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yandere-sins · 11 months

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can you do a male siren with a reader who loves the ocean and spends as much time as she’s able to there? maybe she’s at the beach for a week long vacation and manages to catch his eye and then she mentions in passing that she’s sad to leave the beach and go back to work and it makes him upset so he just takes her?

oh, and if it’s not too much, could you make the siren a softer, more worshippy/delusional yandere?

Thank you for requesting! Enjoy! ^-^

Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content, Mermaids/Siren, Mentioning of sharp teeth/claws

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Your time with him was magical.

Not a surprise, considering he was a creature straight out of a fairy tale, and you were the human he chose to spend his time with, making it a fantasy romance. Everything felt unreal when you were with him, but you preferred to call it magical.

In the deep violet of his eyes swirled waves of adoration, unfiltered and untainted by doubts or worries. Time was of no concern to him, and he spent his days as he pleased with no responsibilities nagging or occupying him. There was no societal norm he had to conform to, nothing but his own self-preservation to care for. If he was hungry, he hunted. If he wanted to lounge in the sun, he'd find a nice ledge. And if he wanted to play, he found an activity he enjoyed.

He was different. And as much as you wished you were too, you'd never be like him.

Frankly, because you couldn't live most of your life underwater. Next to him, you felt like you could barely swim even though you spent all your childhood by the ocean. It's why the sight of such a strange creature only mildly concerned you, intriguing you even more. Coming home after living in the city for way too long, you felt like this encounter might have been destiny. As if to remind you where you truly belonged—by the ocean.

But your responsibilities were already clawing at your back, whispering in your ear that tomorrow, you'd be gone and forget about this strange but positive encounter. Tomorrow, you'd return to the dull life of your 9-5, yearning for the ocean you couldn't afford to live closer to. Reaching out your hand, you intended to push some strands of hair that had fallen into your unusual friend's face behind his pointed ears, but he caught it before you could smooth the strands back, nuzzling his face into your palm. It wouldn't fit even if he tried to put all of him in this little palm of yours, offering himself on a silver plate (or, well, your hand). He'd been a creature of no words, but the grandness of gestures came to him easily.

He had no reservations about rubbing his face against you, purring as he pushed it into the crook of your neck, listening to your heartbeat before putting his head in your lap when you let your feet dangle over the edge of the stone you sat on. When you two went out for a dive before, he'd swim up beneath you, lifting you back to the surface and letting you rest on his chest as you two floated through the water, his arms embracing you so you wouldn't slip off. And the night you spent camping out... it had been unforgettable. You couldn't forget the fervent kisses pecked all over your body, burned forever in your mind. The way he held you as he made love to you like no one ever would. His hands enveloped you, explored, and his tongue followed, making you feel as if his desire for you swallowed you whole, pushing you to unknown heights before he pulled you into the cool waters with him, his body warmed for once by yours as he held you, floated with you until you fell asleep in the warm summer night.

It was like the ocean itself loved you, and you trusted him.

A bit too much, even.

You had no way of knowing his intentions. Of understanding what was truly going on behind his violet eyes. Did he even understand you at all? You had been pouring your heart out to him for days, spilling all your secrets, desires, and fears. This week passed you by in the blink of an eye as you spent way more time out here with him than with your family at home. Even if he didn't understand a word you'd been saying, you already knew you'd miss him and the ways he could comfort you without so much of knowing what was going on.

"I'll leave tomorrow," you muttered softly, his closed eyes shooting open at the sound of your voice. His gaze was monopolizing, drawing you in, unable to look away. These violet eyes would haunt you in your dreams and nightmares, that much you knew. Living with him was impossible. Living without him just as much.

Letting out a small chirp, you put on a smile for him, knowing that latest when you wouldn't return here, to the hidden ledge you found, he'd come to understand. You had to be strong for both of you. Show him that it was okay. That you'd be okay. If he cared for you, it would help him let you go. Your life wasn't all bad, but it were times like these when you dreaded having taken a job so far away from home. One where you'd earn money to support yourself and your family but be lonely all the same with no friends or lovers or strange creatures that embodied more of both of them than anyone had ever before to keep you company.

But he was smarter than that. He could see right through you and read your emotions like a book. You wondered briefly how he learned to be so perceptive of humans. Still, when he pushed himself out of the water, his face just inches from you, you closed your eyes, banishing all these thoughts in favor of his kiss. It was crazy to think how scared you had been of his sharp teeth when his lips were so soft and plush, gently pressing against yours before allowing his tongue to dip out. He tested the waters, nudging your lips as he asked for entrance quietly, and you let him in for a taste that left you breathless.

You wondered what you tasted like for him because all that flooded your senses was sweet and alluring, his saliva not one bit salty or fishy as one might expect. When he allowed you to take a deep breath, your whole body relaxed, his arms supporting you as he laid you down on the stone, his lips wandering from yours down your throat, tongue lapping at your skin around your shoulder, kisses being planted on your collarbones.

Was it wrong to indulge? You wondered, tensing up briefly before feeling his hands slip beneath your shirt. They were still cold to the touch, but soon, as he pushed them higher to your breasts, they warmed up. After the night you shared, you knew you didn't need to wear clothes. Nudity was not something he cared for unless you two were getting frisky, and he welcomed it then. Still, he let out an approving chortle, the sound vibrating from his mouth against your skin as he found you bare beneath your shirt, not bothering to wear a swimsuit as if you had anticipated this. Maybe you had. Hoped, at least, so there would be one more memory of him to take back with you.

His touch was gentle. Kind. But the friction of his different skin texture and the webs between his fingers made you arch your back just as much. You could already feel the sticky wetness between your legs that had emerged right after the intense kiss, clearly discernable from the water that dripped from his body. The scales on his tail rubbed deliciously against your inner thighs and pussy, and you wrapped your legs around him, seducing him to move even more.

You helped him get you out of your shirt, his sharp teeth coming dangerously close to your nips as he breathed against them. These thrills of dangers seemed to only arouse you more, your nipples hard against his prodding fingers, the claws on the tips of his hands pressing moan-enticingly against your tits, dragging over your skin with careful, deliberate confidence that he wouldn't break it.

Leaving a trail of kisses down your body, you were nearly about to climax just from that. But stubborn as you were, you didn't want it to end yet. You wanted this moment to go on forever and ever, if possible, so you drew out your own pleasure even though you were gasping and trembling. Slipping below, you felt your merman's hands grip the pitiful shorts you wore, pulling them down with him. You didn't care if he discarded them or put them to the side in that moment; the shame of having to go home butt-naked was something that didn't cross your mind.

All you could think of was his hands on your legs, spreading them wide open to fit his head and body as he plunged forward. There were a few tender kisses to be left on your inner thighs, the thrill of his teeth grazing over your skin before he directed his attention towards the main attractions. You couldn't help but sink your hands into his soft, slick hair as he pushed his whole face against your cunt, your legs wrapping around his head as you felt the deep inhale he took, making his back rise and fall. He did it three times, reveling in your smell as if you were a body of water he wanted to drown in. Then, his tongue couldn't hold back.

Had you not been so busy with your own pleasure exploding all over his eager muscle, you would have been able to watch the mesmerizing show of jittery fins erecting and splashing in the water. Gills that opened to the fullest as your taste spread in his mouth, his eyelids that fluttered in awe. All you did perceive was the guttural groan vibrating against your cunt, shaking all throughout you from the tip of his tongue slipped inside. It was the one thing that reminded you of his otherworldliness, his voice making your body quiver as you became a puddle in his hands.

You came undone with no time to warn, only a gasp and moan, fingernails scratching over his scalp while he held your legs tightly closed around him, the sounds of slurping and satisfied chortles coming from your core. Every sound he made was like a punch to your pleasure, squeezing every last bit of it out of hiding again, even after you came. His tongue was a winding, desperate, but eager pleaser, surprising you every time again that it sunk in with just how far it could reach and how much wider it spread you the deeper it got. The tingle of its tip as it lapped at all the sensitive spots you liked having caressed so much was nothing compared to the fullness of your entrance, blocking any fluids from leaking past him.

When you got close again, you managed to lift your upper body, looking down at your strange lover. His gaze rose to meet yours, lips parting to reveal your soaking cunt in between his smile. You knew if you let him, he'd live down there, drunk on your juices. Even so, he slipped his hands higher, gripping you by the waist to support your lower back as he plunged his thick tongue as deep as possible into you, sending you over the edge with no warning.

Though it felt like falling, you knew he held you. He ensured no harm would come to you until your shaking and moans subsided, and he helped you lie back down.

"I'll miss you," you whispered, drunk on pleasure, as he came to hover over you. Kissing him felt so right, especially after the incredible orgasms you just had. Your merman reciprocated eagerly with no hesitation, the sounds of your lips even drowning out the crashing of waves around you. "I don't want to leave. I want to stay with you here forever."

"Then don't," he suddenly said, and your body tensed, hearing his voice for the first time. Or not. You weren't sure if you even heard it. You barely saw his lips move, the sound echoing in your brain. Alerts went off in your body as you found your mind unable to focus on anything else but the words spoken, even your breathing stopping briefly while you could not think.

"No... No, I can't... I have to go back. I have to..."

"You don't have to if you don't want to. You can stay here with me. We can always be together. Forever."

Rolling to your side, your body convulsed as his voice penetrated your brain. Every inch of you prickled like it was stung by little needles, but your head was off the worst. Pushing the voice aside was nearly impossible, its echo even stronger than when he spoke to you initially. Even with your hands clasped over your ears, you couldn't make it stop repeating itself, over and over.

You were human. You knew you could never live like him. People were counting on you, responsibilities waiting. You were neither spontaneous nor crazy enough to just throw it away and live out there, surviving... how? You two could never live in the same environment together. It was a bad idea. A baaad idea--

"I know a place where we can be together. I will bring you there. I will decorate it, feed you, and be with you. You'll never lack anything, be it protection or pleasure. It'll be home. We will be family. I will watch over you as your belly swells with my seed, and you will play with our children. You'll never be sad again. Never worry. I promise. It'll be what you always wanted. You told me you wanted to find peace. You shall have it. I make you happy. I love you. You love me. You won't leave me. Never."

Every word felt like another needle being shoved into your brain. It was excruciatingly painful. All you wanted was for him to stop, but at the same time... The longer he forced you to listen, the more you enjoyed the feeling. The shivers it sent down your spine and the pain that made you forget all reason. You didn't even notice how your body grew limb, drool dripping from your lips while tears ran down your cheeks.

All thoughts circled around what he said, and strangely enough, it began to sound very convincing. He did make you happy. You did love him... somehow. You'd never leave him. Why would you? Where would you go other than to be by his side? You wanted to go to this place he spoke of. Have him feed you and decorate your home for you. You wanted to bear his children, be a family with him. Love him. Be loved by him. Have him lick your cunt every night and make you forget. Forget... what? Everything. Everything unless it was him.

"Let's go," he purred, picking you up from the stone ledge and resting you against his chest. "Let's go home."

"Yes," you blubbered, your head falling back as he licked the fluids off your face, your mouth wide open and awaiting his tongue to slip inside, which he did even before the wet around you two could touch you. Keeping your tongue down, he placed his over yours as the ocean enveloped you, his gills flaring wide, air flowing into your mouth to breathe. You two sank further and further, too far for you to see or hear. But his skin against yours remained warm, his embrace tight, his kiss supporting you below the ocean's surface. And as the powerful strokes of his tail carried you two far, far away from the life you had known, from everything that was important to you, all you tasted was the sweetness of his kiss. All while more words echoed in your head, his voice repeating them over and over while his eyes stayed fixed on you, the violet swirls hypnotizing you.

I love you. Mine. Forever. Mate. All mine. I love you so much.

#mermaids #mermen #yandere mermaid #yandere mermen #yandere!mermaid #yandere!merman #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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permanently-sprained-ankle · 1 year

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“Little” things that are accessibility features

Some of these might not have been intended for accessibility but are nonetheless very valuable for disabled people:

Railings on stairs

Textured stairs and walkways

High visibility markings on obstacles (again often found on stairs)

Easily accessible rewind features on videos

Ability to edit the size and color of captions/subtitles on videos

Ability to change the playback speed of videos and audio content

Features to boost or cut the bass, high end, or mid range frequencies (this feature can be found on Spotify)

Similarly, features to fine tune the presentation of different colors and contrast on devices

Wide passageways in shops, classrooms, offices, sidewalks, etc

RB with more small things that make a big difference to disabled people!

#disability #disabled #chronic illness #cripple punk

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starlight-bread-blog · 2 months

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Ember Island Players and Zutara

Two approaches to analyzing literature are Doylist and Watsonian: Warsonian is about analyzing from an in-universe perspective, Doylist is about analyzing out-of-universe perspective.

For example: Why did the Gaang arrive at the swamp?

Watsonian: Because a hurricane made them crash.

Doylist: Because the writers wanted to explore the world & characters, foreshadow Toph, introduce plant benders, etc.

This analysis will be from a Doylist perspective. Meaning, I don't intend to prove Katara secretly canonically loved Zuko. She is a fictional character, she'll love whoever the writers want her to love. And the writers said she loved 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀. What I do intend to do is to show how the writing alluded to Zuko standing in 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀's way to being with Katara.

With that out of the way, let's dive right in!

At the beginning of the episode, when they sit down to watch the play, Zuko and 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 share this exchange:

If you didn't catch that, look at Katara:

This is a classic romance trope, typically used for female characters, to signify romantic feelings/a crush. But what is it doing here, when Zuko sits next to Katara instead of 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀? What is this interaction doing here in the first place?

When an episode aims to explore an aspact of the characters, it will remind the audience of it in the beginning. In The Waterbending Scroll, Katara steals a waterbending scroll and gets insecure about her waterbending. The episode opens with the Katara teaching 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 waterbending and getting insecure. In this instance, they want you to keep in mind the dynamic where... Zuko is in the way of 𝖪𝖺𝗍𝖺𝖺𝗇𝗀? (That's without mentioning what Katara's doing with her hair). That is strange.

Moving on to the play – See the joke about Katara's characterization in the play:

The point of Ember Island Players is while the play is heavily distorted, it is somewhat based on reality. It's funny and even gets under the character's skin sometimes because it shows them a parody of themselves. (Further evidence).

When we get to the the scene between Zuko and Katara in the Crystal Catacombs, for some reason, it's portrayed as some romantic moment.

Acknowledging a fan pairing in canon from is always out of the blue/baity from the get-go. I cannot recall a time when another show that did this. Here however, it's under the premise of somewhat founded parody. Which begs the question:

(Side note: There's been debate over Katara and Zuko moving away from each other. It's common for eventual romantic leads to deny attraction. It could be contextualized that way later and audiences aren't trained to rule out the pairing. The meaning is dereminted by the outcome).

Despite that, Katara and Zuko aren't in love. Everyone knows this, right?

𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 is jealous. Jealous to the point where he gets up and leaves the theater. The thing that kicks off the conflict of 𝖪𝖺𝗍𝖺𝖺𝗇𝗀 is... Zutara?

Speaking of the conflict, I won't dwell on it too much, but the events were the following: 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 adressed the kiss they shared in the invasion, a kiss that went unaddressed for 5 episodes. Katara is unable to commit to an answer. Her lines, isolated:

"𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀, I don't know" // "This isn't the right time" // "Right now, I'm just a little confused".

Until he kisses her once again.

And realistically, she doesn't take it well. Many girls use this language to reject gently. This is purposely written to suggest that they might not end up together. All of which is kicked off because of Zutara. Remember the beginning: Zuko is in the way of 𝖪𝖺𝗍𝖺𝖺𝗇𝗀.

When 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 is back in the theater, he's concerned about his future with Katara. It is showcased with this shot:

𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 isn't angry at Zutara here, so why is Zuko in the shot? A director storyboarded this, it was planned. They could have easily leave him out of it and it would convey the message better. Leaving him here implies that he is somehow related to the conflict, That Aang is worried about them, while both of those things aren't true.

𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 not being able to sit next to Katara isn't ship baiting. 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 getting angry at actress!Katara not returning his feelings isn't ship baiting. Katara herself being unable to immediately return his feelings isn't ship baiting. What is ship baiting is how all of this is caused by Zuko to a degree.

