it.

“Hey”, he says again and squats down in front of you. His hands rest themselves over yours, thumbs caressing your skin. His touch is warm and loving. Even now he is so gentle with you. It pains you so much to think just how hard it must be for him to act that way right now. 

You spill hot tears. 

Yoongi wipes them away instantly, tilting your head up in the process. His left hand still holds your hands, squeezing them gently in order to connect you and him.

“Don’t cry, princess”, he whispers and draws closer, “it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“I’m a bad person”, you choke out, “I’m so sorry for what I did. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hush, it’s too late to think about yourself. Let’s just get you to sleep.”

“I hate myself so much.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I ruin everything.”

“No you don’t, you’re just tired.”

“Please go away, please don’t care for me, please don’t do that to yourself”, you beg him, coughing out gags afterwards as you cry way too fucking hard.

“Yeah? And leave you like this? The fuck you think I am?” he almost hisses the words at you, squeezing your hands tightly.

“I want to die”, you sob, sinking into yourself. Yoongi catches you before you can however.

“Come here”, he cradles you in his strong arms, rubbing your back as you fight for air, “don’t think that way, please. Not you”, he speaks softly, waiting patiently until you finally understand that he won’t let go of you until you hug him back. He has all night and he will hold you until you get it into your loud mind that he won’t leave you even if you beg him for it. You tremble in defeat and wrap your arms around him.

“There we go, I’ve got you”, he says and gets to his feet without struggle, carrying you safely. 

And you wrap your legs around him. You know that this is greedy and selfish, but Yoongi’s hug gives you so much comfort and it is all you wanted tonight.

“You shouldn’t think this way, please be gentle with yourself”, he says softly as he carries you upstairs.

“Why do you even like me? I just ruin everything”, you press out and sob into his shoulder, “it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Yoongi.”

“Quiet, you’re too unfair to yourself. Let’s just…” he sets you down on the bed and tugs you in, “...try to sleep.”

“I can’t”, you touch your own head, “it’s so loud.”

Yoongi lets out a breath, studying your features with knitted brows and a tense jaw. 

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi.”

Yoongi sighs in defeat, running the back of his hand down your cheek.

“Scoot over”, he says.

You do. You scoot over in your little single person bed, watching him with tired eyes. Yoongi gestures for you to open the blanket for him.

You do.

He claims the emptiness beside you, making sure that the blanket covers you all the way to your neck.

“Lift your head.”

You follow and so he places his arm underneath it, closing it around you in a way so that he can play with your hair. You sob and sob and sob. You sob so much that you don’t even notice when Yoongi lifts your hand to check for your ring only to furrow his brows when he realises that you aren’t wearing it anymore. You sob so much that you also don’t feel the soft kiss he places on your empty finger, but you do feel how his fingers brush over your temple.

“Calm down now”, he whispers.

You can’t stop your eyes from fluttering in sudden exhaustion. It is as if he pushed a button and forced the most intense sleepiness to fill your veins. Like magic. You are too far gone to make the connection between this magical feeling and Yoongi’s fingers on your temple. All you know is that it finally stops your thoughts and helps your body calm down.

“Relax, nothing’s gonna hurt you”, he soothes you, “just relax”, he whispers as his fingers caress your temple.

You release a shuddering breath, growing incredibly small in his arms.

“Come here now”, he says and with a gentle push to the back of your head, he has you against his chest. Your nose and forehead are touching it, your lips are barely gracing it. He smells like him. It forces your eyes to close and for your breathing to calm down. 

Yoongi presses one kiss to the crown of your head, resorting to caressing your temple afterwards. The touch is carrying immense comfort, soothing your racing thoughts until they are nothing but passing whispers.

“Try to sleep, princess”, he says softly, “I promise today is going to pass.”

You fall asleep like this, sharing this tiny single person bed with Yoongi while he caresses your temple and relaxes you with the sound of his calm breathing.

