#his little kill-a-vampire kit

[artyandink]

Five-Star

Summary: You’ve been dating Dean Winchester, which is nothing short of a fever dream. A brilliant fever dream. But when you decide to test him on how much he wants you, you don’t get the answer you expected to have.

A/N - Welcome to the Karak Chaii-verse! I had an idea to write Dean with an Indian POC, since I’m one myself. Creds to @zepskies and her brilliant Midnight Espresso-verse, and you should definitely check that out. This is a small drabble that I thought up.

Your family had moved to the US around a year after you were born. That’s because the monsters in India were far more dangerous than in America due to the origination of them from the depths of Indian mythology, such as a rakshasa or arunasura, but you found that here was far more escalated.

At least, you’d found out when you met the Winchesters.

You came from a long line of crazy good Indian hunters, so you were already a great one yourself. Back in India, your parents would pose as part of the CBI, but you had to resort to finding someone who could make you a believable FBI badge once you turned eighteen and got into hunting solo, which was around 1997. There you met Bobby Singer, who hooked you up with what he called the ‘All-American Hunting Kit’, which consisted of an array of fake IDs and a lore book. You were glad your training, done by your dad, was done by the intensity of monsters in India rather than here, otherwise it’d be harder to get by.

On a hunt for a vampire and wraith hybrid in Grant Pass, Oregon, you came across the Winchesters, the shorter of the two having dubbed the hybrid ‘Jefferson Starships’. That man was Dean, and you were taken by his charming, goofy attitude that switched to an attractive sort of intensity when faced with imminent danger. You just didn’t expect ‘imminent danger’ to be the mother of all monsters.

Once your parents had found out that you were hanging out with the Winchesters, who were at the centre of any and all supernatural trouble in America, they sent you a thousand calls telling you to get your ass out of there before you got killed. You being you, you didn’t listen. Not when you knew that you’d get withdrawal symptoms from not seeing the million dollar smile of Dean Winchester, which quickly won you over (and his lips too, which knew damn well what they were doing).

As for Sam, you quickly saw him as your little brother figure, who also helped you manage your unruly hair by recommending the right hair products that you now had stocked up. You’d both nerd over monsters, you’d tell him about all the ones you’d encountered in India while Sam told you stories about all that he and his brother had gone through.

Which was no less than a lot. And you thought India was a harder place to live, by what your parents told you. Here there’s the friggin’ Apocalypse.

Dean was obviously your favourite Winchester. He’d told you he really liked you about two years and a half after you met amid averting eyes and stammered words as he spewed compliment after compliment, standing there in the Bunker’s kitchen like a nervous melon in his grey robe, black shorts with hot dogs on them and black undershirt with fuzzy hair.

You’d cut his nervous ramblings off by pulling him in by the lapel of his robe, lips puckered in surprise as they met yours as the tangy taste of cherry and sweet, buttery pie crust flooded your taste buds and even more so when Dean quickly took control of the kiss, hands tangling in your hair and grabbing at soft curves like his life depended on it.

One thing Dean loved about you was your cooking. Your mom had taught you a wide array of Indian dishes that you could cook, and the moment the first bite of your rajma and rice graced Dean’s mouth, it was hook, line and sinker. You’d taught him how to eat chole bhature, roti and sabzi and which masala was which so he could know what the hell did you put to make him fall for you over and over again.

You were scrolling on your YouTube shorts one day when you came across a video of a woman asking her husband what his favourite snack was to see if he’d say her or not. You didn’t look like the definition of a snack right now, with your unwashed hair tied up in a bun that your mom taught you to do with no hair tie whatsoever in grey sweatpants, Dean’s undershirt and fuzzy mismatched socks, but you decided to try it out anyway as Dean came into the bunker’s living room, approaching you from behind with a delicate yet possessive cup of your chin and a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted in that low voice of his that was effortlessly seductive even when he wasn’t trying, his hand sliding down to comfortingly rub over your chest and shoulder as he passed by. “Doin’ ok?” He sat down beside you, arm around your shoulder as his fingers began to play with your hair, warm green eyes trained on you.

You nodded, setting your phone aside. “Doing alright, yeah.” Then you decided to try out the question. “Dil, what’s your favourite snack?” You called Dean dil sometimes because it meant heart in Hindi, and he had yours.

The question got a chuckle out of him as he jerked his head to the right in amusement. “Awh, sweet girl, that’s hardly fair. I’d say beef jerky, but that new thing you, uh, introduced me to really raised the bar.” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment in contrast to the large grin on his face. “The aloo whatzitsname.”

“Aloo lachha.” You corrected with a giggle, barely holding back the urge to say what the answer was.

“Yeah, that. Or, uh, pie, but that’s a dessert and not a snack. Maybe that rajma stuff, but that’s a meal.” He continued rambling on any and all snacks he’d added to his palette since meeting you, until a bout of laughter from you slowed his roll. “What? What’s so funny, huh?”