Zuko stealing 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀's seat and Katara giving him a side glance is ship baiting. Zutara being canonically addressed in a play that's vaguely founded is ship baiting. The former causing 𝖠𝖺𝗇𝗀 feeling jealous, leaving, and starting the conflict over it is ship baiting. Zutara is imbedded in the foundations of the episode. Ember Island Players plays out as if there is something between Zuko and Katara, when there isn't. That's ship baiting.

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notquitecanon · 5 months

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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."

"No promises."

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.

____

Ambushed in the night.

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.

And Astarion? Their target?

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.

"SHADOWHEART!"

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader #astarion x you #Astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 fanfic #Astarion self insert

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strawbeelemonade · 11 months

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PLATONIC HEADCANNONS: being miles morales best friend but your also a bit insane (Part 2!)

i'm gonna try to remember to start specifying when something is intended to be platonic or romantic.

🕷- I was literally unable to cram everything I wanted to say in the first one.

🕷- Miles is really only comfortable showing you his drawings.

🕷- He's an incredibly awkward guy, but the words come so easily when he hangs out with you. he doesn't choke up like he does with other people at school.

🕷- When he gets his powers his first instinct is to call you. He’s literally halfway through punching your number into the keypad until he stops and decides against it. He knows your number off by heart now.

🕷- You appear and disappear like a ghost its so random.

🕷- Honest to god, he lowkey thought you were homeless until you invited him over to watch Barbie Mermaidia.

🕷- “Bibble is so me.”

🕷- He’s the only person you let over at your place. its small and in the basement of an old apartment complex. the landlord couldn’t get anyone to pay to live there. you live alone.

🕷- You struck a deal, and they let you crash there as long as rent was on time and you fixed their washing machine for free.

🕷- Miles asked how you got to live there for so cheap. You tell him it’s because someone died on the couch he was sitting on.

🕷- He sits on the floor.

🕷- Miles is so eager to share his new powers with someone.

🕷- No seriously, between all the stress and lying and anxiety its nice to let himself get excited about it. To let himself have fun and see what he can do.

🕷- You guys TOTALLY video tape him trying out his new powers for the first time.

🕷- I can imagine you finding an abandoned alleyway on some random ass street after school and filming Miles Trying to do a backflip LMAO.

🕷- You gotta fish him out of a trashcan after he tries to spider climb up the wall.

🕷- You know that thing where a group of friends duck tapes one of their friends to a wall for fun? You get miles to do that to you.

🕷- You guys can’t stop laughing, The best memories of your lives are in those videos.

🕷- He’ll take you up to the top of buildings to show you the graffiti art he painted!! he’ll let you sign it off with a dick and balls or a heart if you want. You guys do homework up there together as well.

🕷- ’M & (Y/I) were here’ has been painted on every available surface of New York.

🕷- You both have the bright idea to hop on his back and go web slinging around the neighbourhood. He can carry you easily.

🕷- Miles decides If you don’t tell him to slow down, then he’s not going fast enough.

🕷- You NEVER tell him to slow down.

🕷- “Faster!!!“

🕷- Now that he’s got super strength he can put you in an inescapable headlock, he doesn’t do it too tight but he holds you there until you tap out.

🕷- He takes you to the coolest spots with the best views.

🕷- You regularly cover for him.

🕷- “We were at Jamba Juice the whole time officer I swear.”

🕷- Miles side eyes you knowing damn well he was no where NEAR a Jamba Juice.

🕷- ’Thanks’ he’d mouth.

🕷- You and Petter B will get along like a house on fire.

🕷- While Miles is extremely unimpressed by him, you don’t seem to care about any pre-existing expectations one might have when you think of the guy behind the mask of Spider-Man, your cracking jokes and feeding your pet rat a couple of French fries while the three of you sit in the diner, planning your next moves carefully.

🕷- Peter B can tell you’re a good kid. He’s at an age where a lot of your batshit tendencies don’t really faze him as long as your not hurting yourself.

🕷- Speaking of which.

🕷- When him and Miles get the chance to talk alone he warns him that he needs to be careful.

🕷- He tells him that normal relationships aren’t possible anymore. And stresses to him what a life like this can mean for your loved ones. especially since you found out his secret. This line of work isn’t just dangerous for Miles, but for you as well.

🕷- Miles is a little shaken after the conversation, no matter how gently Peter tries to put it. But what he’s implying is clear. He tries to shake it off and enjoy the time you both spend together. He won’t admit to himself that Peter is right just yet.

🕷- It’s just so easy to tell you everything and rely on you.

🕷- There will be a moment sometime in the future when reality sets in, but for now Miles makes the same mistake every Spider-Man does.

🕷- He has a best friend. :(

🕷- On the other hand, Peter comes to the staggering realisation that your actually extremely prone to accidents and danger all on your own. And he appropriately does a complete 180 from ‘casually distant bum-uncle' to ‘I am your dad now’.

🕷- It’s Nothing personal, kid. now stop trying to get in the middle of fights with dangerous criminals and let the adult— or at least the guys with super strength, stamina, speed and resilience— handle it.

🕷- He demands you stay out of the crossfire, but, to no one’s surprise you don’t listen.

🕷- You’re willing to throw yourself in front of Miles to shield him from anything, much to your best friends terror.

🕷- You hold your own surprisingly well against opponents that would be considered reasonable threats otherwise. You’re resourceful, grabbing anything and everything you can get your hands on. you get a terrifying look in your eye.

🕷- No matter how impressed Peter is, He will slingshot you around with his web-shooters to propel you out of the way of oncoming attacks. He will do this for both of you, but feels the need to do it less for Miles. He knows he can take what’s on the other end of the punch. But No matter how untouchable you make yourself out to be, you can’t.

🕷- “Do I want kids?”

🕷- He takes you on as his responsibility just as much as he does Miles.

🕷- Spider-Gwen also looks out for you in battle.

🕷- She’s more laid back, and even a little suave about it too.

🕷- She secretly wishes she had someone like you in her universe. What she wouldn’t give to decompress with you after a long day of patrolling New York.

🕷- She’s actually the most normal about you having a pet rat. You know, the one you grabbed out of a garbage can in a subway station. Yeah, That rat.

🕷- Miles watches you both get along like a house on fire and just quietly falls behind you both since he’s not sure what to do or say.

🕷- He’s so awkward, poor guy.

🕷- Your tendency to go off for days at a time ignites everyone’s curiosity. it’s a concerning habit, and Gwen even endeavours to follow you to see where you disappear to so often.

🕷- She’s unsuccessful.

🕷- It's never said out loud, but when she’s facing the one-way ticket home she finds herself wanting to stay just a bit longer. Not just for Miles, but for you to… She wonders what you’ll get up to while she’s gone.

🕷- …

🕷- Peter Porker vibes with you so hard.

🕷- no wait don’t scroll away wait

🕷- he WILL gift you the freakishly large cartoon mallet. Sorry, but miles didn’t appreciate it for what it was.

🕷- He would be cracking jokes and doing bits with you through out the whole goddamn movie.

🕷- Miles can usually let you do your own thing without sparing a second glance, but the looney tunes laws of physics that Porker exhibits WILL rub off on you at least a little.

🕷- It’s contagious. And when you start flattening eachother into to perfect discs it freaks everyone out a little.

🕷- He’s got enough to worry about in the plot,,, Damn,,

🕷- Spider Noir teaches you how to throw a good punch

🕷- in exchange you let him mess with your phone as much as he wants

🕷- "how the hell do you work this thing?"

🕷- He likes you, he thinks you got a lot of guts.

🕷- You were actually the one to design Miles’ suit. He took inspiration from one of your drawings in your school notebook.

🕷- You've always believed in him, and that made him believe in himself too.

#spider man #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #miles morales #miles morales x reader #into the spiderverse #you guys are cutie patooties #spider noir #spiderman into the spiderverse #peter porker #gwen stacy #spider gwen

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inuhalfdemon · 1 month

Text

The Chain Game (2/3)

[If anyone knows who I can credit for the above Fanart; PLEASE let me know! This was something sent to me and I haven't been able to track down the artist myself yet...]

Part 2

RadioApple SMUT

Part 1: Here

Part 3: Here

Brainrot into one-shot fanfiction

Rating = 18+

Word Count = 1,726 Words

Ya'll can thank @lily-lilzy-lil for it. She fed me with her kind enthusiasm. Enough so, even that I might already have a part 3 in mind...

“Are we ready for another round?” Lucifer’s voice came from the surrounding darkness.

Alastor hung…kneeling. He was bound tightly by the chains winding across his chest; wrists secured within the links wrapping above his head. The large brimstone shackle was heavy on his neck; the chain to its ring hanging loose and dragging beside him.

“Heh…is that one of the questions?” Alastor smirked, his voice a crackling radio.

A chain slithered from the blackest of shadows; twisting and hissing as it found its way home; curling itself up Alastor’s naked torso and tightening painfully. He hissed as the links burned more brands across his bare, scarred skin.

“Yes.” Lucifer told him, stepping out from concealing shadows. “It was.” He was shirtless – bare-chested – just as Alastor was; his dress pants and shoes the only remnants to the clothing he had been wearing.

Alastor starred at the King’s exposed upper body. The radio demon’s green eyes flared wide – hungry and gleaming – drool seeping from sharpened teeth. The base to each of his antlers thickened; the smooth bone becoming heavy and long as points branched higher and higher above his head.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Lucifer asked him. “Still rutting I see…”

The demon growled; a low sound intermingling with the sharp sounds of a radio static.

“And, still losing.” Lucifer sighed, another chain slithering past him to lift and strike out just like a snake; catching and winding itself through the ring to the shackle just at the base of Alastor’s throat. The chain jerked and Alastor’s neck was pulled sharply forward.

“You look like you have sobered up, though.” Lucifer told him; approaching carefully. “Tell me, Alastor…now that my ichor has left your system; are you thirsty for more?”

Lucifer flicked clawed fingers; bringing sharp points against his own bare skin, just at the soft bunch of flesh that stretched across one shoulder. Slicing there, gold blood seeped and spilled from the cut; threading down his chest and abdomen.

Alastor snarled in answer; his eyes flaring brighter, antlers growing longer, his hair standing up – sharp and bristled; overwhelmed by his overpowering need.

“Yes…” The radio to his voice nearly screeching. “…your majesty…”

“Well, now.” Lucifer stepped closer. “Honesty and manners this time. A reward for you…I think.”

A chain dropped from Alastor, winding its way back into the dark as the other chains still supporting him shifted and moved. Alastor’s hands were released but the chains encircling his chest and neck were dragging him backward so that when they found their placements; the radio demon was stretched fully on his back; pinned to the ground. He tried to move; trying even to just to be able to prop himself up in order to see what the King was doing; but the chain tightly secured to his shackle held fast.

Alastor’s ears worked nervously. He was starring up into complete darkness; his body tense with the knowledge that Lucifer meant for him to not know what was coming.

When he felt Lucifer’s hands on his legs - moving them so that they were spread easily wide apart - and the King moved between them, Alastor growled. The sound was low and warning; promising a deadly reciprocation to whatever the fallen angel intended; given the chance…

He felt the King moving, climbing over him so that he leaned across and over Alastor’s chest; his hands supporting his weight from either side of Alastor’s head. Lucifer’s wide golden eyes matched Alastor’s flaring bright green ones; a wicked smile spread across the King’s face as he leaned himself closer to Alastor’s face. Baring his sharp teeth and flattening his ears, Alastor fought to lift his head; meaning to bite. The chain restraining his neck tightened and any give that Alastor had found in it before was now lost.

Laughing, Lucifer smiled down at the sinner demon lying just beneath him.

“I promised you your reward. I keep my promises, Alastor.” Lucifer told him, leaning closer so that they were face-to-face; Lucifer only just out of reach from Alastor’s sharp and pointed teeth. Lucifer tilted his head; fully exposing his still-bleeding wound he had opened across his shoulder.

Alastor’s growling choked in his throat; seeing the golden strands tracing down the King’s chest; sparce warm drops falling onto Alastor’s bare skin. The growling had turned into a brief but desperate whine for relief; Alastor’s clawed hands digging into the ground beside him; finding no purchase – claws cutting grooves into the dark floor.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to use that rather useful tongue of yours.” Lucifer was telling him; leaning back just enough to give Alastor the best angle for full access.

Without a moment for hesitation, Alastor’s tongue lashed from between his bared teeth – long and dripping - it lapped at the streams of golden blood. A groan emitted from Alastor; barbs from his tongue pressing roughly against the fallen angel’s skin as he hungrily scraped for every…last…drop.

Alastor’s eyes started glazing over and Lucifer chuckled.

“You’re not a very fast learner…are you.” Lucifer said darkly. It wasn’t a question. Alastor’s tension was gone. Drunk with the angel’s blood; he retreated his tongue – eyes closing as he let his head fall back.

Leaving him to his buzz; Lucifer crawled back down to kneel between Alastor’s long legs. He began working at the radio demon’s dress pants; reaching just behind the seam at the crotch, finding the bulge within and sliding Alastor’s seeping and engorged cock out.

Alastor shuddered; pleasurably. Gasping at the contact.

“You know,” Lucifer said, holding the large penis in his hand. “I, too, can do some pretty…interesting things with my tongue.” His eyes flared; sharply golden. “Shall I…demonstrate?” He asked in a purr.

“Yes.” Alastor was groaning again. “Your Majesty.”

“That’s my deer…” Lucifer told him.

Using his own tongue now, he let it slither from between his teeth. Just as a snake’s, it stretched and flicked itself so that it tortuously skimmed the underside of Alastor’s cock – touching all along the base and shaft underneath then going to flick at the soft skin along his balls.

Alastor was panting. A redness was spreading across his chest and face; a slick sheen of sweat coating his skin.

Lucifer continued to teasingly flick his tongue all along Alastor’s root; occasionally bringing it around to circle the shaft. The muscle there was tightening quickly.

Pausing briefly, Lucifer adjusted his hold on Alastor’s throbbing penis. “Careful, you don’t want to miss out on the best part.” Snaking his tongue out; Lucifer carefully elongated the shape so that the forks lengthened and thinned. Expertly, he directed the tips to the slit at the head of the slick cock; sliding them inside.

Alastor bucked and Lucifer pressed clawed hands into each hip; holding him steady and he worked his tongue so that it slid in further.

“Ah….” Alastor was lost. The stimulation was too incredible. Timing it perfectly, Lucifer snaked his forked-tongue deeper before slowly retreating it back out. Alastor’s body shook. Removing his tongue entirely; Lucifer took Alastor’s cock fully and quickly into his mouth; biting down sharply just as the organ tightened and sprayed cum.

Softly coiling his tongue all along the twitching cock; Lucifer sucked and swallowed before dropping it limp from his mouth.

Lucifer stood up from where he had been kneeling; there, between the radio demon’s legs.

Alastor laid, still panting and gasping. The deep red color his skin had turned was contrasting the brands of chain links in an interesting way. His clawed hands were shaking and he was drenched in sweat now. His body twitched; still feeling the waves of ecstasy crashing over it.

Lucifer laughed; stepping away to loosen his own dress pants now. He paused; then as if deciding something he slipped out of the remaining clothes entirely.

“You certainly know how to take your…licks.” Lucifer said. “If you actually are in the middle of a rut though…it’s you that could do with some mounting. I suppose you’re in enough of a manageable state that I could allow it.”

Lucifer stepped back to where he had left Alastor; still tightly restrained to the floor.

“What say you?” Lucifer asked him; the chains around Alastor coming loose now but never fully leaving him.

Alastor moved slowly. He was dazed; both from the remnants of ichor and the orgasm. Turning, he went to stand up; then thinking better of it he knelt back to the floor; eyes on the King.

“Your majesty…” Alastor knelt; looking up – compliant.

“Good boy.” Turning away from him – fully naked - Lucifer waved a hand and every chain holding Alastor dropped and went away into the dark; every chain save for the one holding to Alastor’s heavy brimstone collar.

Alastor smiled; standing and going to the King; dragging his chain with him.

Stopping to stand just behind Lucifer, Alastor paused; eyes flaring green, his antlers curling and twisting ever upwards.

“You may…regret this.” He said before he sunk the claws of his left hand into the flesh of Lucifer’s left hip; pulling the angel into him and spilling more blood. His right arm wrapped around the King, his clawed fingers finding his face and mouth; shoving them inside. Snarling; he bit deep into the wound at Lucifer’s shoulder; swallowing hard as golden liquid poured out.