“For both us”, he whispers, “it’s going to pass for both of us”, he slips his fingers from your temple now that you are sleeping and throws his hand over his eyes as he squeezes them shut, finally allowing the tears to escape.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Drink With Me (Part 1)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Vampire Apocalypse AU Summary: In the middle of a vampire apocalypse, no one is safe. But when an unexpected storm interrupts your separate scavenger missions, there is nothing he can do but wait and hope you make it back to his arms safe and sound. Word Count: 3631 TW: Blood, Vampires, Vampire Attack, Character Death, Helplessness, Biting, Clawing, Language Notes: Written for day 4 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Failure" from Les Miserables. And big thanks to @sunlightmurdock for reading this over for me! 💗

Series Masterlist

The deep rumble of thunder echoes like an alarm for those inside the store. Instantly, all three scavengers stuff whatever supplies they are holding into their various bags and bolt for the door.

Jake reaches it first and unwraps the metal chain twisted around the handle, dropping it with a clattering thud just as Phoenix and Rooster arrive. Throwing the door open with a bang, the sight that greets them makes their blood run cold and Jake nearly drops the overflowing paper bag in his arms.

“Fuck…”

Though they have only been inside for twenty minutes or so, the world outside has transformed. Gone are the splashes of blue sky peering out from between billowing pale gray clouds, and the shimmers of warm, sunshine beams through the trees. Instead, the sky has been invaded by black, menacing clouds that stretch as far as the eye can see, casting an infinite shadow across the parking lot filled with abandoned cars and shopping carts as another roll of thunder signals the imminent downpour.

It means they will be on their way.

“Go!” Rooster urges, dropping one of the value-sized packages of toilet paper he has stuffed under his arm so he is free to dig through his pocket. “I’ve got the door.”

Phoenix doesn’t need to be told twice and she darts out into the growing storm. Jake, on the other hand, hesitates for just a second before shifting the supplies in his already overloaded arms and grabbing the package of toilet paper. Rooster meets his eye just as he pulls out a shiny gold key, and Jake yells, “Don’t wait around this time. Move your ass!” and then takes off after Phoenix.

He only makes it to the edge of the parking lot before the first drops of rain begin to hit him. Big, fat, plops of water burst across his skin, becoming more frequent by the second. As he reaches the end of the street, Jake finds himself and his belongings soaked through, the water causing his already heavy bags to sag with the added weight. He’s only a few blocks from the church but with the dense clouds blocking all afternoon light from getting through, the potential danger makes that distance seem impossible. 

Keeping his head on a constant swivel, he runs as quickly as his legs will allow with his extra cargo. The additional weight isn’t the only problem. With the bulky layers of backpacks, armful of paper bags, and the slippery packaging of the toilet paper wedged under his arm, he has to keep adjusting everything as he runs so he doesn’t drop anything. It’s a delicate balance of step–shift–adjust strap–wipe rain from his eyes–step–look around–shrug backpack up arm–step, but Jake eventually finds the perfect rhythm. After all, this isn’t his first rodeo.

The shadows taunt and tease him as he rushes by. He can’t be sure if something is hiding within them or if it’s just his paranoid eyes projecting his deepest fears. Though honestly, it doesn’t matter. Even if something is lurking in the darkness, his only hope is the safety of the church so he ignores everything around him and keeps running as another booming clap of thunder fills the air.

In about six minutes that feel like an eternity, Jake begins to make out the dim lanterns shining through the stained glass windows up ahead through the pouring rain. It almost seems too good to be true that nothing has leaped out at him in the darkness, and he just hopes that doesn’t mean they are preoccupied with someone else.

Slipping slightly in a puddle in the middle of the road, he rushes through the iron fence surrounding the church and scampers up the front steps. Using the heel of his boot, he kicks the door twice and it opens almost immediately. Practically falling through the door, Jake mutters a small thanks to Payback who slaps one of his backpacks as he passes. A few other people are moving around the small vestibule but he doesn’t see the one he is looking for.