“So… your favourite snack isn’t me.” You teased with a smirk, which got the cogs in his head turning. “You failed, sorry, honey.”

The words got a raise of his eyebrow and a slow and subtle roving of his eyes down your body and a bite of his lip. To him, you looked absolutely delicious. Like the best thing at a five star restaurant.

He stood up with a low grunt, facing you before grabbing you by your hips, hoisting you up so fast that you had to wrap your sweatpant-clad legs around his waist with a small shriek. “See, baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that bordered on reverence and somehow the intention to devour at the same time, which had you moaning already. His tongue slipped into your mouth, briefly getting a taste and giving you the distinct flavour of the aloo chaat you had made for lunch mixed with beer before he pulled back and nipped your bottom lip, groaning at the feeling of your fingers now tugging at his hair.

“You…” Dean paused for a breath and a low chuckle, staring at you hungrily. “You are the whole damn buffet.”

TAGLIST:

@k-slla @hobby27 @supernatural-jackles

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn masterlist

[avatar-anna]

Girl Gone Live

this is literally so stupid and so corny, but i don't care i'm here for a good time, not a long time, you know? enjoy!

"Okay, is this working? How do I know this is working?"

You squinted at the screen, feeling older than you actually were as you waited for some sign that the live stream you set up was working. Thankfully, comments started rolling through and the viewer count went up, and then it started to skyrocket, which made you a little nervous.

"I...think it's working! Cool. Well, um, obviously I'm Y/n L/n, and I'm a celebrity makeup artist. I recently did Olivia Rodrigo's makeup for her music video 'Vampire,' and I thought I would kind of walk you through how I achieved that look, I guess."

Before going live, you'd considered making a little script but decided against it. Hearing yourself bumble through the introduction now, though, you kind of wished you had.

No one seemed to be put off by your awkwardness, though. As comments streamed past, you saw some about the music video and Olivia and what it was like to work with her, but there were also a lot about Harry. You weren't necessarily surprised by Harry's fans flooding the comment section because you sometimes appeared in the background of posts from other people on Love on Tour and you'd become known as the tour's makeup artist. Sometimes you posted the looks you did for performances and little videos of you doing makeup before the show. The attention was a little jarring if you thought about it too long, but you decided it could be worse. After all, you were Harry Styles' long-term girlfriend.

But that wasn't what this livestream was about.

Your eyes scanned the comments as they moved a mile a minute, hoping to snag on a question. "Oh! Someone asked how I met Olivia. Um, as some of you may know, I'm currently working as the makeup artist for Love on Tour, and Olivia came to one of the shows, and we just talked for a really long time about makeup, and she asked me to do her makeup for the video a few weeks later."

It was a fun side gig while you were on tour with Harry and his band. You loved touring for the most part, but this was something different and exciting, so you flew back home during a break in the tour to work with Olivia on "Vampire." Harry tagged along, happy to watch you work instead of the other way around for once. He had a grin on his face the whole time as he watched you do your thing, playing assistant, grabbing whatever you needed when you asked, and holding a palette for you while you did Olivia's makeup. Overall, it was a fun shoot for both of you.

You were back on tour now, and since you had a little time to kill, you decided to go live for the first time to talk about makeup. If it went well, you could maybe make it a regular thing, so you hoped people actually watched and were interested.

*.*

Brynn watched her phone intently, pen in hand as she waited for Y/n to name-drop the next product she was using so she could write it down and see if she could afford it later. Not only was Brynn a huge fan of Olivia Rodrigo, but she had been a Harry Styles fan since she was in grade school, and when she got the notification that Y/n was going live, she was one of the first people to join.

"Luxury or drugstore makeup? Good question," Y/n said as she moisturized her face. "Honestly both. I love trying new things and seeing what works for me. When I was starting out, I mostly had MAC in my makeup kit, but now I've branched out a little more and added things here and there. But that's my professional kit, which has all the things I know with certainty will work perfectly for whatever look I'm trying to achieve. My personal one is where I do more experimentation with brands and products and trends. I guess that doesn't really answer the question, so both. I definitely use both.

"And what's cool is that Olivia loves makeup too, so she kind of knew her way around and what products worked best for her," Y/n continued.

She's so cool, Brynn thought as Y/n moved onto explaining how she did Olivia's base makeup. She didn't feel like Y/n was trying to push any particular product on her audience, nor did she hide which products she used. Her explanations were clear and easy to follow, and she even gave alternative products when she used one that was on the pricier side.

"Olivia loves herself a glowy base, and we really played that up because of the song. So to give her that Cullen-esque sparkle, I added some liquid highlighter into her foundation."

Brynn watched intently, wanting to see just how Y/n did it. Then, feeling compelled, she typed a comment. She didn't think Y/n would notice it, or be able to see it at all amongst the thousands of others, but she couldn't help but try to be noticed.