“Ahhhhhh…” Lucifer sunk to his knees and Alastor followed him down. His teeth still buried in the fallen angel’s shoulder; he forced the King down on all fours. Lucifer choked on his fingers; golden blood pooling on the ground from his wounds.

Gasping, Alastor released Lucifer’s shoulder. His vision blurred and darkened; the influence of angelic blood mixing with the influence of his rut. He was already hard again; his erection pressing fully into Lucifer’s bare back.

“Now…my King.” Alastor was purring darkly; sliding his fingers from Lucifer’s mouth. “I will gift to you the most fitting of thrones…”

Lucifer gagged; blood and spit running down his chin.

“Do your worst…my deer.”

--‐‐--‐‐-‐--‐----‐---‐----------‐--‐----------------------------------------------------

Alastor jerked awake; déjà vu catching him even in his ‘half-asleep’ state.

“Oh, what the Hell-” Followed by a sleepy yawn. “What fucking time is it?”

The room was pitch black; then a bedside light came on.

“Uh...” Alastor said, shifting awkwardly in the bed.

“AGAIN!?” Lucifer exclaimed loudly.

“Well…” Alastor replied.

“If this keeps happening, you and you’re one-eyed monster are sleeping somewhere else!”

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

Part 3

Brainrot credit:

@De Bergerac

The Masochism Tango

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starryevermore · 1 month

Text

the house of snow (11) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: finally, coriolanus can call you his.

word count: 2,423

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: coryo’s pov, pet name (petal), not proofread

Coriolanus Snow was eighteen when he asked for your hand.

He had just graduated from the Academy—no thanks to Dean Highbottom—and he was due to ship out to whatever Peacekeeper base he was assigned to by the end of the week. He was fine with the idea of being a Peacekeeper. As fine as he could be, at least. Because his father had been a general during the war, people could easily believe that his enlistment was to honor his father—not because the Snows were penniless. His brilliance demanded more, of course, but he could come back to the Capital eventually. Perhaps find clever ways to invest his money.

The worst part, though, was the idea of not seeing you again. He loved, no, adored, his verbal sparring matches with you. He adored how you got a rise out of him so easily, as if you weren’t even trying. He adored the way you occupied his every thought. To not be able to hear you rant, or see the way a smirk would curl across your face when you discovered something particularly clever to say, would be the death of him.

He surely looked pathetic, standing in your father’s office, his hands clasped together to hide their shaking as he asked, “Sir, could I please have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Your father scarcely looked up from his paperwork. “You’re shipping out soon, are you not? Or did my friends at the Peacekeeping Office mislead me?”

Coriolanus swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. But your daughter…I have never met a more brilliant person.” More quietly, he admitted, “She makes me want to be a better man.”

Your father glanced up, quickly, then looked down again. “She deserves a better life than one on a military base.”

“I agree, sir. I will provide her one. I don’t intend to serve the rest of my life.” Intent and reality were different. Competing. While Coriolanus might not want to be a Peacekeeper forever, he very well might be. “I already have a ring for her.”

He opened his hand and placed the ring on your father’s desk. It was a family heirloom. One of the few that hadn’t been sold off to pay their debts. His Grandma’am insisted that he keep it. He would need it, after all, for when he found the woman he wished to marry. And for every night after that day at the opera, he had pulled it from his nightstand and imagined how it might look, sitting prettily on your finger.

Your father glanced up again and pushed the ring away. “Ask again when your service is up.”

Every part of Coriolanus wanted to scream and shout and insist that he be granted your hand. No one could love you better, he was sure of it. But fighting your father…That would ensure he never got to marry you. So, he swallowed again, plucked the ring from the desk, and thanked your father for his time.

Coriolanus Snow was eighteen, still, when he asked for your hand again.

Over the last several months, he had worn that ring alongside his dog tags. It was his only rebellion he had against the strict Peacekeeper regimen. It was his only reminder of what he was fighting so hard for. And now, after the Plinths had found some convoluted reason to grant him a portion of their fortune—something about a debt that Sejanus owed him in school—he was back in the Capital.

Your father was leaned back in his chair as Coriolanus asked again, making his case for why he would be a dutiful husband. When he finished, your father said, “The ton knows how your wealth was squandered after the war. How you were only saved from ruin by the generosity of the Plinths.” Your father practically spat on their name. “Why should I let my daughter marry into that?”

“I would never let her experience financial ruin, I can promise you that. What happened with my family was, is, a travesty. But we are a proud family, and we have been working to rebuild ourselves. There was hardly a family not so afflicted by the war. We might have had a boost by the Plinth family, but I will not allow our good name to be sullied.”

Your father eyed Coriolanus, scrutinizing every details. From how new his suit was, to the buzzcut that was slowly being grown out. “I don’t doubt that. But I will need more reassurance that my daughter will be taken care of. You have to understand.”

Coriolanus could only nod, scared of what acid might fall from his lips if he deigned to speak.

“Ask again when you make a name for yourself.”

Coriolanus Snow was four and twenty when he asked again.

He was the King now. The Electors had granted him the title after the Former King Ravinstill passed. Coriolanus had fought like hell, clawed himself up from the pits of poverty, to get to this moment. He made sure he did everything right. Carefully coaxed the Electors and their families into thinking he was a friend. Convinced them that he would do right by Panem, do right by the Capital. Honeyed his words at every turn. But he did not care for any of that. All he wanted was to have you by his side, protected against any harm that may come your way. The only thing that stood in his way was the man standing before him.

Your father stood behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back. Coriolanus barely had gotten the question out when your father said, “You have gone to great lengths to make a name for yourself these last five years.”

And he had. He barely participated in the social seasons beyond speaking to the families in power. Speaking to those who would have sway in his appointment as president when the time came. He made no time for himself. Coriolanus had a goal, and he would be damned if he didn’t meet it.

“None of it matters if I do not have a powerful woman by my side,” he said.

Your father let out a chuckle. “She is something, isn’t she? I worry what she might say if I tell her that I’ve given her away without even consulting her.”

The answer was no, Coriolanus realized. Nothing he did would be good enough for this man. “Sir, with all due respect, I will come here every week and ask for her hand. There is nothing in this land I want more. Your daughter is…Everything to me. And I would give her everything just to make her smile. So, please, just tell me what I must do for you to give her away.”

Your father stared for a long, silent moment. “Court her. Properly. Only then will I say yes.”

Coriolanus Snow was four and twenty, still, when he received your hand.

After a promenade in the square, after a spat where you thought yourself to be little more than a pawn in his game, Coriolanus had come to your father’s office. He could not prove his love to you during this courtship, not when you still thought there was a chance he would change his mind. No, he could only show his love when you knew that he had dedicated everything to marrying you.

Your father stood in front of Coriolanus. He hadn’t even gotten the question out when your father said, “I suppose this will be the last time you come here like this?”

Coriolanus swallowed the proud smirk that dared to cross his face. Finally. Finally a yes. “You can rest assured that she will want for nothing.”

“I don’t doubt it with a man as persistent as you.”

Coriolanus Snow was four and twenty, still yet, as he stood at the altar, watching your father leading you down the altar.

You were a vision in white. Tigris had adorned you in a beautiful gown, white roses embroidered on the skirts and your lacy long sleeves. A veil obscured your face from him, but he was sure you looked like a proper Queen. The sort of woman that would send the proudest of men to their knees. And he would gladly kneel before you.

You stepped up to the altar alone, your father taking a seat beside your mother. Coriolanus reached for your hand and didn’t let go as you stood in front of him.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you, Coryo.”

He hoped you were smiling behind the veil. He hoped you were as happy as him. And he was sure you were when you whispered, “Do you think the officiant should faint if you kissed me now?”

Coriolanus laughed so hard that he considered kissing you right then and there before whisking you away to his private chambers, the rest of the ceremony be damned. “You are wicked, petal, for teasing me like this.”

“You take pleasure in it.”

And, oh, how he did.

Coriolanus never despised events more than when the ton celebrated his marriage while he bided his time to love you the way you deserved. He was tired of entertaining people. It was a beautiful ceremony and even more beautiful reception, to be sure, but Coriolanus could not stand the amount of people approaching him to offer their congratulations. Not, at least, when he was trying to kiss you and dance with you and tell you how he loved you.

You patted his hand as his knuckles turned white, clutching the arm of his chair, when yet another person came up to speak to him. “You need to relax. The ton is going to think that something is wrong if you keep acting like this.”

“Something is wrong,” he muttered. “I can’t even enjoy my time with my wife because everyone thinks they’re more worthy of my time. Worse yet, not a single one of them has so much as acknowledged you.”

How frustrating that was. Did the ton only think of you of some pretty little thing to hang off the King’s arm? Of course they would be so simple-minded. They did not realize you were the most brilliant person in the room. Perhaps more brilliant than him. They did not realize that you were his Queen and you were worthy of their respect. Oh, how they would learn when you would demand it—because he knew you would.

“And you can make that known later. Coryo, this is a day of celebration. Let them be frivolous today. Remind them of who you are and what that means later.”

Coriolanus released his grip on the chair. He took your hand in his own and rubbed his thumb over your fingers. “Who we are,” he corrected.

“Who we are,” you amended.

A smile tugged at his lips. “They’ll learn to bow before you.”

“I don’t want anyone to bow before me.”

“What do you want? I would give you anything. All you need do is ask.”

You said nothing. That is, until a new song began to play. You rose from your chair, and Coriolanus followed after you. “I would like to dance.”

Coriolanus led you to the middle of the floor, trying his best to mask his displeasure. He knew you better than to know you want nothing. Your family was well-to-do, but everyone had to be conscious of their spending as the Capital rebuilt itself. It was not lost on Coriolanus that your mother carefully rotated your wardrobe, ensuring that enough time had passed between one time you wore a gown and the next, less the ton realize that your family could not afford to constantly buy new dresses. Tigris had told him how you would come in to have your dresses tailored, how you could always eye the new fabrics she bought. How sometimes you would stay long after the tailoring to watch her design gowns. With him as your husband, Coriolanus would buy you as many gowns as you wanted. He would buy every book you were interested. Hell, he would adopt every cat in Panem and allow you to name them Coriolanus the III, IV, V, and VI and so on if it meant you were satisfied. You might never ask for it, but he would give you the world.

The ton watched as Coriolanus held onto your hand, the other falling to your waist. The music began to pick up as he spun you ‘round and ‘round and ‘round the floor. All Coriolanus could focus on was you. The rest of the room seemed to melt away. He pulled you closer, your body flush against his. Oh, how he loved you being this close to him. How he could hold you like this and no one could tell him any different.

You didn’t seem to be as captivated as him. With every turn, you would glance over at the crowd, displeasure fighting its way onto your face.

“Ignore them. They are not worthy of your attention,” Coriolanus murmured.

“They’re like vultures, waiting to see me, us, trip,” you said.

“Prove them wrong, then.”

“Why should they care about what I say and do? They only view me as an extension of the King now,” you say, your nose wrinkling.

Coriolanus spared a glance at the crowd. Yes, he supposed they probably did. People in the ton so rarely appreciated true wit. Now that you were his wife, anything remarkable you did would be attributed to him. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Then make then listen. Make them see. Show them the woman I fell in love with.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, petal,” Coriolanus said, his voice a near growl. “You matter to me, and so you shall matter to them.”

You said nothing, much to his ire.

He let out a breath, careful to not lose his temper with you. You didn’t deserve that, not when you were being vulnerable with him. Not when you were finally showing him the parts of you, you kept so artfully hidden. “Tell me, what’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours?”

You tore your eyes from the crowd and looked up at Coriolanus. Your mouth opened and, for a second, he thought you might tell him the truth. Instead, you only said, “It doesn’t matter.”

Oh, petal, when would you realize that you were all that mattered?

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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genshin-side-piece · 8 months

Text

Love Me Tender

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Sexual themes, not smut (sorry), my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

Maybe OOC for him? It's hard to say.

Neuvillette's favorite time to be with you is in the dead of night. He enjoys the days, in the sense that he enjoys being near you. Watching you from across the room did bring a sense of comfort from the knowledge that you were safe in his care, but that was all. He garnered no satisfaction in it, not when he ached to be so much closer to you than what he is allowed to be. You denied him that. Despite you being in his home, in his care, you denied him the right to be next to or close to you. He was only ever allowed to be near and even that had not come easily. It was the one concession you had made after doing all you could to avoid him.

In the past, outside of meals, you had always left the room the second he would appear. It was in vain of course. Neuvillette would follow you, like a loyal dog follows its master. His eyes fixed on your form, dutifully watching your every move. Room to room, hallway to hallway, until he finally cornered you in a space where you could not escape. From there he would take his appointed place near the door, keeping you where he wanted you until it was time to change for dinner or on the rarest of rare things, he allowed you to take dinner in your room before going to bed early. It had gone on from the day you had entered his house, lasting for months on end. You would run and he would chase. Oddly, he found it fun. The concept of chasing or hunting you awoke something dormant in him. An instinct that had long been buried due to its lack of use. It became a game between you, a battle of wills to see if he could trap you or if you could manage to get away. You never did of course. He had the upper hand when it came to his hunting grounds. If he wanted you in a particular room or to travel a specific path, he knew which keys to hide and which doors to lock beforehand to get you to go the way he intended.

His favorite place to keep you was his study. Unlike the other spaces in his house, the study was on the smaller side. His desk dominated most of the space in the room, leaving either a small sofa or a chair beside him as your only two choices if you wished to sit. Any of the other options you had tried, like the corner that was furthest from him, were automatically dismissed. Seeing you was a luxury he could rarely afford. While he enjoyed his hunts, Neuvillette preferred not to waste what time he did have with you moving furniture every time he wished to see your face. His one insistence on the matter had been that you make a choice between resting by his side or the sofa. He had told you he didn’t have a preference of where, even though it was very clear he did. By his side was always preferable, though the thought of you sitting on the floor that first time awoke something that the gentleman in him tried its best to deny. Just the idea of you kneeling beside him was enough to make his c*ck stir. On the nights he didn’t come to your side, he laid awake, practically consumed by it. Your cheek grazing his thigh, his fingers combing their way through your silky hair, your contented little sigh as you rested your full weight against his leg. It was pathetic to think that fantasizing about the most basic forms of contact were enough to bring him to a swift orgasm, but here he was. After many months together, Neuvillette found himself so desperate for your acceptance, for your love, for your warmth that the mere mention of contact would cause him to make a mess of his hand. Maybe it was a good thing you always chose the sofa. If you did bring yourself to willingly be beside him or touch him, he might cum on the spot.

He had time to work on that or at least that’s how he consoled himself as he cleaned himself up in the dark. The weather had been warm as of late. It had made maintaining a specific distance easy for you. He had to wonder if you would feel the same way once the weather turned cold. His office, like the rest of his house, did have a reputation for being drafty. Since you refused anything beyond the most basic of garments from him, it was only a matter of time before the cold got to you. What would you do then? Would you accept that as your appointed guardian he would have little choice but to punish you for your foolishness by holding you in his embrace as a means to warm you back up or would you suffer the chill for the sake of your own stubbornness?

The answer, to Neuvillette’s great surprise, was neither.

If his study was one of the coldest rooms, then outside of the bedrooms, the warmest place in the house was the drawing room. When the winter months came, the drawing room became a place of refuge for you since your keeper advised you that hiding in your bedroom was out of the question. Even if Neuvillette would happily cover you with blankets and furs should you ask, your pride decided you were better not to. You would rather freeze or in this instance, tolerate him being near you for the sake of staying warm. It had been a small victory for him. One that he relished every time he looked at you. From then on, you allowed him to sit in the same room as you, provided he stayed on his side. If he dared to get closer, he earned himself a scowl worthy of shearing the cliffs of Fontaine into the sea below. That’s if you looked at him at all. On the nicer days, your eyes were always fixed on something else, mainly the windows and the world beyond them.

Your present situation is not fair. He’s been made painfully aware of that through his own experiences with you. In general, Neuvillette understands that humans are meant to be free, or free within the limits that the laws of the land allow. The loss of that freedom should those laws be broken was to remind your kind of their place in this world. You, however, had broken no laws. At least none that were on the official books. In the eyes of Fontaine, you had been a model citizen, therefore you should be free. As far as Neuvillette’s own standards and rules were concerned, your behavior had been less than ideal. Hence his need to lock you away.