Fanboy comes over to help him unstrap the bags hanging off of him and it is a relief once all the extra weight has been removed. Rolling his shoulders as water drips off of him onto the carpet below, Jake looks around in the dim lamplight and notices Bob handing Phoenix a towel as she strips off her water-logged jacket. She accepts it and as she begins drying off, she catches Jake’s eye. The two nod, before her eyes drift down to the toilet paper Jake had dropped at his feet.

“Rooster?”

Jake shrugs. “He had to lock up but he should be right behind me.” The door to the church burst open. “Speak of the devil…”

Rooster hurries into the dim space, shaking his head like a dog and sending water spraying in all directions. When he sees Jake and Phoenix staring at him, he asks, “All good?”

“I’m always good,” Jake smirks. He kicks the package of toilet paper so it skids across the floor to rest at Rooster’s feet. “And that’s on top of picking up your slack.”

Rooster’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I could have handled it on my own.” Pushing past Jake, he approaches Phoenix. “Any sign of trouble?”

She shakes her head. “We got lucky this time. We were sloppy. We should have noticed this storm moving in long before it got here. They could have snuck into the store and gotten us before we even knew they had come out of their holes. We need to do better or someone’s going to end up dead.”

He sighs as he wipes his hand over his face, knocking the water droplets clinging to his mustache to the floor. “I know, that’s on me. We shoulda had one of us guarding the door as a lookout but it was the middle of the day and decent weather I didn’t think…Next time we’ll do it by the book.” He takes one of the fresh towels Bob offers him. “Anyone else come back yet?”

“No, but the pharmacy’s farther away. They should be back soon.” 

Jake is grateful Rooster only nods and doesn’t state the obvious. The pharmacy and gas station might be farther from the church than the supermarket, but only by a block or two. The other team must have heard the thunder too and even with the extra distance, there should be some sign of them by now.

He never should have let you convince him to let you go without him.

Over the last few days, an illness has been sweeping through the church. While most of the adults who got it seemed to be fighting it off relatively well so far, the children were not as lucky. None of them showed any signs of getting better, and last night, the first of them had succumbed to it. The only hope was to try and find something to treat them but that meant an extra supply run.

You had been pre-med before the creatures arrived last year and, while no expert, you had the most medical knowledge of anyone in the group. Having you be the one to go to the pharmacy was the obvious choice. And since Coyote had been spending the last few weeks in the garage next door trying to fix some of the equipment that might help them get power again, it was clear he should be the other runner so he could continue working while you searched. Which left Jake without a valid excuse for why he should go. 

The group was also running low on food, toiletries, cleaning supplies, and pretty much everything else so they needed the extra hands at the supermarket and Jake was one of their best runners—the perfect combination of speed and strength. You had spent all morning trying to reassure him it would be okay and you’d be back together before he knew it, but it did little to lessen the dread that settled in his stomach as he watched you hurry in the opposite direction, casting one last glance back at him with a smile and a wink.

What if that was the last time he ever saw you?

The roar of thunder suddenly gets louder as the door to the church swings forward once again and Coyote stumbles in. He is soaking wet and panting heavily as he struggles to catch his breath. However, the only thing Jake notices in that moment, is that he is alone.

Coyote barely has time to remove his backpack before Jake grabs him by the front of his jacket and throws him against the wall. Terror and anger coursing through him, he snarls in his best friend’s face, “Where is she? Where the fuck is she!” 

“She’s coming! Damn, man,” Coyote yells as he shoves Jake off of him. Jake stumbles back, and Rooster places his hand on his arm, not really holding him back but the warning is clear. Seeing the desperation on Jake’s face, Coyote softens as he straightens his jacket. “I tried, but you know her. She wasn’t gonna leave without that medicine.”

“Then you should have waited for her! You shouldn’t have left her alone!”

“You know she wouldn’t let me do that either.”

“....Fuck!”