As Y/n blended her foundation in, Y/n smiled. "Someone asked how long it takes to do Harry's makeup on tour. Um...It kind of depends. Sometimes it's hard to actually get him in the chair because he gets so pumped up before he goes onstage. But once he settles enough for me to do it, it goes pretty quick. If he lets me, I get to put a little bit of glowy balm on his cheeks, but that's as creative as I get."

Y/n's smile changed, though Brynn couldn't really say how. It was almost like she was exasperated as she talked about Harry, and Brynn became just a tiny bit jealous that this person on the other side of her screen for knowing him well enough to be exasperated by him. What she wouldn't give to chase Harry Styles around so she could do his makeup. It left Brynn wondering how people even got into these situations.

Y/n finished up her base makeup while she answered more questions about the makeup products she used for the music video and a few about Love on Tour. She talked about her favorite songs and the places she'd been and the people she hung out with before and after shows.

"Oh boy, okay. I'm not a huge fan of bold lip colors on myself, but this is what I used on Olivia," Y/n said as she lined her lips. She'd just finished adding a light, almost haphazard, dusting of shimmer to her eyes, and despite the pixelated live stream feed, Brynn could still see it catch the light. "We wanted this to be the focal point of the whole look because, you know, vampires."

Y/n stopped talking briefly as she applied the lipstick she used for the music video, then shifted from side to side with her hands beneath her chin to show off the finished look. "Not my usual style, but—"

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

For a moment, Brynn thought she was dreaming. Mouth dropped open in shock, she watched as Harry Styles appeared onscreen in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His hair was messy, as if he'd just been sleeping or a storm had just run through it. The video quality wasn't great because it was a live stream, but Brynn couldn't help but think he looked so cute and warm with his sleepy eyes, especially as he stretched his arms above his head, though her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when the waistband of his sweatpants dropped a centimeter. Not even caring that they'd fallen a bit, Harry shuffled forward and sat down next to Y/n and kissed her shoulder. He didn't seem to notice Y/n's phone propped up in front of her, or the look of disbelief and slight horror on her face. Not when she tried to speak to him, and not when he leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

And through it all Brynn watched, feeling like she'd entered an alternate dimension.

"You look cute. I like the sparkle," Harry said, tapping his knuckle against Y/n's nose. She still looked like she was in shock, but when he leaned in—leaned in to kiss her, Brynn realized—Y/n seemed to shake off some of her stupor.

"We—We're not alone," she said, gently resting her fingers over Harry's mouth to stop him.

Brynn didn't want to tear her eyes away from Harry and Y/n, but she darted her gaze down to the comment section, which confirmed everything. This was no dream, this was really happening, and everyone who was watching was losing their minds.

"What do you mean, lovie?" Harry asked, brows furrowing, clearly confused by Y/n's odd behavior. He finally looked at the camera, his brows shooting up when he realized that Y/n was live streaming all of this. "Oh."

"Yeah 'oh.'"

"I thought you were on the phone—"

"I wasn't!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know! You didn't tell me. And since when—"

"Harry put a shirt on!"

Brynn watched their bickering in a daze, waiting for the inevitable end of the live stream. To her surprise, though, Harry grinned a little before taking Y/n—and the whole Internet, to be honest—by surprise and kissing her.

"Are you insane?"

Harry merely shrugged. He leaned in again, but Y/n pushed his face back with the palm of her hand. They began to bicker again, but this time, Y/n scrambled for her phone in the process.

"You drive me crazy."

"Now, I know that's not true."

"Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God—"

And just like that, the live stream ended with a wink. Brynn stared down at her phone almost as if she was waiting for Harry and Y/n to reappear on her screen. They didn't, and she was left sitting alone in her bedroom, wondering what the hell had just happened.

#harry styles #harry styles x makeup artist! yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[newyork-institute]

Imagining a fantasy/supernatural!au where Laswell has sent TF141 into Italy to deal with mafia vampires, resurgences of domovoi in Russia.

Imagining Soap rising from the ashes after his death, not understanding why he was alone in the middle of nowhere, naked, his skin sensitive like it had been burned. Turns out he had phoenix blood in him, much to the relief of the others.

I like to imagine them working for their country and trying to root out the bad creatures that stalk and hunt in the dark. Werewolves in London turned out to be a rabied dog, a Cujo looking motherfucker who was weighed in at 250 pounds after he nearly tore Gaz's leg apart. He underwent a month of rabies treatment before being cleared for work.

I like to imagine them deciding to retire after watching an innocent creature be hauled away in handcuffs, begging, screaming, to just kill her, a shrill cry sounding in the night as Laswell had to calm the boys down.

"It's outside of our jurisdiction, John! Familiars aren't allowed in-" "That's bullshit, Kate, and you know it." "Our hands are tied."

I like to imagine Price retiring to a decent-sized coastal town, buying himself a serious fixer-upper quite a ways from town that in a little secluded part of the beach, private property allowing himself a perfect, unobstructed view of the blue waves crashing onto the white beach.