Neuvillette remembered the day or rather the circumstances that had caused him to clip your wings. He’d had you on schedule for sometime. You weren’t aware of it, but through his own manipulation of your life, you would wake at a certain time, eat at a certain time, work for a specific length, and finally report home at an appointed hour. Before his influence you had run around as you pleased. Your erratic behavior of running to and fro had made watching you from afar impossible. The schedule he slowly imposed upon you fixed all of that. You being at a specific place, at a specific time made things easier for the melusines to keep an eye on you and report in. Everything had been running rather smoothly, and Neuvillette found himself pleased with the outcome. You were where he wanted you, when he wanted you. Things were as low maintenance as they could be, until you decided to throw a wrench into the machine.

He had been stuck at the opera for days, knee deep in an idiotic dispute. It was on that day, that you had decided to deviate from your normal routine. Thinking back on it, had things ended there and you had gotten back on track, nothing would have happened. In Neuvillette’s mind, one day's worth of deviation was tolerable. You took days off from time to time. It wasn’t too hard to pick up your routine on those days. You generally slept later or ate at different times, but there was one constant; you always kept yourself to the city. The melusines could find you without too much trouble. The only real inconvenience was that the daily reports about you were thrown off their schedule. He didn’t particularly care for it, but in this instance, it hadn’t mattered. This time, outside of one fact, the reports about what you ate, where you went, and who you spoke to couldn’t be made at all. How could they, when you had vanished without a trace?

There had been no warning, none of the usual signs that you were tired or stressed or in need of a rest. The day you had vanished started like all the others, the only difference was that it had begun with your bed being empty. The report that you hadn’t gone to work as you should didn’t reach him at the opera. Neither had any of the others regarding your lack of contact. Instead, the reports had been delivered, as instructed, to his office at the Palais Mermonia. Words like vanished, missing, and lost didn’t find him until he returned to the city two days later. At the time, he had believed you had been kidnapped. His own panic that you were missing had dismissed the concept that you had left of your own volition. The idea that you had decided to go away to the mountains for a few days seemed inconceivable to him. You hadn’t slipped your schedule while he had been distracted. You hadn’t taken one of the water taxis out of the city while no one was watching. No, in his own paranoid mind you hadn’t left, you had been kidnapped. Neuvillette had many enemies. Despite his own discretion regarding you, they must have gotten wind of you. That had to have been it. There was no other reason for the fact you hadn’t returned. You had been stolen. The very idea that you had been taken triggered something in him; something ancient, something primal. He needed to find you. He needed to hide you. He needed to protect you. Your part would be to comply with his wishes. Refusal was not an option.

Neuvillette’s search for you was thorough. He scoured the countryside for you, searching above and below the surface for any sign of you or your abductors. No crevice of Fontaine was left untouched. No stone unturned, no ruin not inspected. It took him an additional three days to find you. When he did, the little house that you were staying in seemed anticlimactic. There were no guards nor was there any real fight. Just your utter confusion at the sight of the Chief Justice standing outside your door and Neuvillette’s solemn vow that he would never allow anything like this to happen again.

Even if it meant locking you away, your freedom could stand the sacrifice.

The contempt and rage that followed was something that took Neuvillette completely by surprise. He didn’t believe you possessed such strong emotions, but they were there. All it had taken was the cage door being locked shut to bring them to the surface. All he could do was listen as your cries and protestations lasted for days on end. Initially he had tried to calm you, calm your anger, but it had only made things worse. Stern or soft words didn't make a difference. You just continued to rage at him, so in turn he met you with silence. It wasn’t that he was insensitive to the situation, he knew taking your freedom wasn’t ideal. Where Neuvillette took issue was that he simply didn’t understand your reasons for being upset. The loss of freedom was unfortunate, but was it necessary. The schedule had been designed to keep you out of trouble. His motive in bringing you to his home was to keep you safe. You had deviated from one, so the solution was the other. Could you not see he was trying to help?

Even with his justifications though, it would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel guilty about what he had done. Your safety was of the utmost importance to him, but he desired nothing more than for you to be at peace with his decision. Neuvillette had brought you here for your own good. The world was a dangerous place and you, well you were far from safe in it. Your little disappearing act had shown him how incapable you were without him. That the schedule he had imposed upon you from afar was not enough. You needed a heavier hand to guide you, to keep you, to protect you. He knew you would be happier if you could be free, but that was no longer an option. Maybe that’s why he could never bring himself to be harsh with you. Neuvillette knows that on the surface, he could make your relationship be what he wanted it to be. Should his patience run much thinner, he could take a firm stance with you. He could apply force. It would be nothing for him to attach a leash to the invisible collar he made you wear and keep you at arm's length at all times. You could be bent, you could be broken, and most of all you could be rebuilt how he wanted you to be. Then, his dream for a life with you might be fulfilled. If he remade you how he wanted, you would smile at him like you do other things. He wouldn’t find himself envious of the sun, the music from the phonograph, the books you are permitted to read, and even the birds that play on the other side of the window. You wouldn’t love all of them more than you loved him. He would be worthy of the smile he yearned for. The same smile he adored from afar and the same one that vanished the second you see him. His very soul shattered every time your lips fell into a thin line across your face, never failing to draw that same line across the room and his own heart.

That's what made the dead of night so special.

In the night, after sleep had claimed you, the hard line that you had drawn between you and he vanished. The darkness that consumed the world hid the truth of the entire situation perfectly. In those precious hours, he could pretend that you loved him. He could pretend that you understood his reasoning for his actions towards you. In his own mind, Neuvillette could make you accept that you were something delicate and rare. That you were unable to guard yourself from a world so keen to harm you. That you needed him to help you. He had imagined your gratitude a thousand times over. Decant thoughts of you thanking him for being your savior, of you falling into his arms, of your sweet lips on his, of your soft cries as he plunged his c*ck into you over and over.

It was untoward for him to think of you like that. He shouldn’t really. It was ungentlemanly to do so. But some things couldn’t be helped. When the night washed away the scowl that was reserved solely for him, Neuvillette found it all too easy to let his mind wander. He embraced the privilege of crossing the threshold of your bedroom and pretending that the smile you often wore in your sleep was for him. He could approach you without hesitation then. He could indulge himself in the feeling of your hair in between his fingers as he brushed it away from your face, the warmth of your skin as he ran his hands over the parts of your body that your nightgown or the heavy comforter refused to hide. He could work out his own frustrations by your side, his one hand fervently stroking his c*ck, while the other traced the lines of your thighs.

The entire charade was a ridiculous one. Something that in the cold reality of day he would dismiss as folly and nothing more. Logic, in this case, would always win out. You weren’t grateful to him. There was no way you ever would be. You didn’t understand his reasons for confining you. You would never understand his reasons. How could you? In your short life span, you had been blessed with peace. The world as you knew it hadn’t been torn asunder. You hadn’t witnessed the destruction of all you hold dear. If you had, perhaps you might share his view that you needed to be kept safe. Then, maybe Neuvillette wouldn’t have to reduce himself to being nothing more than a pathetic figure, pining for you in the dark.

Because god how he wanted you, how he needed you, how he loved you. On his worst days, when the burden of the nation was to the point that he felt the weight of it would crush him, he had you. His corner in the drawing room tied him over until the stars climbed high into the sky. Then, in the darkness of your bedroom, with only the moon light to serve as witness, Neuvillette could wrap himself in around you and wash his own worries away with the tears he spilled into your hair. Whispering a silent prayer that when the dawn came, perhaps today would be the day that you would see that he is yours.

#yandere genshin x you #yandere!genshin #yandere genshin #yan genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette #this was a bit of a struggle #Neuv is a difficult character to grasp #bravo hoyo

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itsbopp · 11 months

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Can you write gwen stacy x fem reader when her spider-sense goes off and realizes that you're in danger ( also, can it angst in the beginning, then turn into comfort I would like that very much)

Just Be Careful - Across The Spiderverse | One Shot

A/N: Got you! I'm not extremely well-versed (no pun intended) in writing angst, so I hope I did your request some justice!

SUMMARY: After getting into an argument with Gwen, you leave to try and clear your head. However, what once was a walk that was meant as your way of calming down, quickly turned into a life-or-death situation with a group of thugs, who were up to no good.

WARNINGS: All characters are 18+. Swearing, Angst/Comfort, Weapons, Descriptive Physical Violence.

WORD COUNT: 3400+

Gwen hated getting into fights with you.

They didn’t at all compare to the ones she would have with the typical criminal that roamed Chelsea, New York. Those were physical altercations, and it always ended with her winning and feeling accomplished, because she got rid of a genuinely bad person. The ones she had with you were sometimes heated, and although there was that urgency to try and win the argument, it never felt like she succeeded. Even if her opinions on the matter the two of you disagreed on made more sense than yours, she still disliked the fact that you and her couldn’t have had a calm conversation about your different stances.

Maybe it was stress this time that so easily tipped you over the edge and caused you to become so angry with her. Intermixing school and work was the worst concoction to have. The blonde tried her hardest to understand what might have been going on with you. Maybe she should have just pushed away her desire to get her point across, and simply asked you what the deeper reason for your frustration was. But she couldn’t. Not now, at least. You had left the apartment. You slammed the door and it felt like it rattled the entire building.

It didn’t take a genius to gather that you were pissed off.

And, from what she had gathered, it was all because of the fact that Gwen wasn’t understanding your concern for her. You knew she was Spider-Woman. You found out early on, and it was due to the fact that she had crawled through the window of your shared apartment one night to try and be sneaky. But you were pulling an all-nighter, and so as you sat on the couch, watching TV, you just about had a heart attack when you saw this random woman in a tight black, white, and pink suit come into your apartment. You screamed, she screamed. You threw your box of popcorn at her, she – surprisingly – webbed it to the wall before it could even hit her, and then it was a domino effect from there.

When she eventually showed you that she was the one and only Spider-Woman, you freaked out. And you had every right to, she thought. Hearing the news, reading the newspaper and seeing all of the things Gwen got herself into, it instilled a lot of worry in your chest, because you were well aware that this superhero of New York was getting herself into a lot of crazy situations. And they were ones that could have easily gotten her killed. And so that was where your concern came from.

The weighing dread of responsibilities didn’t help your mood, however. And so as you thought about what had happened at that apartment, you felt a little guilty for the way you blew up on her. Your last words consisted of, ‘I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the fucking day,’ and of course, she came back with her own two sense, that only caused you to scoff in turn and slam the door shut before she could truly finish her retort. Something along the lines of, ‘you won’t be thinking that when you need me to save your ass.’

At first, you thought that the statement was belligerent and arrogant.

But now, you didn’t really think so.

Staring down the barrel of a gun wasn’t on your to-do list for the day. The man who held it shook the weapon impatiently while he yelled at you, but with the way your heart pounded, it caused your hearing to only pick up the rhythmic drum of the organ. You could feel yourself losing air as anxiety washed over you like a heavy tsunami, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get yourself to fall out of your frozen state.

Clearly, it was causing the thug anger, and the two goons that had joined him also showed their own feelings of frustration. When one of them lunged forward and gripped the collar of your shirt to shove you into the wall, the other smacked the metal of their bat onto the brick surface you had been slammed up against, right beside your head. You flinched, rightfully so, but surprisingly, it seemed to be the thing that snapped you back into reality. Voices, gruff and cold, came back to your senses, and you could eventually hear the bustling of the dark New York streets from the alley you were stuck in, as well as the shaky breaths that slipped from your lips.

“Either you give us everything you fuckin’ got, or I’ll beat your skull in!” You flinched when the man who gripped the collar of your shirt harshly smacked your cheek. It caused your head to turn and for a pained gasp to escape you, as a heated stinging sensation spread across the right side of your face. The hand that fell onto you was rough and callous, which only made the feeling all the more excruciating, though you weren’t able to dwell on it when a heavy fist suddenly slammed itself into your gut.

All the air inside of your lungs vanished as a bloom of agony spread throughout your abdomen. Your eyes were quick to snap shut, and you unwillingly showed your pain when you clutched your stomach with your arms and fell to the ground. Your knees slammed against the cold cement of the alley way, and before you could even regather yourself, a boot planted itself against your shoulder and shoved you to the floor. You weren’t able to stop your teetering body, due to the power of the push, and so the moment the rest of your form hit the ground, your head was quick to follow.

The feeling of your skull cracking against the concrete wasn’t pleasant. Even the men who gathered around you hesitated to continue their assault. Though, when you let out a weak groan and rolled yourself to lay on your back, that seemed to be the thing that pushed the muggers back onto the task of robbing you blind. Before you could even react, you felt grimy hands grab onto your body, searching through the pockets of your pants, while a pair of footsteps moved past you to search through the backpack you had dumbly brought with you when you left the apartment earlier.

As much as you didn’t want them to steal everything that you had, you lacked the strength to do anything about it. You felt them rummage for your wallet, your keys, the single dollar bills you had, if you ever needed cash for something. Your pockets soon became voidless pits. You could hear their voices, even as the world around you spun like some extremely fast merry-go-round. You didn’t know what they were saying. However, you could notice the way their tones switched from calm to panicked and terrified in the matter of minutes.

“In this day and age, you’re still robbing people in alleyways?!”

You knew who had voiced the quip without even needing to see their face. The zipping of webs and grunts filled your ears as you stared up at the sky, and in your daze, you noted the way the walls of the alleyway slightly closed in, which almost covered the sight of the moon that illuminated the world. Scuffling of boots and a surprisingly high-pitched yelp echoed to your left, which caused you to lull your head to the side, only to see one of the men who had attacked you slam against the wall, as a glob of spider string spread across his chest to keep him there.

It wasn’t difficult to find out where the other culprits of your less than ideal state had gone. Hanging from the balcony of a fire exit, the two men were wrapped within a cocoon of webbing. They struggled in their confinements, and you would have laughed at the sight, if your head hadn’t felt like someone drilled into it with a power tool.

Even though you left on a terrible note earlier in the day, you were elated when you saw the familiar figure of Spider-Woman drop down from wherever she had been perched. She landed against the cement like a graceful ballerina, but she was swift in popping up to her full height and rushing over to you the moment she saw that you were still laying on the floor. “Shit shit shit–!” You could hear her voice, albeit muffled, and the way she was clearly concerned for your wellbeing. The expletives that leaked out of her mouth from behind her mask made the corner of your lip quirk slightly, amused. Though, the expression quickly vanished once you felt how sore your jaw had become, just from the simple action.

However, when Gwen knelt down to your side and cradled your face with her covered hands, you felt the pain that surrounded your head subtly dissipate. The way they touched you with a profound amount of comfort, compared to what you had dealt with only moments prior. Her palm was gentle in the way that it moved to cradle the back of your skull. Still, you couldn’t prevent the groan that bubbled within your throat from slipping out. “I’m sorry,” you impulsively uttered, even though speaking seemed to be too much, with the way your abdomen uncomfortably throbbed.

“Please don’t start apologizing like you’re dying,” Gwen told you worriedly, as you felt her hands move away from your head. As much as you wanted to, you weren’t able to say anything in response, before you felt her arms slide under your body, and hoist you up. You let your own limb lazily loop around the back of her neck as she held you against her chest, and in the process, you couldn’t help but to glance down at the cement you had just used as your temporary resting place. You didn’t miss it, and honestly, you were only checking to see if you had left any blood behind.

You didn’t, thankfully.

And so, it didn’t take long before you turned your focus back towards Gwen, and even though her face was covered by the mask she wore to hide her identity, you could still feel the worry that radiated off of her, with the way she stared down at you. It was dark out, yet with the moon shining down, and the artificial lights from buildings and signs radiating their glow across the walls of the alleyway, it wasn’t difficult to see her. “Thank you,” you eventually muttered, but all you got in turn was a wave of silence.

She nodded her head passively, before she spoke up. “Let’s just… go home.” She ignored your apology, which conveyed that she clearly wasn’t wanting to hash out your issues in a disgusting alleyway, while a trio of similarly disgusting burglars watched on. You understood, though a part of you had wished to receive the reassurance that things were okay between the two of you.

You knew it wasn’t that easy, however.

— — — — — —

You let Gwen carry you home under the guise of Spider-Woman, and you practically fell asleep due to how smooth of a journey it was. The trip was silent, full of pondering thoughts that circled throughout both of your minds. You slowly came to the realization that you were overly harsh when you had left, and the blonde had eventually come to terms with the fact that she was being way too hard-headed for her own good. She could have easily used the excuse that it was a trait she got from her dad, but it wouldn’t have made the situation any better, and she was well aware of that.