Jake yanks his arm away from Rooster’s grasp and begins pacing anxiously back and forth. He knows Coyote is right. You would lay down your life for any person here, but you’d be damned if you let someone do the same for you. At the first sign of trouble, you would have insisted Coyote returned to the church, probably swearing you just needed one more thing even if you had only just begun searching. Jake would have thrown you over his shoulder and carried you out kicking and pleading to let you get what you were looking for, but he couldn’t expect his friend to do the same. 

“She’s going to be okay, Hangman,” Rooster says, still eyeing him cautiously in case he needs to restrain Jake. “She knows how to handle herself.”

“Handle herself? There is no handling yourself against a horde of those things,” Jake spits at him as he continues to pace. “She could already be dead o-or turned by now and we would never know. She’d just be gone for good and we’d never…I’d never…Ahhh!”

As he screams, Jake whirls around and slams his fist into the wall before slumping into it, all his rage absorbed into the wood leaving nothing but his fear and hopelessness behind. The room has fallen silent around him but he can feel every eye on him. He shouldn’t have lost it, but he’s never felt this helpless. Even when the creatures first showed up, he knew there were ways to fight back, to stand up against them. But as long as you were separated from him, there is nothing he can do but sit here and wait. 

After a moment, Jake feels a hand gently grasp his shoulder and squeeze it. “She’ll be okay,” Rooster says. “Why don’t you go wait outside and be a lookout for her? I’m sure she’ll appreciate seeing you made it back safely too when she gets here.”

Jake nods slowly before pushing himself off the wall and shuffling towards the door. As he passes Coyote, his friend tries to reach out, his mouth opening but Jake shoots him a look that makes him close it without a word. Jake doesn’t really blame Coyote for leaving without you, but he’s just not in a place to hear an apology or give one of his own. So he keeps going until he slips out of the church.

Outside, there is a slight overhang that protects him from the worst of the storm, but he can still feel rain misting his skin as it is blown by the rain. Another roll of thunder rumbles overhead, shaking the steps beneath his feet. The storm has only intensified since they first heard it back in the supermarket, and there is no sign of it letting up anytime soon. Which means more of a chance they have come out to hunt.

Squinting through the darkness for any sign of you, Jake chants to himself, Come on, baby, come on, baby. Where are you? You got this, just please come back to me.

Suddenly, a slight flash of movement off to his left catches his eye. Through the faint light and the rain, he can just make out a shape hurtling towards the church at top speed. When it gets closer, Jake sags against the door as he recognizes the white t-shirt with his flannel pulled over it. You are still several hundred yards away but you are closing fast despite the several backpacks strapped to you and the pouring rain pelting your body.  

But then Jake’s blood runs cold as he notices five—no six!—shadows right on your heels. They had finally arrived.

No one ever used the term “vampires” even though everyone thought it. With the creatures’ fatal reaction to the sunlight, ravenous taste for blood, aversion to holy ground, and ability to transform humans into other creatures through their bites, it was hard to categorize them as anything else. Maybe everyone avoided the term because they had been so desensitized by the onslaught of movies and television shows with their lame depictions or cheesy interpretations of vampires that the word no longer captured the true horror of the creatures terrorizing their lives. But whatever the reason, they have always only been called “the creatures” since mysteriously appearing just over a year ago. 

At times, they can look just like they did when they were still human. There have even been instances when they held conversations with their prey before attacking. However, once their attack begins, it is a completely different story. With their unnatural speed and the spine-chilling hisses and growls that they make as they chase their prey, it is clear that whatever humanity they once had has long been twisted into something monstrous. And if you were unfortunate enough to get a closer look—which Jake had on a few harrowing occasions—the differences became blatantly clear. Their eyes were nothing more than black gaping voids; they had a set of daggers for teeth, each as pointed and deadly as the last; and their fingernails were several inches long and sharpened into ferocious claws that could rip skin from bone. All of it added up to things of nightmares, creatures of the night whose only goal in life was to kill and devour the living around them. 

And right now, they have their sights set on you.

Jake takes a step forward to the edge of the steps, clutching the railing until his knuckles turn white. Even if there is something he can do to stop the creatures, you are still too far away. Your only hope is to make it to the safety of the church before they can reach you but they are closing fast.