(This idea has been living in my head-rent free for months now)

Months later, after the front part of the house is renovated, Price looks out his kitchen window one morning, seeing something washed up on shore.

Imagine the shock on Price's face when he realized a mermaid was unconscious on his beach, blood surrounding a massive wound in their side from something big.

Imagine him bending down, checking to find a pulse, and feeling relieved when he found one.

Imagine him carrying them to his house, not being able to leave them there to die. He places them gently in his tub, grabs his first aid kit, and goes to work on cleaning, stitching, and bandaging the massive gash.

Imagine him hauling up gallons of ocean water to pour into the tub, noticing how dry and gray their skin was as they lay unconscious in his tub.

Imagine him sitting vigil in his bathroom, trying to keep his eyes on the creature in his tub while he did as much research as he could on mermaids. (They were thought extinct by that point, the last recorded sighting of one being in 1933.)

Imagine him doing everything he could to make sure they survived, hoping and praying they would wake up.

Imagine him waiting weeks for them to wake up, their wound seeming unable to heal, even if Price kept checking on it every couple of hours.

Imagine one night, he's unable to stand the cold, hard linoleum of the bathroom floor, deciding then to sit on the couch and keep up his research, taking notes until midnight, passing out not too long after he started a video he found on some website.

Imagine him going into the bathroom the next morning to check on the mermaid in his tub, but being met with sharp, wide eyes staring him down, their frame tense and spikes and fins covering their flesh.

Imagine them trying to figure each other out while they heals in his tub.

Imagine mermaids adoring being doted on, being bestowed gifts and being complimented.

Imagine Price, who is absolutely fascinated by their beauty as color kept creeping back into their skin as time passed, their side healing and their strength returning.

Imagine him being unable to help himself one night as they swapped stories, his hand grabbing theirs and kissing their knuckles.

Imagine the blush that rises on their face, unable to stop themself from staring openly at Price, their breath caught in their throat as he kissed up their arm, reaching their shoulder and neck.

Imagine Price nipping and biting their neck, a moan slipping past their lips.

"You are the most breath-taking thing I've ever seen in my life, love."

Imagine them pulling Price's face up, looking into his eyes and feeling their very soul quivery at the look in his eyes.

Imagine him nearly falling into the tub with how hard they pull him down into a kiss.

#cod #captain price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #kate laswell #imagine #fantasy/supernatural!au #cod x gn!reader #task force 141 #john price x reader #mermaids #soap is a phoenix #brainrot #mermaid!reader #john price x gender neutral reader #john price x you #john price x mermaid!reader

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 15, "Their Jagged Edges"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Astarion tries to comfort Áine through the night and she shares a little of her past with him in good faith. The next morning, Gale sits before the party at large and offers Áine an apology. Astarion expresses his disapproval at Áine’s (in his opinion) swift forgiveness. The group returns to the goblin camp and enters the Underdark. Astarion comes to terms with his feelings.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Comfort/hurt; angst; fluff; trauma; post-traumatic flashbacks; description of feeling triggered and of a panic attack; discussion of the non-con portion of the previous chapter; more of Astarion's internal monologue flashbacks; suggestive content & dialogue; lightly proofread 

Word Count: 8.9k

Listening to: Butchered Tongue - Hozier, Daylight (Acoustic) - David Kushner, Jenny of Oldstones - cover by Rachel Hardy

The instant he slid her from his arms onto his bedroll, Astarion’s movements became tightly strung and ever more agitated. He could still feel her rapid heartbeat in his chest even after he no longer carried her, like a song echoed in an endless cavern. The remembered staccato of it spurred him on like a self-inflicted whipping cane as he tore through his wares for something, anything, to help her.

He swore when he knocked over one of his picking kits. Bleeding Hells, Astarion was positively rattled and wasn’t entirely sure how to calm down without going back out to the woods and actually killing Gale, which he still had half a mind to do. No, that would upset her more and possibly blast them all to smithereens. He didn’t have the faintest idea how the damned orb in Gale’s chest worked but he was sorely tempted to test it.

Roughly, he snatched up the tattered blanket at the foot of his bedroll and leaned over Áine to drape it around her shoulders, muttering a curse at himself for having such a bare interior for a tent. For having so little to call his own, so little to offer her. He should’ve just taken her to her own, she would’ve been more comfortable there, but no he’d acted selfishly again at the worst possible time because he didn’t want her out of his sight. 

Unsatisfied with just the old brown blanket, he leaned out and snatched the velvety red one that still hung across one of the mirrors outside his tent, bundling her in that too. Astarion had no idea if this would even help, but he was running out of things to try.  

His eyes next caught on the old bottle of brandy he’d taken from a chest on a whim weeks ago at this point. Astarion uncapped it and snatched up the empty goblet he still had from Áine’s wine at the tieflings’ party, splashing some of the amber liquid into the vessel. “Bleeding fucking Hells, my left arm for some tea leaves,” he was muttering under his breath, rifling through a nearby bag even though he knew for certain he’d yet to come across any tea in their travels. 