Gwen let you go through the window of the apartment first, and you almost fell into the room, due to the unbearable soreness you felt surrounding your abdomen and head. Luckily, your girlfriend was quick to slip into the room right after you, and your arm was silently slung over her shoulders as she walked you towards the bathroom with her own limb secured around your waist.

As much as you didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, you felt a wave of amusement fill your chest when Gwen helped you up onto the bathroom counter. “Well, this is romantic,” you mumbled, as you settled yourself onto the granite and fidgeted with your scraped up hands, all while you slightly swung your bruised legs back and forth. Sarcasm dripped from your tone when you spoke, but you could tell that the woman in front of you wasn’t pleased with your attempt at being comical.

Gwen sighed and tugged the hood of her outfit down from hanging over her head. The moment she slipped her mask off of her face, she shook her head to settle her messy blonde hair back to normal, though she didn’t show a shred of joy in the action. For the first time in what felt like forever, your eyes eventually met her blue ones, and it didn’t take a magnifying glass to notice the shiny look in her gaze. The amusement you once held within your chest swiftly vanished, and a deep frown overtook your features as you watched her set her belongings next to you, before she moved close and wrapped her arms around your body.

You felt your head press against the middle of her chest when her hand came up to pull you into her. The embrace that she gave you was tight, and you were quick to reciprocate it, as your own limbs moved up to hug around her waist. Her face moved down to bury itself in your hair as she squeezed your form, and you couldn’t stop yourself from closing your eyes when a wave of comfort washed over you. She seemed to find solace in the touch when she breathed you in and let out a shaky exhale, which caused your heart to squeeze even more than it already had, as your fingers scratched along her back, attempting to calm her silent worry.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave. Not while we were still mad at each other,” Gwen mumbled, her voice muffled. “I tried looking for you when you did, but you just… you just vanished, and then I felt that you were in danger and I…” She trailed off and pulled back from the hug to look you in the eye. Her hands moved from behind your back to gently cup your face, and she furrowed her eyebrows in sorrow as your chin angled up to meet her concerned gaze. “I thought you died.” She shook her head and rubbed the pad of her thumb along your cheek, just barely grazing over the bruise that had formed on your skin, which caused her focus to flicker towards it for a moment. “I’m sorry for not listening to you. I know you care, but I guess I just felt like you didn’t trust that I could keep myself safe.”

“I do trust you, Gwen,” you quickly replied, as your hands came up to hold onto her wrists. You didn’t try to push her palms away from your cheeks, though you made sure to give that part of her body a gentle squeeze, as a way to silently assure her that you weren’t upset. “And I know that you’ve got these crazy superhuman abilities because of what happened with you and that spider – which is still a story that I don’t understand–” You cut yourself off before you started rambling about an entirely different thing. A sigh slipped from your lips. “But… the point is that… even though you have the strength to lift – like, two cars or something, and the durability that allows you to get flung into a building a bunch of times without obtaining so much as a scratch… that still doesn’t mean you’re invincible,” you clarified, “I don’t want to come home one day, turn on the news, and find out that Spider-Woman – my Spider-Woman is dead.”

Gwen frowned, “That won’t happen.”

You pulled her hands away from your face and clutched them between your own as they fell into your lap. “But you don’t know that.” You shook your head and clenched your jaw, feeling a sense of worry hit your chest. “That’s what I’m so scared of. That your confidence will turn into arrogance,” you admitted, your voice soft. “I just don’t want it to be your downfall. That’s all.” You paused to gauge her reaction, but she only lowered her gaze and looked at the floor, as she slowly nodded her head. “I understand that crime-fighting is – basically – your full-time job, but I just need you to promise me that you’ll try not to let that confidence get to your head.”

“I’ve gotten hurt many times before,” Gwen muttered, “I’ve healed… I always heal.”

“But what happens when someone manages to get to your heart? Or another organ that could determine whether you live or die?” She remained silent, and you squeezed her hands tightly, trying to make your statement hold more weight to it. “You’ve gotten hurt before, but what if the next time, it’s fatal?” The question was rhetorical, and when she didn’t respond, it allowed you to continue. “All I’m asking, Gwen, is that you just try to be careful. Because I know you’re not all the time, and that’s what scares me.”

Gwen knew that you were right. Just like every other Spider-Man in existence, she was also one that got herself into close calls with her fair share of what she called villains of the week. At first, she never truly worried about it. However, now, the reality of being in a relationship – while also being Spider-Woman – was hitting her hard. For the sake of helping you sleep at night, she needed to think about the consequences of her actions, which felt ironic, considering she had said similar things to the bad men and women she locked up.

What goes around comes around, she thought.

Although she was an extremely stubborn individual, Gwen could see the pleading look in your eyes, which was the ultimate thing that cracked her.

With a long, heavy sigh, she eventually relented, as her shoulders slumped, and a slightly exhausted expression fell onto her pale features. “Okay, okay…” She trailed off, before she pulled her hands out of the hold you had them in, and rested them back onto your cheeks. “I’ll be more careful from now on.” You felt her press a firm kiss to your forehead, and just as you were about to speak up and give her your thanks, she pulled back and held onto your chin with her fingers. “You too, though,” she added, which made your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I don’t want to see all this on your pretty face.” She gestured towards the bruising that had developed on your skin, which caused you to lightheartedly scoff.

“Well, now you know how I feel when I see you come back from a fight all beat up,” you retorted. "And besides, it wasn't like I asked to be robbed in an alleyway."

Gwen pressed her lips together, before she pursed them in understanding and nodded her head. “Okay. Touche. You’ve got me there.” You shrugged, as if to silently say ‘I know,’ and instead of the usual quip you would have received from your girlfriend in response to your reaction, all she gave you instead was a loving stare that portrayed comfort. “Okay,” she hummed, before she let go of your face and stepped back to grab a medical box she had laying around… somewhere. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

You stared at your partner for a few moments, watching as she scrounged through drawers and cabinets in an attempt to find where she had misplaced her medkit. Although the wounds on your skin slowly started to hurt, you couldn’t help but smile softly at the dorkiness she exuded. You yourself still had yet to apologize, but in that moment, you made a mental note to do so the moment she wasn’t too busy worrying about patching you up.

Couples fought. It was a normal thing.

You were just glad that it didn’t end everything.

#spider gwen x reader #gwen stacy x reader #atsv x reader #itsv x reader

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wing-ed-thing · 3 months

Text

Smoker Relationship Headcanons

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns

𓆃 For how tight-laced and no nonsense he can be, Smoker isn't a terrible partner in the slightest. While he brings some of his stern nature into a relationship, you'll find that he's extremely loyal and surprisingly soft and attentive.

𓆃 Putting it plainly, when it comes to relationships, Smoker has been there and done that. He knows the role he's meant to play in your chosen dynamic. And that being said, he knows exactly what he wants and doesn't waste any time playing games.

𓆃 While early inklings of catching feelings might throw him off a bit (especially if you've been close friends or colleagues), there's little else that keeps him from being direct and politely asking you out forthright.

𓆃 Smoker is rather untraditionally orthodox in the sense that he prefers the traditional song and dance of taking you to dinner, but bringing flowers didn't even cross his mind. He'll hold the door, but couldn't give a damn about which side of the road you walk on. And if you ask if he intends to split your bill he'll look at you like you're crazy.

𓆃 And there's almost no way to predict Smoker's picking and choosing in terms of his relationship expectations, which mostly comes from him thinking things and then not telling you because he thought them so you must automatically know.

𓆃 You'll find that you often have to roll with random things popping up in your mutual schedule at the last minute because how could Smoker not tell you he's been dispatched for the next two weeks?

𓆃 And his reaction is always the same. He'll crinkle his forehead and squint his eyes while the words "I thought I told you 'bout that" pass around his cigar.

𓆃 Smoker often sails for a period of time and then comes back home to where he's stationed. You can almost always count of this revolving schedule, although if yours is remotely similar, it's rare that your schedules line up.

𓆃 Whenever he travels, Smoker always brings back a little gift from whatever island he's just been to, and you've even found that you can request just about whatever your heart desires and Smoker will find a way to get it.

𓆃 Although, he doesn't understand a thing about trends, so requesting a popular item will be met with a grumpy, begrudging attitude.

𓆃 "Why do you want a stupid little trinket? You're not gonna ask for, ah, I dunno jewelry or somethin'?" "I'm not buyin' you a Soul King vinyl. You know that guy's a wanted criminal right?"

𓆃 For all his complaining, Smoker will come home with a necklace and the vinyl (he sent one of his men to buy one incognito).

𓆃 And he complains a lot and you'll find that he can have quite the attitude. After the third time you've mentioned how much you want take-away Smoker is going to put his jacket on and get it, but he's going to be mumbling and grumbling the whole time.

𓆃 That goes for just about anything you want on a whim. Whether you want something sweet in the middle of the night or you walked past something really nice at the market and now you're lamenting over whether you should have bought it.

𓆃 And every time Smoker is getting out of bed to get you ice cream or turning you both around so you— or more likely he— can buy you that item you were so infatuated with.

𓆃 But for every ounce of attitude he gives, it's within reason and expectation that you give it right back to him. Smoker will never say he likes when you're a bit sassy, but he's very clearly amused by banter.

𓆃 Landing a clever clap-back on him simply makes him smile. The smile is usually accompanied by an eyeroll and the shake of his head, but you can tell he loves when you get a little feisty.

𓆃 In the same vein, Smoker easily gets suckered by a bit of pouting here and there because for being rigid and grumpy, he would do anything short of breaking the law for you.

𓆃 If you're someone looking for something serious and long-term, look no further because Smoker is on board with settling down. Once you're in a relationship, there's very little that would keep him from being anything but dedicated to you.

𓆃 Oh, except piracy.

𓆃 Yeah, piracy would likely get in the way of that.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#smoker x reader #one piece x reader #smoker #one piece smoker #vice admiral smoker x reader #captain smoker x reader #x reader #reader insert #smoker headcanons #smoker headcanon #one piece reader insert #x you #white chase smoker x reader #white chase smoker #op x reader #op headcanons #op headcanon #op smoker

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grapementos · 11 months

Text

perseverance

aged up bakugo x reader

pt. 3 to this

numerous panic attacks had ensued since you were discharged from the hospital, but not all of them reached their final stages like the first had.

you’d grown better at grounding yourself and having some semblance of control over your anxiousness. slowly but surely, you felt the pain ebbing away.

it would never be gone completely, you knew, and every day you questioned the possibility of things being different.

what if katsuki hadn’t quit being a hero? what if he’d proposed just as he’d planned to? would your wedding have been beautiful? your marriage successful and healthy?

there were so many what ifs that hurt your heart just to think about.

yet, all you did was think about it—in the best, healthiest way.

you set aside your pride and fears and confided not only in your friends, but in a therapist. you had sessions weekly, and every time you walked out of the office, you felt a little lighter.

for the first time, you understood that it was okay to still love katsuki, to still want to be with him. in fact, they initially expressed how they wished the two of you had tried couples therapy before everything went south.

that was another what if that hurt.

you were always the more rational, levelheaded one. why hadn’t you thought of it, encouraged it? would it have made a difference? those thoughts kept you awake at night, haunting your mind and mocking you with images of a perfect life with katsuki. the life you could've had.

those thoughts were bumps in your path to recovery. it was only through those thoughts, however, that you learned that the road wasn't linear. you had amazing days when you felt strong and independent, days when you'd feel like you were in a colgate commercial. other days, you wanted to set your apartment on fire and disappear. you wanted to scream until your voice was gone, vocal chords torn to shreds. some days, you just wanted everything to stop.

through the good and the bad, you were able to persevere through the challenging navigation of a breakup. still, you granted yourself permission to still love him. to be in love with him. that love would never just vanish, you'd realized a few months into your journey. it dulled, flickered, and faded, but never vanished.

you'd found that implementing a routine in your daily life had greatly improved your overall mental health.

this morning, you turned on the news as you made yourself breakfast--a meal you forced yourself to consume, no matter how little it was.

as you grabbed what you needed from the cupboards, a name in the news had you pausing everything.

"...following his spontaneous philanthropic streak, former hero dynamight announces that he will be hosting a tell-all session at our local library. there, he intends to, quote, 'make amends with those i might have hurt with my words, actions, or lack thereof...' well, you heard it here. don't miss a valiant display of heroic vulnerability today at noon. in other news..."

you gaped at the tv, the glass bowl slipping from your suddenly clammy fingers.

philanthropic streak? where had you been?

the sound of the glass breaking reached your ears a whole minute after it hit the ground, snapping you out of your dumbfounded stupor.

"shit," you cursed, crouching down to pick up the pieces.

no, don't even think about it.

you looked at the clock, reading 8 as the time. plenty of time for you to get dressed and go.

no.

you could easily make it in time and sit in the back, just to see him and hear what he had to say.

no.

you'd wear something inconspicuous and hide in the back, just being silent. and then you'd leave, after ten minutes.

no.

every no carried a little bit of yes at the end of it, forcefully dragging you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom for a shower. it was closure, you argued to yourself, closure that you desperately needed.

it's going to be excuses, nothing but lies.

dark clothes are the best choice, you decided, anxiously changing into something you deemed inconspicuous. just ten minutes, it was all you needed.

don't throw all your progress away for ten minutes.

you stared at the mirror, trying to find a single good reason to stay home. yet, every thought in your mind convinced you that this, this is what you needed. you needed to hear him express his regret, his remorse to other people. people who once trusted and supported him in his endeavors, only to be woefully let down by his bouts of anger.

this will just make you hurt more. don't do this.

you discarded every invasive voice in the back of your brain and found yourself at the library come noon, hidden behind a bookshelf. you browsed the shelves with unseeing eyes, thoughts drowned out by the low murmur of the large crowd seated in front of the small stage in the center.

the library was home to many plays around the city, which you found ironic. would this be another display of dramatism and lies?

just as you found a book with a flattering cover, the mic whined with a little feedback.

"sorry about that."

you knew the voice, but the genuineness was foreign to you. you peeked over the row of books, your blood running cold as you saw katsuki sitting meekly on a chair on the stage.

"hello, everyone. i'm, uh, i'm bakugo katsuki, but most of you might know me as dynamight," he began, scanning the crowd, "a lot of you might not be fond of me based, um, based on my time as a hero."

many voices mumbled in agreement at that, which made him laugh, just the slightest. it made your chest swell with pride he didn't deserve.

"and i really don't blame you. i carried a lot of my immaturity from high school into adulthood. my biggest problem was that i saw heroism as a means to an end, a," he motioned with his hands, trying to find the words, "a stepping stone to being 'the best'--whatever that means. and i got lost in my obsession with my image."

you listened intently, at least half sure that you were listening to a complete stranger talk. the katsuki you knew had nowhere near this much humility.

"with that being said, my first apology goes to you, the people of this beloved city. you deserved someone who had your best interest at heart, and i'm sorry that couldn't be me. but, rest assured, i am very familiar with the current top ten and can say with confidence that they are the heroes you deserve."

you found yourself tearing up at his words, so awestruck by the complete 360 in his persona.

the crowd cheered at his words, as pleasantly surprised with his chanage as you were.

"thank you," he chuckled when the crowd quieted down, "next, i'd like to apologize to my friends and family. they definitely got some of the worst of it. for years, they suggested therapy for the anger that i just couldn't seem to control. and for years, brushed them off, over and over again. i insisted that my anger was fuel for my quirk, when in reality, it was detrimental. dangerous. so, mom, dad, all my friends, i'm sorry it took me so long to take your advice. thank you for standing by me."

you werent sure if the session was being broadcasted, but you sure hope it was. kirishima, mina, sero, and denki deserved to hear it. more than that, you were shocked to discover that he'd also been in therapy. so he really meant it..

another round of applause.

"last, and most important," he sucked in a sharp breath, "i'd like to apologize to the love of my life."

you stilled, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over your head. no, no way.