The creature closest to you pounces forward and Jake yells out a warning he knows you cannot hear above the storm. However, in one fluid motion, you whirl around and swing the backpack clutched in your hand directly into its head before completing your 360° turn and continuing running at full speed.

Jake whoops in relieved exhilaration.“Fuck yeah!”

At this distance, he can just make out the smug smile that spreads across your face, reveling in your own badassery. God, he can’t wait to wrap you in his arms and squeeze you so tight and never let go. There had been some very close calls in the past, but today might take the cake. However, if he has his way, you’ll never leave his sight again. 

Jake can tell the exact moment you notice him—your head perks up slightly and the smugness in your smile shifts into relief. Even while in the middle of running for your life, you have still managed to worry about him. Jake gives you two thumbs up and urges you on, waiting for you to cross the last street before you are in the clear.

But then the unthinkable happens. As you are just about to reach the gate of the church, you trip.

Jake can’t be sure if the heavy downpour blinded you or if your sneaker slipped in one of the fresh puddles. All he could see is one moment, you are about to fling yourself into the safety of his arms, and the next, you are skidding across the concrete on your hands and knees before rolling to a stop against the curb. 

The blood oozing from your fresh scrapes swirls within the puddles as you quickly try to push yourself to your feet, but it’s too late. As you begin to rise, one of the creatures hisses and leaps forward, landing on your back and tackling you to the ground. In a flash, two, three, four more have joined it, each digging their claws into your skin or baring their teeth as they go in for their deadly bite. You are pinned down under the weight of them, and though you continue to fight for freedom, the agony and terror filling your screams make it clear it’s a losing battle. 

Although it seems as if everything since your fall has played out in slow motion, it has only taken seconds in which Jake has been frozen in horrified disbelief. But finally snapping to, Jake launches himself towards the mass of teeth and claws that had descended onto your defenseless form as he screams, “No….No!” 

But before he can get more than two steps down the stairs, half a dozen hands wrap around him from behind and draw him back into the doorway of the church. Jake flails and fights with everything in him, but even he’s no match for the combined forces of Rooster, Coyote, and Payback holding him back as he watches more creatures swarming towards you.

“Get the fuck off of me! We need to help her! No! What the fuck are you doing?” 

Jake throws his head back and feels it make contact with someone else’s face. With a grunt, one set of hands loosens their grip on him and Jake tries to use this one chance to slip away to your aid. 

However before he can, an arm wraps across Jake’s chest, locking him into a tight bear hug. Drawing Jake’s struggling body into his, Rooster murmurs in his ear, “She’s gone, Hangman. I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing else anyone can do for her now. It’s over.”

All Jake can do is watch helplessly as he witnesses the truth of Rooster’s words.

Although the creatures had ripped into you with their claws, so far all attempts to bite you have been blocked by one of the bags strapped to your back or hanging off your arms. However, the creature with its knee pressed between your shoulder blades seems to have discovered the trick. It leans over and, with a loud hiss, sinks its teeth into the meat of your shoulder just avoiding the backpack straps. You howl in pain as your back arches up, and the creature releases its hold for just a moment. Long enough for Jake to spot the dark, thick blood dripping from its mouth. Then with another snarl, it bites down again.

The metallic smell of so much blood seems to renew the other creatures’ determination to feed on you and they begin clawing at the backpacks, ripping them apart at the seams until they can toss the shreds aside and reach you. Medicine and supplies crash to the ground, either shattering on impact or getting smashed underfoot as the creatures continue to fight over your body. One-by-one more and more sets of teeth sink into your skin and with each one, another heartbreaking scream tears from your lips. 

Jake has gone almost limp in his friends’ arms, unable to tear his eyes off the horror show before him. Blood, washed away by the falling rain, seeps into the puddles surrounding you, a red river running down the street. Yet even now, he can see you are continuing to fight, to try to free yourself from the creatures eating you alive. 