Áine watched him, his every movement half-coiled like a predator still aching to pounce, still dangerous despite its retreat. She hugged her knees to her chest, making herself take longer, deeper breaths to slow her tired lungs and racing heart. Her head swam from stress and a shortage of air, but she kept telling herself she was safe now. She’d have to do damage control in the morning, she expected, but for now, she was safe and just needed to calm down. 

She heard him remark upon their lack of tea leaves and in his manic state he missed the way her expression softened. He still remembered that? That she’d said she found a warm tea with brandy to be comforting? She let the realization warm her chilled bones, his care as healing as any drink he could have brewed her, as he pressed the goblet of straight, lukewarm brandy into her hands. 

Her darkened eyes flickered down to the light golden ripples of the drink. When had she said that again? Surely not the only time she could remember with any clarity—the very first day they’d met. When he’d remarked preferring a dry red as his go-to drink and she’d not yet had the context to understand he was making a joke about his vampirism. It made her smile ever so faintly now. That had been…so long ago. And he remembered. Even back then, when she’d been firmly under the impression that he hated her, he’d been listening.

Áine jolted when she heard him snarl toward the door at the faintest sound of footsteps outside. The footfalls had passed too closely to the tent for his liking and he’d immediately gone on the offensive as his instincts to protect himself and his mate had surged to the surface. “Astarion, it’s okay,” she murmured. “It just sounds like someone going to bed or going off to relieve themselves. Nothing dangerous.”

Astarion rounded on her for saying that, incredulous as he repeated her words. “‘Nothing dangerous?’ I truly don’t understand you sometimes, Áine,” he gritted. “How are you just okay after something like that?”

As soon as his words had left his lips in such upset, Astarion had chastised himself, dropping his head forward to rake a rough hand through his hair. Frustrated as he was, he wasn’t frustrated with her. He was worried for her. She needed to know that, not feel as though he was mad at her for what had happened.

She didn’t begrudge him his stressed response it seemed. He almost wished she would. “I’m not,” she whispered with patience, her fingertips pressing more firmly against the sides of the goblet as she took a tiny sip of the beverage. “But… I don’t think I’m worried anymore. Just…shaken up.”

Astarion looked down at Áine, bundled in his blankets with her barely nursed brandy in her hands. Whether it was how she sat, so curled in on herself, or that he simply wasn’t used to standing over her like this, she looked so heartbreakingly small to him now. So unbearably fragile when there were more times than he could count that “fragile” was the last word he would’ve ever chosen to describe her.

His expression bared without so much as an attempt to hide how helpless he felt, Astarion slowly slumped to his knees in front of her, his head hung in defeat. “I apologize for getting cross with you, I… I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what you need. Or how to fix this.” He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, finding the amber windows to his favorite soul glassy with unshed tears. “You can have anything you want. Anything of mine. Of me. Just name it.”

Áine’s expression crumpled. “Astarion—”

It’s all I’m good for, he wanted to reassure her. I know. It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s you. Aloud, he said, “You can have as much or as little of me as you want. If it will help, I’ll do it.”

Áine stared into his eyes, her brows canting upward as a fluttered blink of her lashes made her tears spill over at last. He was set off by all this too and not just because he was worried for her—she could see the pain, the barely staved off dissociation in those gorgeous crimson eyes. Not nearly for the first time since she’d met him, since she’d known him, since she’d loved him—yes, she was tired of lying to herself about her own feelings—she wondered, Gods, what happened to you? How much did she still not know?

The bard set aside the goblet, reaching for Astarion’s hands. He deposited them without question into hers and let her guide him down to lie on his bedroll. Instinctively, his fingers reached for the laces of his shirt, ready to do whatever she asked of him, even if it hurt. He was utterly lost to her and that was finally spiraling into such a maelstrom of fact that he no longer felt an ounce of his former kneejerk denial. Áine could do almost anything to him now and he was convinced he’d forgive her in an instant. Was this trust?

Her warm fingers covered his, firmly stilling them against his collar. Astarion looked up at her and Áine saw that look in his eyes again—half-present, half-slowly slipping out to sea past where she thought she could reach him. She ran her thumbs against his knuckles like the smallest ritual, a tactile prayer. She pressed a kiss against the spot where his hands met before she guided them apart and found her place within the circle of his arms. 

Astarion kept his arms hovered just above her while she situated herself, suddenly out of his depth again. His face heated with the palest flush of pink as she fitted herself perfectly against his body, nudging his legs apart just to entangle them with hers. He could feel her face burning against the fabric of his shirt when she finally settled her head against the curve of his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, finally allowing his arms to come down to rest around her. Timidly at first and then more securely as he grew comfortable holding her. One of her beautifully content sighs graced his ears and, even though it took Astarion a moment to relax, he managed it as his somber eyes traced the starlight crown of her head. “Of course,” he whispered back, trying to make sense of what she could possibly see in him, how she could possibly want him. 