"i spent three amazing years with the only person i could ever see myself loving. they were the most patient, the most kind person you could ever imagine. they stood by me during every slandering headline, every angry episode, every single ugly moment. they were there."

you covered your mouth and crouched down to the floor, squeezing you eyes shut. no, hell no, you refused to cry.

he exhaled shakily, rubbing a sweaty palm against his jeans, "they were devoted to me, to us. i'd be nothing without their impact on my life, and i've done the worst job at showing it. i," he stammered, scrunching his eyebrows together, "i ruined what we had, and i've never regret anything more. i know all the philanthropy and therapy and apologies in the world can never take back my insensitivity, but i will never stop being sorry, and i swear i'll grow every day."

you had to clamp your hand harder over your mouth to prevent any sniffles or sobs from escaping and alerting everyone to your presence. his words were so genuine, so wholehearted that you knew he truly had changed.

"i'll love them forever, regardless of if they hate me. with that love, i'll destroy any semblance of the douchebag-asshole-monster i used to be." he smiled out to the crowd as a final goodbye, "thank you, everyone. you don't owe me your forgiveness, but i hope you'll consider forgiving me one day."

people clapped, whistled, cheered for him as he turned off the mic.

meanwhile, your heart was racing. you didn't have a single coherent thought in your mind other than the fact that he loved you. he loves you.

he wasn't begging or crying this time, his acts weren't out of desperation. he was completely and totally vulnerable in front of a group of people that he didn't even know included you.

as people flooded out of the library, you shakily pushed yourself to your feet. what now? how could you possibly be expected to walk all the way to your car and drive home in this state of mind?

with a quick breathing technique your therapist taught you, you calmed down enough to get your hands to stop trembling.

katsuki had started helping the security guards pick up and stack the chairs, making small talk with them as they cleaned up the area.

you wiped at your cheeks, hoping they weren't too blotchy. with a quiet breath, you silently crept away from behind the bookshelf and toward the exit.

unfortunately, your far-from ninja-like skills couldn't get past the years of hero instincts engraved in every muscle fiber of katsuki's body.

"y/n?"

you froze, shoulders tensing as you slowly turned around.

"hey, bakugo," you cleared your throat, averting your eyes, "that was, uh, that was nice of you. good job."

there was something undetectable in his face, something you couldn't put your finger on, "oh, thanks, i-" he stepped closer, but stopped when he sensed your hesitance, "i didn't expect to see you here."

"i didn't expect to be here." you said honestly, fidgeting with your fingers, "but i should, uh, probably get going."

he opened and shut his mouth a few times before he sighed and nodded, "okay. but i really meant it, you know? everything i said."

fuck, you were going to cry again. you didn't want to, not in front of him.

"i know." you nodded, "i don't.. hate you, you know? we both had issues that we chose to resolve separately."

"i just wish," he sighed, looking for the words, "i wish that was't the case."

you couldn't hold in your tears anymore, a few cascading down your cheek, but you quickly wiped them away.

"i know." you swallowed hard, trying to prevent your voice from doing that embarrassing, high-pitched crack, "i do too."

he opened his arms, offering a hug and you just couldn't say no. the space was so perfectly carved for you.

you hugged him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

"i'm so sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything." he whispered into your hair, his voice wet with tears, "i never deserved you."

you just cried harder, knuckles white as you gripped onto the back of his shirt. you wanted to speak, to reassure him that it wasn't completely his fault, but you couldn't pause for a breath long enough to say a single word.

instead, the two of you dropped to the ground, arms wrapped around each other with a desperation that you only feel for each other. a once-in-a-lifetime desperation.

the two of you cried and held each other, and somehow you knew everything was going to be okay.

and this concludes the triology! thank you for the overwhelming support on this series that wasn't even meant to be a series!

taglist: @blackout-ice-biohazard @survivorofmath @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @odessa-is-my-queen @firesmokeandashes @valentineshiftz @sil-ver-shadow @echosfadve

#my.archive.¥#anime #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #angst #drabble #y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakusquad #katsuki bakugo x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #grapeflop$

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throneofsapphics · 5 months

Text

old faces, part seven

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret.

Warnings: mentions of death, drinking, flashbacks/ptsd

Word Count: ~6k

A/N: we’re starting to pick up a bit now! some time skips

series masterlist

Seven days in the castle. You enjoyed breakfasts with Aelin and whatever members of her court were around, evenings with Fenrys and co, more chances to interact with Ceri and her friends, free time to try and figure out your damn way around the city, but you were going crazy. Surrounded by people at all times, even if they were kind, exhausted you.

As much as you tried, there wasn’t a truly private place in this castle. Maybe it was paranoia, but you knew someone could always be watching - there could always be eyes.

But, there was a pattern. Halle would be on edge if someone was nearby, if there were prying ears, and she only fell into a deep sleep if it was the two of you - or if it seemed private enough. You trusted her judgment. The judgment of a cat. Then again, she wasn’t an ordinary cat.

She had her own kind of magic. That’s a secret you decided to keep as long as possible. Even if magic was freely accepted here, her kind could easily make her a target.

For gods sake she was buddies with fleetfoot. Aelin had been worried in the beginning, but her dog bounded right up to Halle.

Fleetfoot sniffed, tilted her head, and licked Halle’s face. The cat didn’t hiss or swipe, instead headbutting her.

Aelin gave you an incredulous look.

“She’s never met a dog.”

“Fleetfoot usually doesn’t make friends with cats,” Aelin turned back towards the duo, “you’re special Halle.” A small purr, and yellow eyes stared right at her, as if to say; ‘obviously.’

Aelin snorted and shook her head, ‘if Fleetfoot’s on her side, nobody should bother her.”

‘I’d like to see them try,’ the small hiss said. Seemed to say, you corrected yourself. The two of you couldn’t communicate, but it was easy enough to read her expressions.

One hand holding up your book, she rested in your lap. Rowan was in the room, sitting across from you, just having finished up Ceri’s bedtime story for the day. Another change over the last week, you’d gotten comfortable being in a room alone with them. Not that it had been necessarily uncomfortable in the past, but you shed some of the fear of perception. If people read into it too much, that was on them. You knew your relationship with them, you knew you were only platonic. Those who paid attention would know that too.

“There’s something .. off about that cat,” Rowan commented. He’d discreetly observed the two of you over the edge of a few reports he brought with him, intending to finish them as he waited for Ceri to fall asleep. There was only one left, and he figured he might as well get it done now. Abraxos’s story was requested again, and he didn’t have anything new to say. Like hell he’d write to Manon and ask. There would be a set of meetings and a ball hosted in Orynth the week after Beltane, and hopefully he could convince her not to ask during that. He didn’t know the witch well enough to tell how she’d react. Maybe she’d find it amusing, as far as he remembers witches were always protective of young ones. The nations of Erilea, and sometimes contingents from other countries, met once every two years, and it was Orynth’s turn to host this year. It would be interesting, convincing you to attend alongside Ceri.

Yellow eyes peeked up, Halle’s fur standing up, as if she’d heard the insult and taken it personally.

“Be nice,” you whispered, running your fingers through her fur. The little demon settled instantly, purring on your lap. There was definitely something off about that cat. Almost like it had purposefully found you. Ceri had seemed a bit put out that the cat liked you more than her. But, with your animal form it was to be expected. He’d never tell you this, not yet at least, but there was a small betting pool running for which form your daughter would take. Avian, or feline.

On their visit to Antica, he’d met some of the baast cats in the library of the Torre Cesme. More he thought about it, he’d never actually seen your animal form.

“Can you … talk to her?”

“Obviously,” you grinned, “I just told her to be nice.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, you knew what he meant.

“As a cat,” he drawled, raising a brow at you.

“Why would I spill our secrets to you?”

“So you can?” He knows cats communicate with each other in some way, Gods know birds do. Not that he’d ever tell Aelin that, she’d be relentless.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “I haven’t shifted around her yet.”

“When was the last time you shifted?”

“Probably too long,” you absentmindedly stroked the little creature. Who looked asleep, but Rowan got the inkling she was faking it.

Initially, there was a slight fear you’d bring a shifter with you, but he realized quickly you would’ve caught on to that. Above all, he trusted you and your judgment. Rowan trusted you’d never do anything to endanger Ceri, but recognized you’d easily throw yourself into any kind of danger if it meant protecting her. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much you’d sacrificed for her … how much you’d sacrificed for Ceri, and something about it didn’t sit right with him.

Fenrys insisted on a house-warming party. You wanted to call it ridiculous, but you’d never had something like this before, and you gave into his badgering. It didn’t take too much effort on his part, but you let him annoy you about it a bit. That way he’d feel like he accomplished something.

One month after you moved in, you finally hosted it.

The party was small, and perfect. Rowan, Aelin, Fenrys, Aedion, Lysandra, Evangeline, who came to surprise Ceri, a friend you’d made, and Ceri’s three closest friends.

A bit of poking around, a few questions to Aedion, and you learned the three of them were orphans. A piece of your heart shattered.

Edde and Edie, twins, and their cousin Elias. All Fae, all lived at the castle most of their lives - long enough they didn’t remember anything else. They all wanted to train as warriors, even though they were barely eleven. You and Fenrys, acting like gossiping mothers, had easily figured out why they attached themselves to Ceri. Fae recognize power, and something inside them would’ve drawn them to that wild magic. Ceri was powerful, there was no denying that. Reaching her father’s levels, and maybe passing it one day. Sensing that type of power was right up your alley.

Fenrys pressed a mug of, you looked down into the cup, catching a drift of the sweet honey - mead, into your hands. You took it with a grateful grin. As much as you loved wine, mead was your favorite. But, it was expensive and sometimes difficult to find. Instead of chugging it, you let yourself savor every drop.

Ines sidled up next to you as Fenrys walked away. All it took was a drunk night together for you to count her as one of your closest friends. She was in a similar situation to you, a daughter - but her father lived quite a distance away. In Eyllwe. She would spend winters down there, and summers up here. You were excited to meet her. A few years younger than Ceri, but you had an inkling she would take her under her wing. Only time would tell if your daughter was a good or bad influence.

“You have a beautiful home,” she sighed, swirling her glass in one hand. Halle weaved around your feet, the little kitten had been growing, and fast. She’d been circling the house the entire time, judging all of the new visitors. For some reason, you got the impression she was assessing if they were worthy of being in their presence. A meow. The connection the two of you shared is not something to ponder right now.

“Yours is just as pretty,” you countered. And it was - an elegant townhouse in the middle of the city.

She hummed, and emptied her glass, nudging you with her elbow. “So, you and … Fenrys?” She hesitated, forcing herself not to put his title in front of his name. He hated that.

“Friends,” you nudged her back. “And that's it,” you hoped you emphasized the last word enough.

“I’m wounded,” the male said, before switching his gaze to Ines. “But yes, we are just friends.”

Where had he come from? Either way, you were glad he came and backed you up. Otherwise, she may never have believed you.

Rowan, Aelin, and the others were currently being treated to prime entertainment by the four hellions. Probably just for the night, the cousins had shed their shy skin for the night, now re-enacting … some sort of game they played earlier. Evangeline was just as taken with the others as she’d been with Ani, and you watched how they already were latching onto her like an older sister.

Another small pain in your chest, one another sip of mead washed away for the night.

Now was as good of a time as any to pull out a little creation you’d been working on. Gods, you’d started this project nearly a year ago, and just now you’d finally gotten it right.

Rowan watched as you quickly slipped out of the room, and debated following you. But, you returned quickly. A type of crystal now in your hand. Round, with a flat bottom, and … no, it was glass, encasing several different kinds of crystals, all carefully arranged to form symbols. And it swirled with magic, practically a beacon to anyone who knew what to look for. Apparently, it attracted his wife because she was at your side within moments, peering down at it curiously.

“It can only play one long track,” you admitted.

A track? Music?

Placing it on a table, he watched as your eyes focused on it, fingers pressing against the glass. Normally you could do these types of things with just a thought, but maybe this one needed touch to work.

Sure enough, a tune started playing through the room, and caught everyone’s attention. You turned red, the attention flustering you, but you quietly explained what it did. It captures and plays back music. Only one long track, this one about four hours before it would repeat. You’ve only made the one.

The last statement, your left thumb and forefinger pressed together. One of your tells, you lied. Interesting. Something he could ask about later. Calling you out on bullshit was always amusing to him, as long as it was relatively harmless, of course.

“Took me over a year to get right,” he heard you tell Aelin.

The music was from Antica - he knew that much.

Aelin caught his eye, no dancing, he said quickly - anticipating her next question.

A large sigh and roll of her eyes, but she turned back to you instead.

The party went well, as well as you could’ve predicted. By eight, it began to split up. The three “E’s,” as they’d been nicknamed that night, and Evangeline would spend the night. There was plenty of room, and you liked a full house.

Rowan, Aelin, and Fenrys stuck around as the others left. Lysandra promised to get your drunk friend home in one piece. Now, you all splayed out on the couches. Fenrys shared one with you, your legs currently thrown over his lap as you stretched out. One hand rested on your shin, and the other propped up behind his head. The portrait of casual arrogance.

“This was fun,” you commented, stealing a glance at Aelin and Rowan. Their positions nearly mirrored your own, Aelin stretched out like a cat on the other couch, but with Rowan’s hand resting on the inside of her knee.

“Oh absolutely. We should do it again.”

“I do not want to move houses anytime soon,” you groaned.

Fenrys poked you, “not every party has to be a housewarming one.” He caught your ankle as you brought your leg back to try and kick him. “Slow,” he tutted, and you rolled your eyes, accepting the failure.

It’s true, the alcohol and fatigue was delaying all of your reactions.

“A question, for you, y/n,” the look in his eyes promised trouble.

“Oh no.”

“Find anyone to warm your bed this winter?” Fenrys teased. That comment caught Aelin and Rowan’s attention. Rowan was proud you managed to land a kick on him, even if he didn’t react, he fought the urge to glare at Fenrys. “Ines is quite pretty,” he added.

“It’s none of your business,” you rolled your eyes, “but no, I haven’t, and Ines is just a friend, with no interest in women or females.” Rowan shouldn’t have felt that relieved, the relief flew out the window with what she said next. “I suppose it’s never too late.”

“That’s more like it,” Fenrys grinned - ignoring Aelin’s frown. He tried very hard to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t think I’ll get involved with anyone until Ceri’s a bit more grown up. At least seriously.”

“You’re really going to be single for that long?” Fenrys countered.

“We’re immortal,” she huffed. “Can we not talk about this?” If Rowan didn’t know better, he’d think you were avoiding looking at the two of them. Actually, looking anywhere but at them.

“I’m trying to be helpful. You look like you need a good fuck.”

“Fenrys. Shut. Up,” Aelin looked ready to throw a fiery dagger at him, and he only shrugged.

“Just pointing out the obvious.”

Even if a very drunk Aelin, who didn’t remember it the next day, admitted she really liked you, you were off-limits. Painfully off-limits, and not shown a hint of interest in them. He’d settle for - no, it wasn’t settling if there was no interest there on his end. He’d be your friend. Rowan liked being your friend. Friends were good, and friends was safe. The last thing he needed was for this to get messy.

“There’s going to be a ball, around beltane,” Aelin commented casually, carefully watching your reaction.

“Do we need to go dress shopping for Ceri?”

“For you and Ceri.” You paled, and she heard your heartbeat quicken. Your mouth parted, before closing again. Of all the things to make you speechless, it was this. “We’d like for both of you to come,” she added gently.

“Who … who will be there?”

“Every two years, the countries on Erilea meet for meetings. Sometimes countries too, and there’s always a ball. Music, food, dancing.”

Your entire arm began to shake. She held on tightly to your hand, felt your palm beginning to sweat. Your eyes glazed, and Aelin began to panic. The door swung open, revealing Rowan. He looked between the two of you, and crossed the room. Slowly, he knelt in front of you, taking your hand, disentangling Aelin’s fingers from yours. He called your name, over and over again.

“You’re in Terrasen. You’re in Orynth.”

“What triggered it?” He met Aelin’s eyes, not releasing his grip on your hands.

“I asked about the ball.”

Rowan swore lightly under his breath.

You were still shaking, eyes still glazed over, lips starting to turn blue. He gathered both of your hands in one, the other gripping your chin, squeezing enough so your lips parted. She felt his magic swirling, forcing air into your lungs.

You jolted, as if you were transported back to your body. Rowan hadn’t released his grip on your hands, and good thing because you looked ready to swing at him. Shaking, but eyes now clear, you looked around the room, studied their faces.

“I should go,” you murmured.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’re feeling better.”

Narrowed eyes stared at Rowan, and he stared right back. You didn’t argue, perhaps sensing this was a fight you wouldn’t win.