But then Jake realizes something. You aren’t trying to get free. Or at least, you’re not trying to free all of you. As he watches, you manage to pull your arm from under one of the creatures and wrap your bloody fingers around the backpack you had been carrying in your hand as you fled. It was the only one that was still relatively in one piece. 

Taking a few quick breaths, you flick your wrist and the backpack tumbles softly out of the way of the creatures and stops just inside the iron gate of the church. Seeing it successfully land within the sacred ground, all the fight goes out of you and you collapse weakly to the ground while more creatures swarm over you. 

Jake had thought nothing else could be worse than listening to your wails of pain, and yet, hearing them grow weaker and less coherent as the venom floods your system and your blood is drained from your body is a whole other level of torture. Then, as yet another pair of fangs pierce your skin, your teary eyes slowly lift and meet Jake’s. The world seems to freeze for just a moment, and he watches your bloody lips softly form his name. 

But before he can react, Rooster, Coyote, and Payback yank him inside the church just before Bob slams the door, and you are gone.

Part 2 coming soon!

Taglist: @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @thescarletknight2014, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @kkrenae, @zebralover, @startrekfangirl2233, @memeorydotcom

[waltwhitmansbeard]

"You're shaking." Vax and Scanlan, CR or TLOVM (or any AU you can think of)?

21. "You're shaking." this one is set during s1 of tlovm!

It's a record for Vax, how fast things have gone to shit. He's used to fucking up his own life, and his sister's too, but to fuck up the lives of seven people in the course of just one dinner party—well. He's really outdone himself this time.

He paces the kitchen of the keep—their keep, if they can even call it that anymore—twisting this dull steak knife round and round and round between his fingers. Captain Jarrett took all their weapons, and now his hands feel itchy. Whatever. Not like he could do much with his dagger in here anyway.

Vex is lounging in a window, gazing down at the moonlit lawn, and Scanlan is on his second sandwich. Neither one of them is paying Vax much attention, so he just keeps pacing. Does he take his sister and run? He's done it before. It's not like Scanlan could stop them, even if he had his annoying lute, which he doesn't. He'd feel bad, of course, leaving the rest of Vox Machina to their house arrest, but they'll be better off. The last thing they need is some idiot rogue who can't even scope out a room, for heaven's sake—

"What're you thinking about?"

Vax stops pacing, finding a gnome suddenly in his way. It takes him a second to actually decipher what Scanlan said, the words garbled by the last bite of sandwich in his mouth. "Nothing."

"Mmm, I don't know." He nods to the knife. "You're shaking."

Vax looks down at the steak knife, and sure enough, it's trembling between his fingers. He tosses is quickly onto the dining table. "It's nothing. Low blood sugar or whatever. I skipped dinner, remember?"

"Right. You know, that was pretty cool, the way you just...did that for Percy, no questions asked."

Vax scoffs. "Yeah, some help I was."

"Uh, hello?" Scanlan waggles the stolen book he's been studying, which has some goopy white substance on the cover that Vax prays is mayonnaise. "You got this, didn't you?"

"Oh sure, and all it took was a vampire bite, a thirty-foot dive through a window, a massive fight in the sovereign's courtyard, the Briarwoods' escape, some teenager's fingers, and all of us on house arrest!"

Scanlan quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, so we're taking responsibility for each other's actions now, are we? Because if so, I have some questionable sexual exploits I'd like to pin on Grog."

Vax sighs. "Scanlan..."

"So the plan went to shit. When has one of our plans not gone to shit? You saw Percy in distress and you did something to try and help. You didn't make him explode at the dinner table, and you definitely didn't shoot half of a kid's hand off." Scanlan reaches up to gently punch Vax's hip. "Don't take credit for Percy's idiocy. Something tells me that before this is all over, you'll have enough of your own to worry about."

Vax blinks. "Was that supposed to be inspiring, or...?"

Scanlan's eyes narrow. "It was supposed to get you out of your own damn head." He spins around and tosses his hands up. "Whatever! Be miserable! I've got an evil book to read."