Hesitantly, he raised a hand to her brilliant pearlescent halo and followed an instinct he had to stroke her hair. The way her prone body melted further against him rewarded his cautious venture and he marveled at her vulnerability, her warmth, and her trust in him. They were fitted against each other in every curve and he only wanted her closer, impossibly so. Until he could no longer find their separate starts and ends.

Astarion adjusted to rest his chin against the top of her head. “Are you alright, my sweet?” he asked and his voice was so gentle Áine’s eyes burned anew with tears. He felt her tense and, afraid both that he’d upset her and, selfishly once more, that she’d leave, he quickly said, “We needn’t talk if—”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked and he realized that she’d tensed to stifle a sob. 

Astarion’s jaw set and he pulled her tightly against him. She molded willingly against him, burying her face into his neck. Her tears dripped like summer rain past his collar. He sighed and mumbled, “I should’ve killed him.”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve,” she asserted with a hiccup. Hidden from Astarion’s view, Áine’s features strained against the tears that came and she forced herself to inhale deeply, even as her breath shuddered. She could feel a headache forming as a dull pain behind her eyes.

“Please?” Astarion asked in a quiet whine and it caught her so off-guard that a small watery giggle escaped Áine’s aching throat. He cast a fond smile down at her, a smile she felt hints of when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Leaning further into his natural inclinations, Astarion traced gentle patterns against Áine’s back until she was able to calm herself. He let his eyes close, meditating on her heart and her heat.

He was almost sure she’d dozed off when he heard her murmur, “It all brought back some unpleasant memories. That’s why…” She trailed off and he waited for her to collect herself and continue. “That’s why I fell apart so thoroughly, I think.”

Astarion dropped his head forward slightly, pulling her scent into his more or less useless lungs to ground himself and remind himself that she was more important than his anger. “Because I need you more than he does right now.” He skimmed his lips against her temple as he murmured back, “I can relate to that, for whatever it’s worth… Anything you’d like to talk about?”

Áine pursed her lips, bringing one of her hands up to her face to wipe away her tears. Was there anything she wanted to tell him? Anything that had been dredged up that would feel better left to the night air? Would it change anything, or make a difference? She’d never talked to someone about her past in any detail. “I’m not sure,” she admitted plainly. “I…don’t know if any of it’s worth bringing up.”

Astarion’s eyes opened into barely discernable slits to peer down at her. He couldn’t see her face, but he admired the sight of her wrapped up in him all the same. Besides that, he knew her well enough by now to not need a constant read on her expression to know at least somewhat how she felt. “It is up to you. But should you be inclined,” he mumbled, “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

A small smile tugged at Áine’s lips. She sniffled again, but it was residual, and said, “In the shortest terms I can place it, I was a soldier once. Years ago. And mixed barracks are often not a kind place, especially among other drow.”

Astarion’s arms tightened around her just the slightest bit. His mind flashed back to the “kennels” wedged deep into the bowels of Cazador’s palace. The moldy, scratchy, tattered bunks. The smell of decaying rats and their old excrement amidst an array of other horrible, sour smells. Another deep inhale of her scent helped to center him, but barely.

“Your soldiering doesn’t surprise me from how many times I’ve seen you tear through a battlefield at this point,” he murmured. “Is the…barracks instance why you left?”

He felt her shake her head against his chest before she craned her head back to meet his eyes. Áine smiled softly when he took the opportunity to kiss the tip of her nose. “No,” she replied. “Those sorts of things were normal.”

Astarion scowled at the idea, suddenly wondering if anything he’d done or any of his advances had set something off for her in their time together. Without knowing, he could only be so upset with himself, but he still found himself half-asking, “...when you say ‘those sorts of things’?”

“The, uh, handsiness, I suppose,” she said carefully. More of that red-hot anger lanced through him. “The drunk handsiness specifically. Worse than what Gale did, but never the worst it could’ve been if that makes sense.”

While she spoke, Áine watched Astarion’s features, seeing a mingling of anger on her behalf and discomfort whenever his eyes drifted out of focus, taken by an unpleasant memory. She recognized that cocktail of emotions with ease as she often felt it, herself. With hesitation, he said, “I believe I understand what you mean.”

She was glad she didn’t need to go into further detail. She’d normalized it all to cope over the years, but the longer she’d spent away from her family and former comrades-in-arms, the more she’d realized just how fucked up the first 45 years or so of her life had been. It took getting away from it to see it at all. “It was more violent than anything,” she found herself admitting. “Just constant scraps and drunk fights. And training was no different.”

“It sounds dreadful, darling,” he informed her. 

Her gaze shuttered slightly, remembering. “It was.”

“Why do it then?” he wondered. “Surely that sort of life wasn’t what you signed up for when you started, er, soldiering. You could hardly be blamed for—what?”

Áine had looked up at him while he spoke and she had a peculiar twinge to her expression. It took him a moment to realize it was sorrow. The sort with roots so deep they mixed with one’s marrow. “Astarion, I—” Her voice cracked, but she steeled herself. “I like to think I had a choice, but the older I get, the less I think I did.”