She felt the instincts flaring in him, in herself, the instinct to protect someone they claimed as their own. Friend or other, if someone was defenseless, vulnerable … it was normal amongst Fae to feel this. She had before for friends, but maybe not to this level.

“It happened once, when we were together,” Rowan said, after you’d fallen asleep - curled up right on their couch. Your eyes started drooping, falling quickly into sleep, and Rowan showed no inclination of wanting to move you back to your rooms, instead they carefully arranged you into a more comfortable position, tucking a blanket over you.

Like before, you weren’t able to give a solid reason why. He’d ask again tomorrow, and maybe things would be a bit clearer for you.

Rowan knew this happened before, and he was running through the circumstances, trying to pick out similarities.

“A friend invited me to a ball,” you commented absentmindedly. He knew you weren’t fishing for jealousy, you were just bringing up something going on in your life - something on your mind.

“Oh?” Rowan ran his hand up and down your bare back. “Are you going?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not the best person to bring to those.”

Rowan doubted that, and called it. “Bullshit.”

He felt more than saw your scowl. “I don’t like them.”

“That’s better,” he teased. “Why?”

“Bad memories.”

That peaked his interest. You rarely mentioned the past, and he always wanted to know more - maybe because of that, you were somewhat of a mystery. “Want to share?” He asked. You froze.

The only similarities were the ball.

Rowan cursed under his breath as you shook in your sleep.

A ball! It was magical, and beautiful. Males and females dressed up, and your mother had made you a pretty blue dress for it. Everyone’s attention was on your father, but you didn’t mind - it gave you time to observe everyone.

You were still thinking about it as you all trotted up towards your house, still in Fae form. You’d set off too early in your opinion, but it was smart to travel by daylight. You were glad you’re old enough to travel in Fae form. Carriages were much less fun.

You still carried your pack on your back as you shifted back, dumping it in your bedroom before hurrying back for breakfast. The dagger you got for your birthday was still strapped to your thigh, but you didn’t mind now.

Their faces were grave, and your mother crouched before you, gripping your shoulders. “I need you to run for the hills. Leave, do not look back.”

“But -,” looking out the window - the wards were strong, but hundreds and hundreds of soldiers were quickly descending, as if they’d been hiding and waiting for your return. It was easy enough to sense out who they were. Mortal soldiers, without magic. “I can help,” you insisted.

“If you die too,” the first tears left your cheeks, “then they win. Do you understand?”

You shook your head.

“They want to kill us, to kill your father and wipe our bloodline. To wipe our magic out.”

Her eyes said; you’re the only hope, you’re our legacy.

A few more convincing words from both of your parents, and you ran for the hills. As soon as you tried to turn back, the wards were melded around you. To keep you away from any threats.

Absolutely useless, but you forced yourself to watch as it happened. As they finally fell, as their heads were staked on the fence posts. The soldiers remained, but you could out wait them. You could memorize their faces, memorize the way they spoke, commit it to memory and find your vengeance one day.

“Terrasen,” a familiar voice interrupted, “You’re in Orynth.”

“Safe,” another said. Female.

A memory, that’s what it was. You weren’t trapped in that moment, you could come back to the present. There was nothing holding you here, not now.

“Good,” the male voice coaxed as your body relaxed, as you leaned into the sensations around you. Blanket, hands gripping yours, pine, snow, jasmine, and lemon verbena, the feeling of ancient magic - of fire, ice, wind, and a hint of water. Eventually, you managed to open your eyes.

“I need you to tell us where you went,” Rowan said, even adding, “please, y/n.”

How often had he said your names? How often does he say please? Words were effort, but when he asked so nicely, you could share. Trust, you reminded yourself. The small thread, a sign of the Goddess who watched over you, tugged and encouraged you.

“The night before my parents died,” your voice was hoarse, your throat aching - like something dry had been shoved down it. “We were at a ball. We arrived home that morning, and they were waiting for us. Surrounded.”

“When your parents died?” Aelin asked quietly.

It hurt, gods it hurt so fucking much, but you told her the story - as much as you could manage, and she listened intently. Thankfully, there was no pity in her eyes - understanding, instead. That was much more palpable.

Rowan thought he experienced the same thing as Aelin. When you shared the story about the dagger, but this time it was directed towards him. The entire time you shared, your eyes never drifted from him.

A show of trust to him, and he’d take that gift and hold it close. Your trust was difficult to earn, and relatively easy to break. He’d treat it with caution, like he would any treasure.

He was glad Aelin didn’t give away that he’d already told her the story. His wife was a good actress, and it shoved. The small bit of trust you showed him made him feel like a hypocrite. At the time, telling Aelin about your past felt essential, but now it resembled something of a betrayal.

“How are you going to explain my presence?”

Rowan and Aelin exchanged a glance, one that told you they’d already discussed this. Not surprising.

“Even without the ball,” he emphasized, “we considered asking if you’d like to be an advisor to the court.” He held up a hand as your lips parted, and damn you, your mouth shut on instinct. At least he didn’t seem to gloat about it. “The wards around Orynth could use another look, and you have unique skills and expertise.”

They actually value your opinion, you reminded yourself.

“You swear it, without the ball you still would’ve?” You’re not sure why, but it really mattered to you.

“I swear it.”

Rowan’s promises are as good as gold when it comes to him, so you gave your agreement. Then started to plan what you’d do about the castle and city wards. Of course, you’d already had time to think about it.

The ball would occur a week after beltane this year, when the last of the snow was predicted to abate, making travel tolerable.

Time passed quicker than you thought was possible. Ceri turned eleven, her birthday falling on the spring equinox this year. As her present, you let her pick out her chickens, and you and Rowan teamed up to start teaching her how to shift. An argument wouldn’t be right, but you did have a few disagreements over teaching styles. At least Aelin was on your side for that.

Then, it was beltane. Early that morning, you and Ceri went out to leave some gifts for the little folk at the crosspaths near your home. She’d spent a good portion of the previous day helping you craft them. Surprisingly patient and focused. Maypoles had been raised, hawthorn bushes decorated, and piles of wood gathering on the field before the city, waiting to be set alight.

You didn’t walk out with the Queen and King, by the time you arrived the fires were already burning. Ceri’s friends had come over before, for an early dinner, and now trailed together in a small pack.

“You know your signal?” You murmured to your daughter. A burst of magic, one to let you know if she needed you, with three different levels of urgency.

“Yes,” she grinned up at you. Ceri was quite proud of herself for mastering that - as she should be.

“Go on, then.”

The four raced off, weaving in and out of the fires, brief flashes of silver hair were like a beacon. Heads would turn as she passed, followed by small whispers. Ceri had adapted easily to those, thrilled by the attention, it was you that needed adjustment. Needed to stop giving a death stare to anyone who watched a few seconds too long.

Fenrys found you first, hanging out towards the edge of the fires, fully content to observe and watch.

He was not content with that, instead he dragged you right into the heart of the celebrations.

Thankfully, Aelin and Rowan didn’t try to drag you into anything. It was a time for the people to speak with their Queen and King, and you had plenty of exposure to the pair.

“How did you escape doing all of that?” You jerked your chin towards where they were speaking with another group.

“I came early,” he shot you a grin. His attention wavered, and you knew exactly who was making her way across the field.

Ines, all auburn hair, freckled skin, and bright green eyes, strode for both of you - cheeks already flushed. You didn’t miss how her heart rate picked up when she spotted who was next to you.

“Do I need to give you two a moment?” You murmured under your breath.

“We’ve had plenty of those.”

You groaned. Suspicion is fine, but you didn’t need confirmation.

Ines gripped your hand, “we’re jumping over one of them,” she announced, “for luck.”

“I know what it’s for,” you let her drag you anyway. When was the last time you’d done this? Maybe the year before Ceri was born.

Picking a medium low fire, the two of you gathered your skirts in one hand, still holding onto each other, and kicked your shoes away.

“One,” She grinned at you.

“Two,” you shot one back at her, eyes lighting up.

“Three.”

With surprising coordination, you both launched yourself over. Heat skimmed the bottom of your bare feet, but you made it over without any burns. Ines, thankfully, did as well.

Laughing, arms wrapped around each other, it took you longer than you cared to admit to locate your shoes again.

Rowan watched you jump over the fire with your friend, his mouth turning up at the corners.

Of course, you had to pretend you didn’t know each other, but you’d been at the same beltane celebration before, and he had the pleasure of watching you jump over fires. At least you remembered to hold your skirts up. He had to suffocate the flames last time.

Aelin tapped his shoulder, “I’d give her a seven out of ten.”

A genuine laugh left him, and she wound her arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. He never took these moments, these reminders of the peace they fought for.

Neither did everyone gathered around them.

The celebration lasted into early hours of the morning, and it was near three when the fires finally died down. You’d trusted Evangeline to escort Ceri and her friends back to the castle, and mentally prepared yourself to head home. There were plenty others flooding through the streets, so it shouldn’t be any issue.

Somehow, you found yourself roped into going into the castle. Fenrys informed you that their Majesty and Highness wanted to see you, and him - of course. Aedion and Lysandra joined you - a few bottles of wine each, Rowan and Aelin coming shortly after. Gods, you could drink, but northerners were on another level.

“Stay the night,” Aelin insisted. “There’s no need for you to traipse through the streets after dark.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Rowan huffed, like it was ridiculous you were asking for confirmation. It really was, they wouldn’t have offered if they didn’t mean it.

This was nice. Aelin never took these nights for granted. The beltane celebrations, seeing her people at peace, out and enjoying the traditions squashed by Adarlan for a decade. She loved that you were here now, that you’d been brought into their lives. Now, she could count you as one of the people closest to her, and gods she hoped you felt the same.

They might not have convinced you to live in the castle, but having you spend a few nights here - she’d take it over nothing. Just having you in Orynth was heaven.

Aelin decided the little bit of wine she had could explain these thoughts. Very inappropriate thoughts about you, about the mother of her mate’s child. She hated herself for reducing you to that, rejected the thought as soon as it drifted inside her mind. You were more than just a mother, even if you didn’t always see it that way.

A foot nudged her leg, tracking her back to the present.

“You’re staring,” Rowan murmured. You were caught up in conversation with Aedion, but Fenrys kept shooting Aelin wary looks. She didn’t bother trying to stare him down, only looking at Rowan, her eyes saying; sorry.

Why?

She’s very pretty, came out. She hadn’t had enough wine to blame these thoughts on. These were the thoughts of sober Aelin, just flowing more freely this time.

His eyebrows flicked up in amusement, I’m aware.

Right, he did put a baby in her. The thought didn’t make Aelin jealous, she almost wished she was there …

“It’s so weird when the two of you do that,” Aedion’s voice cut her off.

“Deal with it,” Rowan growled, before turning back to her. You should do something about that little crush of yours.

Maybe I will.

Rowan cut off the wine after another bottle, all but kicking Fenrys, Aedion, and Lysandra out. It was nearing five in the morning now, and even with nothing planned in the morning, it was getting late. Besides, he and Aelin wanted you in here - alone with them. When you rose to leave, Aelin grabbed onto your hand, tugging you back down.

“Stay a while,” she insisted, squeezing your hand. Rowan carefully monitored your every reaction. Aelin wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side like she usually did. He didn’t think it was entirely romantic on your part, at least that you knew, but he saw how you practically purred with the touch, how much you loved it - acted like you needed it. Everything was going to plan.

Aelin pulled away, and you frowned - instantly missing the warmth of her body. But, her hand trailed up your arm, stopping to cup your jaw. When you didn’t pull away, she wound another arm around your waist, tugging you closer, her eyes scanning your face.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, and her hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling your lips to hers.

At first, you froze. But when she didn’t stop, you followed her lead, falling into her rhythm for a few moments before reality caught up to you. With a gasp, you pulled away from her.

She had a hungry look in her eyes, watching like she was waiting for a moment to pounce again, to take you back and claim you. No, no, no. You found Rowan’s eyes, an apology right on your lips, but a shake of his head stopped you as he stood, crossing the room to sit on your other side. His finger pressed against your cheek, turning you to face him. Even as he had your attention, he didn’t move his hand, only sliding it to cup your jaw. An intimate touch. Aelin’s arm was still wrapped around your waist.

“Are you going to deny her, deny Aelin, what she wants?” This question felt like a trap.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” Rowan’s eyes lit with amusement - and something else, something familiar. Familiar enough it terrified you.

Aelin twisted you, now so you faced Rowan, her other hand twining itself in your hair, tilting your head to the side. Her lips pressed against your neck, trailing up the side. Your head fell, granting her more access, a small whimper slipping past your lips. She didn’t bite, but nipped at the skin - right where your neck met your shoulder. Did she know how significant that was? Apparently so, because she chuckled behind you.

She was purposefully holding you here. Keeping you where you’d lock eyes with Rowan, where he could watch the two of you. His knuckle grazed your cheekbone, a small ‘this is fine,’ and cemented it with a small nod.

That was all you needed, before you twisted back around, letting Aelin’s lips meet your own.

Aelin decided, first, that she’s very glad she did something about her ‘little crush.’ Next, she decided you were a fantastic kisser, and she needed to figure out how to repeat this experience. Preferably as often as possible.

When you finally pulled away, desperately sucking in air, she took the chance to glance at Rowan.

She’s good. His brows flicked, but he didn’t comment. Isn’t this the part where it’s your turn?

Aelin ran her thumb over your lips, keeping your attention on her while she waited for Rowan’s response.

What do you think? She hadn’t heard him this unsure in a while. It was rather endearing, to see him caught off guard.

Aelin looked back down to you - to your puffy lips and bright eyes, and lowered her voice. “Rowan wants to kiss you,” she said, and watched for your reaction. First, your eyes widened, and then you glanced over your shoulder quickly, before turning back to her. You wanted her permission. Maybe for her to make the choice for you. Something Aelin could easily do.

“Are you going to deny him?” She teased, copying Rowan’s earlier words. A snort from behind her, but sure enough you were pulled away. Even Rowan had limits to his patience.

Watching the two of you, how his hand gripped the back of your head, the other cupping your jaw, your arms hesitantly resting on his shoulders, Aelin realized she might be something of a voyeur. At least with the two of you.

He took control, tilting your head exactly where he wanted you, and you easily followed. Seamlessly, effortlessly. Aelin felt like she was viewing a memory, something from deep in the past, and didn’t find herself jealous.

You pulled away, “I think… I think that’s all I can handle for tonight.”

Lips bruised, hair messed, and cheeks flushed, Aelin wanted to keep you here, but she wouldn’t push.

Rowan ended up walking you back to your rooms, taking a step inside before closing the door gently.

He gripped both of your shoulders, making sure your eyes were on him. “Don’t overthink it.”

“Easier said than done.”

Arms wrapped around you, tugging you right into a hard and warm chest. Easily, you wrapped your arms around him. This was familiar, this was safe.

“We both wanted it,” he rubbed circles into your back. Maybe he sensed you needed reassurance.

“Let me guess, you made a plan?” You joked.

Rowan didn’t answer, and you tilted your head to look up at him. He had an unapologetic grin on his face. Eyes rolling, a laugh came from your chest. Brushing hair away from your face, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t run away in the morning,” he said and you dropped your arms. Taking a step back, keeping his eyes on you, he gripped the doorknob. Another smile, and he slipped out the door.

“Goodnight to you too,” you called down the hallway.

Thirty minutes later, you paced inside of your rooms, the haze fading, and traced your finger over your now bruised and puffy lips. Had that really happened? Had you imagined it?

Definitely not.

Are you going to deny her? Are you going to deny him?

Oh fuck.

Bracing your hands on the counter, you took a deep breath before looking in the mirror. Facing you, was a female with flushed cheeks, messed hair, bruised lips, and a glow. A female who looked free.

It’s a shame freedom has its costs, because this couldn’t happen again.

taglist: @holb32 @fussel9913 @moonlightttfae @cassianswh0reeee, @reidishh

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #throne of glass fic #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #throne of glass x reader #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n

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resart · 6 months

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Wrath of the Righteous features a roster of splendidly written and enjoyable companions, but the majority of their interactions are, sadly, easily missable on individual playthroughs. A collection of camping banter made by the amazing @neverwintrians remedies this issue to some extent by making some of the dialogues easily accessible for all the players. Since the characters’ input goes much further, a good while ago, I started a project to record all their comments and interjections. The idea was to copy-paste them from the localization file into a convenient spreadsheet. Since a new wave of players pick Pathfinder games after playing Baldur’s Gate 3, and we have more DLCs on the way to reignite the interest of the old fans, I figured it’s about time for me to share the results so far. Whether you want to use it for all sorts of analyses, as an inspiration or a reference for fan content, are simply curious, or want to get a few laughs: here you go.