He starts to walk off, but Vax stops him by rubbing his head. "You're not half bad, you know that?"

Scanlan shoots a playful look over his shoulder. "Wait 'til you hear what my sexual exploits have to say."

Vax rolls his eyes and walks away. "Not enough therapy in the world, Scanman."

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️

Brains, Blood and Marriage Proposals what can go wrong

WOOO! Hell yeah.

84 for 🩸:

---

He is so happy she sees it that way. So relieved that he doesn’t have to prove that to her or Buck. 

“Sounds like something more happened,” Eddie says. “Because, if I remember right, you were kind of the person who complained the least about the way we were raised.”

She chuckles a little. “Funny, right?”

“What happened?” He presses. 

“A week before you, uh…” She trails off. “You know?”

He nods. Yes, that super fun night in this very backyard. How could he forget?

“A week before, I left Hernan,” she says. 

He had expected as much. But he still wants to know the story. 

“I packed up my shit, ended up on their doorstep, and told them I was done.” She explains. “Asked them if I could stay while I found a job and a divorce attorney.”

“Chris didn’t mention that, when he called me to come home.” Eddie says.

“He probably wouldn’t have, given what he heard,” Sophia replies.

Eddie’s stomach twists. “What did he hear?”

“After a few days of indulging me, Mom and Dad sat me down in the living room and tried to convince me to go back to Hernan.”

Eddie winces. “Jeez.”

There’s something incredibly insidious, he realizes, how he was encouraged not to go after Shannon, or make any attempts at reconciliation. But Sophia got different treatment. Yeah, Eddie doesn’t want his son baking in all that misogyny for the remainder of his teenage years, either. 

“When I told them that I never really felt comfortable with Hernan, that he pursued me, and I went along with it because I felt I had to, and… And I didn’t love him. And that he didn’t want me to work. Just wanted babies…” 

She takes a shuddering inhale.

“They said, that’s what marriage is sometimes.”

Eddie could puke.

“Fuck that, Soph.” He tells her adamantly. “You made the right choice.”

“Oh, I know,” she exhales. “I was miserable. I’ve been happier being attacked by vampires with your boyfriend than I was sharing a bed with my husband.”

Eddie winces. 

“I’m guessing they didn’t come around?” 

She shakes her head. 

“I got heated, then they got heated, and then…” She sighs. “Then it became a really loud fight that wasn’t just about my failed marriage.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like they lost focus on me, and it became about us.” 

Eddie frowns. “You and Hernan?”

“No. Me and you.” 

“Me? I didn’t leave Hernan. How is that also my fault?”

“Well, um, hate to break it to you, but we’re both in the disappointing kids club. They don’t know where they went wrong. Their eldest is an unstable, philandering, bad father. Their next child is is a haughty, cruel-hearted, gold digger, who just married a wealthier man to leave and make money off of him. If it comes out of the woodworks that Adriana is a serial killer, that’ll just be par for the course.”

“Oh god,” Eddie sighs.

“And of course Chris heard everything,” Sophia says. 

“No.” 

“Came barging out of his room to defend you. Just like you, actually. You’d have been proud, if it wasn’t so horrifying.”

“He shouldn’t have had to do that,” Eddie says, tears welling in his eyes. 

“No,” she agrees. “He shouldn’t have. But he did. And he made sure they knew it wasn’t your fault his mother died, and you were a good man, and…”

“And what?”

“And then they started shit talking Shannon, too.”

Eddie could boil from the inside out. How dare they? His poor boy. He always tried to protect Chris from their opinions of her. 

---

51 for ⚡️:

---

In the days that come, it is incredibly hard to keep this a secret from Buck. Not that there’s anything to tell. Yes, he has decided, but he hasn’t done anything. Not until his planning lunch with Adriana tomorrow, anyway. It might actually be easier if he had. Had impulsively purchased a ring and came up with something quick, simply so the idea of proposing wasn’t a secret locked in his chest anymore. Screw Bobby’s waiting until June advice. He needs to be engaged to Buck soon. 