“Whatever could you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged, ducking her gaze to fix upon his shirt ties as she murmured, “It’s all I was born for.”

Astarion scoffed a little. “As in you felt it was your destiny?”

“No,” she said. “I mean it’s the only reason I was born.” Her whispering voice hardened. “I was conceived to serve and I did. Until I didn’t.”

“It’s all you’re good for, after all.” 

Astarion’s throat constricted, searching the top of her bowed head as if it could provide as much context as the expression she hid from him. He didn’t know what to say to that. It hit too close to home and yet he had to acknowledge that he didn’t know how she felt in some ways at all. He’d had a life before he was nearly killed, before he began his next “life.” He could scarcely remember most of it, but he’d had it. And while it had been criminally short for the expected lifespan of a high elf, he couldn’t imagine being born into, raised into war.

His eyes traced the faint points of her ears, the crease between his brows deepening. A familiar recurring dread sent a wave of nausea through him to think about her mortality. Half-elves could live past 200 years of age, but it was so variable by blood. “It feels particularly wretched to have done that to you,” he murmured, “considering the time allowed to half-elves.”

“That’s why I’m half, too,” she murmured, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. When she glanced up at him to find his features pinched in confusion, she explained simply, “Faster soldiers.”

So she’d been bred a half-elf because she’d mature faster than a full drow. A quicker workup for another body to be thrust into battle. For what? No reason could suffice, but he had to wonder what could’ve possibly been happening during his cyclical time suffering all means of torture and procuring prey for his master to have warranted such a cruel recruitment. 

Bereft of anything else he could think to say, Astarion murmured, “...I’m sorry.”

Áine gave him a gentle goading look that he didn’t understand until she said in her little impression of his voice, “What could you have to be sorry for?”

He snorted and inclined his head. “Touché, my love.” Astarion traced his fingertips against the curve of her cheek, a complicated feeling curled in his chest like a sleeping cat. He realized gradually that it was compassion, only “complicated” for him. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, given what you’ve just told me,” he said slowly, “but I’m glad you are here.”

A tender smile traced her lips. “And I, you,” she murmured. “I suppose we can be selfish together.” More seriously, she added a quiet, “...Thank you. For listening.”            

“Anytime,” Astarion said. He hesitated and pointed out to her and himself, “You would do the same for me. You have done the same for me.”

“Happily,” she said, sighing with contentment as she adjusted to settle back in against him and was rewarded by him drawing the blankets more snugly over them both and kissing her forehead. With sleep-bleary eyes, she glanced up at him and cautiously asked, “Are you alright?”

Astarion watched her affectionately as her body started to forcibly wind her down. “Me?” he asked with a teasing lilt to his voice as he gathered the woman lying against him even closer, finding that even that still wasn’t close enough. Would it ever be? “I’m in heaven, darling.”

Áine smiled and laughed a little at his flirting, but her features remained taut with seriousness. “You know what I mean,” she murmured. “Tonight set something off for you, too.”

He gave a noncommittal grumble. “Of course it did,” Astarion snipped, “I was worried for you. I still am.”

“And I appreciate that more than you know,” she reassured him. “But that’s not what I mean either.”

One of Astarion’s reflexive responses began to bubble up, but he contained it and he sighed instead. He sighed an awful lot for someone who had no functional use for breathing apart from a comfortable habit. “Not tonight, darling,” he said instead. “Soon. But not tonight.”

“Okay,” Áine said. “You’re okay though?”

“I am,” he reassured her. “I’ll be all the better if you rest.”

Áine yawned, accidentally emphasizing his point. “Tired of talking to me?” she teased him.

“Exceptionally,” he teased her back, smirking when she pressed a kiss under his jaw and returned her head to rest against his shoulder.

“Is this comfortable or should I move?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open at this point.

“I will be personally offended if you try to move,” he warned her, bringing a sleepy smirk to her face. It was a sight he memorized, craving to preserve it for an eternity at minimum.

“If I weren’t so tired, I’d do it just to see what happened,” she mumbled and he believed her. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

Astarion felt her heart slow as she slipped into sleep and he found himself studying her relaxed features for some time after. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” he murmured after she was already gone, simply musing over the turns his night—his existence even—had taken as he let himself bring his guard down just enough to let himself slip into a light meditation. 

His first in centuries that was completely free of nightmarish memories and visions. 

Their late night became morning with a swiftness that bordered on criminal and the pair were awakened too early for either of their likings.

Áine stirred with a groan, her hand finding purchase against soft cottony fabric and her fingertips feeling the smooth, cold plane of muscle beneath that brought her waking brain the recognition it needed. She ran her hand up until her hand cupped against the side of her bedmate’s neck and she was able to hook her arm back around him. She lifted her head and willed her eyes to open, greeted by a sight she was starting to find more beautiful than most sunrises. 