Now, a few notes to keep in mind.

The data is still incomplete. My current playthrough goes very leisurely, and I only finished Act 3 recently. Almost everything past this point, save for some crucial parts of the story I revisited, comes from the run during which I wasn’t yet using Toy Box. I intend to continue slowly patching the holes as I go on, but please take what you see in the later chapters with a grain of salt for now (and don't expect to see Ulbrig's lines there).

Having that said, the branching, especially in later acts, gets crazy, so naturally, I wasn’t and won’t be able to find every last bit of dialogue on my own. What you see is based on my Angel playthrough, in which I haven’t even activated most of the romances. I managed to cheat my way into some interactions that normally would be unavailable to me, but the results were mostly confusing. Cells highlighted in yellow contain dialogues that I found via game files but either have some of the information missing, or I simply wasn’t able to trigger them while playing. There are also red cells that include lines that, to my knowledge, might not have been implemented since I found them in localization files, but the blueprints folder doesn’t confirm their presence in the game.

So here’s where I have a request for you all. If anyone can help me fill in the already existing blanks or spots a dialogue is missing and can provide a screenshot or a transcript of it, please contact me. I will add it to the document and credit you. All I need to know is when and where the conversation occurs, what/who the companions are reacting to, and if there are any specific requirements to see it.

The areas of special interest are:

mythic path exclusive interactions,

romance exclusive lines (especially in Acts 4 and 5),

Greybor’s, Arueshalae’s, and Lich companions’ lines during the celebration in Heaven’s Edge

late game dialogues for corrupted Arueshalae

I also want to thank GardathWhiterock from Pathfinder reddit, who advised me to look into the blueprints folder. Once I figured out how to work with it, filling up the majority of the blanks became super easy.

I will most likely edit this post in the future to note some important updates and milestones. For now, I just hope you guys will find anything of interest in what I have gathered.

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countlessimagines · 8 months

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Romantic Homicide [PART ONE][ Miguel O’Hara x Reader ]

Summary: You slowly slip from Miguel’s hands, and it’s too late for him to realize.

A/N: Wanted to desperately make something angsty for Miguel and this song was the perfect choice!

Warnings: None that I can think of.

PART TWO HERE

SONG BASED FIC: ROMANTIC HOMICIDE BY D4VD

I'm scared

Miguel O’Hara was not the man you knew anymore. When he first arrived to your dimension, he found love with you, but he never would have admitted it if asked about it. He found a sense of peace and clarity just being with you and having you to hold. You were one of the first recruits that he brought on.

You were the shining star to Miguel’s dark world. He had never intended to get close to someone, after seeing how many spider men lost their true loves. He didn’t want to experience that pain, he felt foolish and naive for falling for you. He loved the way you both would swing next to each other, almost like a choreographed dance.

He was a very passionate person, but there was also the side of him that was cold and distant. At first, that side never came to light. It was amazing recruiting others and taking on the fight together.

Everything had been good… until it was not. Miguel had been messing with another dimension without you knowing, and it was one where he found out that you and him had a child that was orphaned. He thought he could manage being with you and going to the dimension to be with your daughter.

He had been so happy spending time with your daughter who was oblivious to losing both her parents. And he wanted to introduce you to your daughter, but feared you might see it as insane and wrong.

So he kept it a secret for the time being. But Miguel could not handle both dimensions - both lives, and eventually it caught up with him.

He lost your daughter and never told you anything about the double life he led behind your back.

It feels like you don't care

You had felt the change in Miguel. Instead of the open minded, excited-to-save-the-multiverse Miguel, you got the cold and distant lover.

He never intended to hurt you, but he never considered your emotions and what the toll of having to fight so many villains falling out of their dimensions can take on you. You were his accomplice, the person he could count on for everything and would drop anything to help out.

You were strong, but seeing the person who would kiss you so deeply it would make you feel as if nothing else mattered… seeing him slowly become irritable as if the weight of the multiverse was not on both of your shoulders.

Enlighten me, my dear

Why am I still here?

You began to grow frustrated when Miguel refused to join you for a simple meal and got angry at you for trying to make him leave his computers. He stopped showing signs of love and genuine affection to you. The days of sleeping in and messing with Miguel’s bed head, making out upside down on the ceiling, saving universes together were long gone.

At a certain point, you would only stay at the spider complex, helping out new recruits while Miguel would opt to take Jessica instead of you on missions.

You would bite your tongue and resume your duties as to not poke the bear.

I don't mean to be complacent with the decisions you made

But why?

Peter B. Parker was your favorite spider-man simply because he would always bring your favorite food made by Mary Jane and let you hold Mayday. He was your best friend, and the only person who would probably understand the pain Miguel was putting you through.

You had confessed to him the feelings you had bottled up, and he was confused as to where it all came from as Miguel never wanted your intimate relationship known to everyone else in fear of you being hurt.

It pained you to know Miguel wanted to keep you a secret, like you were some villainous person that could easily be taken back to their dimension in an instant. Like you were replaceable… and the thought nagged at you… had Miguel found another you?

Peter expressed that Miguel never even mentioned having a loved one, that he wanted no form of attachment after watching his daughter die in his hands.

You had not even known about his daughter, so the mere thought of him purposefully keeping this a secret made you feel worse. A daughter? Why did he never trust me to know about his daughter? Why did he never feel comfortable telling me?

You began to even question why you still stayed, if it was worth the stress and mental drain to be near Miguel - knowing he was keeping not only you a secret, but possibly more.

Mm. In the back of my mind, You died

And I didn't even cry. No, not a single tear

You watched as the man you loved slowly descended into madness, an obsession to be precise and catch anything and everything that was wrong. It began to feel like he never even slept anymore. He was a shell of a person, day in and day out. Staring at monitors, asking Lyla for help, and then leaving for some type of mission.

It was a horrible cycle that repeated in front of you.

Every time you tried to talk to him about how he was doing or what you could do to help, he brushed you aside and barely even looked at you.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, but you would always turn away, tears ready to fall. You were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he kept you a secret for a reason… maybe, just maybe there was some type of reason he was acting this way with you.

But eventually you had cried enough over the man who no longer seemed to be the one who would call you his love, and the tears stopped.

And I'm sick of waiting patiently for someone that won't even arrive

You held our hope one last time, you invited Miguel to a dinner in your dimension. You set up your dining room with candles, delicious food, drinks, and a present containing the one single photo you had of the two of you.

But he never showed up. Lyla had sent a message to you telling you he got wrapped up in a mission and couldn’t make it. She seemed apologetic as she delivered the news, and she could tell you wanted to be alone.

You only said “okay” to her before ending the call, standing up, and dumping the present in the trash bin. You left your dining room and collapsed on your cold, unmade bed from when you had last left to be with Miguel.

In the back of my mind

I killed you

The next day, you heard absolutely nothing from everyone. Radio silence. You wondered if Miguel even knew if you were gone.

You stared at your watch that could take you to other universes, take you to Miguel. It was taunting you… a watch to see him but at a certain point, what cost did it come with?

You spent so much time going back and forth for him to not care at all. He was keeping your love hidden away in a room, for no one else to see. And at a certain point, he had forgotten about the room.

Finally, you had enough and no longer wished to have any type of temptation to go running back to him. There was no reason to go back.

You grabbed your hammer and began to repeatedly smash the watch into a million little pieces. Watching it crumble and break in front of you, made all the built up tears come back like a dam breaking open.

You screamed as tears poured, your heart breaking even more and feeling as if it could no longer take the hits.

And I didn't even even regret it

I can't believe I said it

You felt relieved to see the watch gone, to see the life with Miguel start to slip away, in the past.

But a part of you broke with the watch. The time spent with him felt wasted. You neglected your dimension for him and your duties as a spider-woman.

You felt angry that Miguel came into your life in the first place. That he was able to steal your heart and time and everything that made you happy was because of him.

You hated that he made you feel the way he did.

But it's true

I hate you

Months went on, no one dared to contact you in fear of Miguel finding out. He had been angry when he found out you had left, but he knew deep inside of himself that he was the reason why.

He forbid anyone to speak to you, though, because he feared you would make light of your relationship and how he let you slip away. He feared everyone would look at him as a weak, lonely, harsh leader. When he needed to remain steadfast.

You had returned to your normal way of life, learning to love yourself and help out those in need. While it was tame compared to multidimensional travel, it felt better for your soul.

However, one day after having such a long night trying to take down men who put targets on your back, you were wiping dirt and blood off your mask. In the corner of your eye, you could see a portal start to form in your living room. You were quick to put on your mask, readying yourself for it to be anyone.

But to your surprise, the most surprising person stepped through the large portal.

Hobie Brown.

Read part two here.

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cuubism · 1 year

Text

Enchantment

"Hob," Death greets, and Hob has never heard her voice go tentative like that - though it is, as always, still friendly and kind. "You called for me?"

"Hey, hon," Hob says, or croaks, throat dry and overused. "Yeah, I did, but I meant it in more of a do you think you could help me get out of this situation sort of way, not like, you know." He makes a slicing motion across his throat with his free hand. "Off me."

Death chuckles, crouching before him. "Yes, I see that now. I admit I was concerned, for a moment."

"To be fair, this is not exactly not concerning," Hob says, gesturing to his bound wrist, the frankly alarming amount of blood all over his body, and the situation more generally. "But what's one more dungeon rescue among friends?"

Death touches the binding on his wrist with light fingers, considering. Try as he might, despite having one hand and both legs free and considerable experience in picking locks, Hob has not been able to get it off. It must be magical in some way. "You did not call for Dream?"

Hob sighs. "Listen--" he starts, and Death snorts.

"Didn't want to be responsible for the leveling of the entire street?"

"Dream has not exactly--" Hob shifts and winces, that cuff is starting to burn under Death's touch-- "proven himself capable of moderation."

"And he won't, if the past billions of years are anything to go by," Death agrees, with the fond exasperation of an older sister.

She leans in close, studying the metal chaining his arm to the wall. "You couldn't have known, but I think you've prevented more than that in calling me instead."

"What's that thing say?" Hob asks. "I couldn't make out the language. Looked old."

Death runs her finger along the runes encircling the cuff. Hob winces again as the burning sensation flares. "It's a spell. A trap for Dream. Drawing on your connection to him."

"What?"

"I don't think it would've been powerful enough to work as intended." Death's lips purse in displeasure. "But that doesn't mean it would have no effect."

"What effect?" Hob asks, sick at the thought of Dream snared in another trap.

"As soon as he touched the binding with the intent to free you, it would have hooked into his power; the more power he used to pull away, the tighter it would have wound, like a finger trap. It is an enchantment that..." Death hesitates, "draws on emotion."

"Oh." Hob scrubs a hand through his ruined, greasy hair. "Fuck."

"It is fortunate that you called me," Death says grimly.

"It's not going to hurt you, is it?"

"No. But I doubt this will be comfortable."

Hob braces himself. "How will you break it?"

"All things have an end," Death tells him, pressing her fingertips to the runes. Hob feels each touch through the metal like a brand. "Even non-living things die. I've found the loose thread of that end, and now I will unravel it."

She twists the cuff around his wrist counterclockwise, and Hob yelps, cringing back against the wall, not entirely sure she hasn't burned his hand right off. The enchantment flares brighter than the sun, then disappears, leaving smoke behind.

She undoes the cuff easily after that.

Hob's wrist is intact, though terribly burned. That'll take a while to feel any better, unfortunately. He holds it against his chest. "Thanks, hon. I owe you a pint."

Death laughs. "No, you don't, but I won't turn it down. Do you want a ride home? I'm heading that way anyway."

"That's disturbing to think about," Hob tells her. "But sure."

He's going to have to do some cleanup here later. But for now, he'd just like to get out of this blasted place.

~~~~

"Hob Gadling."

Dream appears in his living room a few hours later, when Hob is ensconced on the couch with his laptop, trying to figure out how he's going to clean up this whole mess without alerting the authorities. Dream looks stricken, and Hob feels abruptly bad about not calling for him, even though that had been a fortunate bit of foresight, in the end.

"Hey, love." Hob sets the computer aside, and Dream comes over to him, sitting lightly on the couch at his side. He takes Hob's bandaged wrist in his hands. "Sorry about all that."

"Sorry?" Dream echoes, voice tipping up a note in what Hob can only read as the infliction of a wound. "I would have come for you."

"I know you would." Hob lays his hand over Dream's. It adds uncomfortable pressure to the burns but he doesn't let go. "I just didn't want--"

But it wasn't really about maintaining the peace at all, was it? It wasn't about Dream's overreaction, not deep down. It was only about Dream.

"Didn't want you hurt," Hob says quietly. "Not again."

Dream's jaw tightens. "Do not decide what risks I should take."

"They wanted you, did Death tell you that part, too?"

"She did. Do you think so low of me as to expect that would change my decision?"

I don't think low of you at all, Hob thinks. "That's not what I meant. Death just seemed the more... practical... choice at the time," he says, which is a weak argument, but Hob stands by his decision. Dream is safe, not trapped, and that's what matters. Outcome over intent, he's learned.

"Practical," Dream repeats. "Yes. I see my presence is unneeded. I will--"

Hob catches him by the wrist before he can stand. "Don't. Please."

"Considering you are no longer in peril, and do not wish for my help besides, I fail to see what purpose I am serving here," Dream says, still tensed like he means to jump up.

"No purpose needed," Hob says. "I just don't want to leave it like that. I know you're upset. And I know, I know, I would have been upset too if you were in trouble and didn't ask for my help, so don't even bother saying that--"

"You would?" says Dream.

Hob looks at him, both eyebrows raised. Yeah, obviously.

Dream raises a single eyebrow in return as if this is not, indeed, obvious.

Funny, Hob thinks, that silent communication. Hob is a talkative person by nature -- too talkative, more often than not -- but Dream is not and so Hob has learned to read him like this. The confusion in the way his brow pinches tighter, the way his body settles just so back into the couch, listening again, no longer on the verge of flight.

Surely he knows. Surely there's no way he doesn't know.

"I'd want you to call for me," Hob says. "I wouldn't want to leave you trapped."

"This was a trap," Dream says.

Exactly. "Did Death describe the enchantment?"

"Try to escape and tangle yourself further," Dream says. "Yes. I understand."

Do you? Hob thinks. Do you know why it would have worked on you?

They haven't actually gotten there yet. Hob can feel it approaching, though, with the inevitability of the moon reaching its perigee above the earth. He hasn't felt the need to rush it. Each careful step Dream takes towards him is a gift.

"There are many such traps in this world," Dream says, studying Hob.

Each careful step is a gift, and Hob hates the thought of that progress being used against Dream, those painstakingly untied feelings employed to trap him all over again. He can picture Dream tangled and bound and trying to pull away from him, and he hates it so much that he makes probably the exact opposite decision he should make, takes Dream's face lightly between his hands, tosses their careful timeline out the window and kisses him, right there and then.

Dream makes a surprised sound against his mouth, which means he really must be telling the truth about not looking in on Hob’s dreams because Hob has not been subtle in his dreaming. Dream wraps careful hands around Hob’s wrists, once again bracketing where the cuff had burned him. Holding Hob to him. His kiss is sweet with just a nip of fire, which is what all moments with Dream have felt like since his return, really.

Dream leans against his cheek when they part, hair brushing Hob’s temple. “When my sister told me you had called for her, it— I believe you would phrase it as ‘gave me a heart attack.’”

“I’m sorry, love.” Hob runs a hand through his hair, and Dream leans into the touch. “I would never do that to you, okay? Even if I did choose Death – which I won’t, but – I wouldn’t just disappear on you without saying anything. Alright?”

“Very well,” Dream agrees, though Hob doesn’t think he really believes it. Truly believing in Hob’s relentless commitment to life is a tall ask for Dream at the moment, but it’s okay, Hob has plenty of time to convince him.

“Believe it,” he says, and kisses Dream again.

#hob: why does nobody truly believe that i don't want to die? come on now #my writing #dreamling #the utter lack of context of this #i'm attempting to tackle perfectionism by letting this silly little fic /not/ have a perfect ending. instead of obsessing over it #not sure if working...

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