It gets even harder when Buck asks if they can go out to dinner on Friday night, just them.

“No Chris?” Eddie inquires. 

“Uh, no,” Buck says. “Maddie and Chim were going to take Jee to see that new Disney movie, and asked if Chris wanted to go.”

“They invited just Chris? Not us?” 

“Yep,” Buck nods. 

“Huh,” Eddie muses. “That’s… I mean, that’s nice, right? Like a real and uncle sort of thing to do?”

“Yes!” Buck agrees, a strange, nervous grin on his face. “Yes, and I don’t want to watch the damn movie. And if I don’t, I know you don’t.”

“That’s true,” Eddie agrees. 

“So dinner? You? Me? You know, a date.” 

Buck seems strangely militant about this. 

“Yes, I will go on a date with you, Buck,” Eddie laughs. “How fancy?”

“Look pretty,” Buck instructs. 

“So anything I want, then?”

Buck frowns. “I see I have praised your handsome face and mesmerizing ass too many times. It’s gone to your head. Dress nicely, Eddie.”

So Eddie dresses nicely. Pants that make his ass look, what was it? Mesmerizing? And a cream colored shirt that Eddie might never have chosen for himself until Buck saw it in a store and said fuck, you’d look good in that. Buck wears blue. Eddie loves when he wears blue. 

Eddie is a little concerned when the drive takes nearly an hour, headed south. Surely there are closer nice places to eat? But Buck says he got them reservations at a place in Malaga Cove. Which is super fancy and definitely out of their regular date night budget. Okay, so Buck is splurging, then. 

The restaurant is a Mediterranean style, fine-dining place, with an ocean-view patio. An ocean-view patio which they are given a private corner of. The server beams at them as she seats them. Someone is angling for a big tip, he supposes.

---

51 for 🧟‍♂️:

---

Buck carries the bucket in one hand and does a cradle carry of the loaded shotgun in the other. 

“One day, will I be as strong as you?” Denny asks, struggling with the bags in his arms as they climb the stairs. 

“Stronger I bet.” Buck tells him. 

If they all survive that long. 

Buck thinks of it sometimes. What kind of world faces Denny. He can only imagine how often that’s on Hen and Karen’s minds. 

It’s as they’re about to step out onto the road that it happens. At first, the low thrumming sound of a distant engine. Strange enough, these days, to make Buck’s hairs stand on end.

“Denny, get behind me,” he orders, setting the fish bucket on the ground and gripping his shotgun with both hands. 

“What’s going on?” Denny asks, nervous. 

“Not sure yet,” Buck admits. 

He squints, looking into the distance. Coming from the southeast, still a ways off, is a car. Looks like a four door sedan, but… Black and white. A police cruiser? 

“Denny, take the walkie, go back onto the staircase where you’re hidden, and let them know a cop car is coming and I need help.”

“O-okay,” Denny says, voice shaky. He drops the rest of his things, grabs the walkie from where it’s clipped to Buck, and runs back in the direction they came. Buck hears him whispering, scared, into the device’s receiver. 

Buck gets low. Behind a bush. Where he hopefully won’t be seen if the driver speeds through. He doesn’t want to risk a drive by shooting. It’s pretty hard to pass them by and not see signs of life. A cared for property. Gardens. Security measures put in place; lower level windows all boarded up, extra locks on the doors. If the person is looking for refuge or other humans, they’ll stop. If they’re just passing through - taking a strange route - then he’s safe. 

Vaguely, Buck feels an age old wound start to throb. The maybe. The what if. What if this is Maddie? What if this is Abby? The chances are slim. Ridiculous even. How would either of them have gotten a squad car? Unless its radio is how Maddie knew where to come? Abby knows they’re here. If she was going to come back - if she was alive to come back - she would have by now. After all, it was her library, before it was theirs. 

The vehicle slows as it approaches the library. Buck turns the safety off his gun. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help someone who might need help. It’s really not that. He was a firefighter, for god’s sake. That was his whole calling.