Astarion, already alert, met her eyes and watched her wake with just the faintest line of tension in his otherwise softened expression. “Good morning,” he murmured, ever amused and bewitched by how wild her hair became once tossed by sleep. When she uttered another quieter grumble and tried unsuccessfully to blink the sleep from her eyes, Astarion chuckled. “Or perhaps not?”

“I slept like the dead,” she mumbled after using the arm she’d moved around him to pull herself up to kiss his cheek. “I think it may have killed me.”

He smirked. “Well, if you’ve passed, apparently you took me with you,” he remarked. If he were being honest, he would prefer it that way at the end of things. He couldn’t think of a better way to go than with her. Astarion inwardly balked at the hopelessly romantic thought, wondering who’d injected that into his mind. Worse than a tadpole, truly.

He felt Áine hum her acknowledgment of his statement against his throat between kisses and Astarion used his arm still wrapped beneath her to roll her into lying atop him. Undeterred by being transplanted, Áine nuzzled back into his neck, kissing a trail down to his collarbone and only lifting when her roving hands smoothed his shirt up off his torso. She held the offending fabric out of her way as she continued her winding trail down his stomach, taking her time with every languorous press and suck from her lips.

“And what are you getting up to?” Astarion asked, wincing slightly at how his voice broke a bit at the end, betraying the effect she had on him.

“Getting up to? No,” she murmured, her voice a sleepy, sensual husk that sent an immediate jolt through his body. “Going down…maybe. If you’ll humor me?”

Humor her? Hells, he’d get on his knees and beg her for the privilege. Astarion swallowed hard and nodded when her sleep-softened, hooded amber gaze flicked forward to check in with him. Áine’s mouth formed a faint, smug smile as she dropped it back down to his abdomen, her hands releasing the bunch of his shirt as she skimmed her fingertips down to his thighs, leaving tickling trails of heat in streaks down his stomach. He shivered, his hips instinctively canting upward as she gripped his thighs and settled herself between them.

“Are you always so frisky in the morning, my dear?” Astarion tried to tease her, but the pointed question came out so breathy he just felt a little embarrassed.

As far as Áine was concerned, his attempt to tease her had worked as just the sound of his oft-overcomposed voice trembling at the bare beginnings of her ministrations sent a clench through her inner thighs. She breathed in deep, composing herself as her fingertips moved deftly to make short work of his pants. 

At least until they were interrupted by a not-distant-enough voice outside.

Áine’s hands stilled and she cocked her head ever so slightly to see if she’d imagined it. Or perhaps she’d misheard the word that sounded like her name. However, she heard it again and expelled the breath she’d just taken in with a frustrated sigh. Gale was asking after her next door, at her tent.

“Ignore him,” Astarion murmured severely and Áine may have found his ferocity amusing if she weren’t just as upset. Her fingers flexed against his waistband, wanting to keep going and ignore him as Astarion suggested.

And then again from the tent adjacent, “Áine, I’m sorry and I would love to explain in detail just how ashamed I am if you’d permit me to do so.” Gale’s voice was faintly muffled as if running a hand down his face.

Fainter still, closer to the fire, she suspected, Karlach’s voice joined the mix. “Gale, where’d you get the shiner? Drop a book on your face in bed?”

“Nothing so intelligent,” Gale sighed. “Am I being foolish, has she gone out scouting or something?”

Lae’zel’s voice emerged. “Astarion took her to his bed last night.” Something bristled in her tone and Áine couldn’t decide what it was until she heard Lae’zel add, “What is it exactly that you have to apologize for, Gale?”

Oh dear, Lae’zel was putting two and two together, which meant Áine had to brace to save the little rat’s life again.

“I’m going to kill him,” Astarion growled as Áine gave up on her morning misdeed, picked herself up off the tent floor, and straightened her clothes. “I was going to kill him before and now I’m going to kill him more slowly. Perhaps use one of his nasty little scrolls to bring him back so I can kill him a second time as well.”

Of all the bloody times for her to have to play party leader, it’d had to be this morning. This morning after he’d surfaced from a deep, satisfying reverie almost entirely free of the usual torment of painful flashbacks. He still struggled at times in their intimate moments, especially in the moments he felt out of control, regardless of whether or not he slipped into a script to cope. He didn’t feel in control this morning, but it didn’t feel bad either and, gods, he wanted to try at least! Even his usual anxieties about something being too much for him and her seeing him shut down seemed quieter than usual.

“There will be no killing the idiot wizard,” she declared in a whisper as she leaned down and captured his lips in a loving kiss. “As tempting as it may be. This wasn’t a one-time offer, don’t worry.”

“That’s hardly the point, my darling,” he grumbled, attempting to pull her back down with him to little avail. She laughed at his pouting expression. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re so unbearably sexy as you wake in the morning?”

“You could’ve found out for yourself, you know,” Áine pointed out with a smile as she ruffled his curls. She decided to needle him a little as she put her boots on. “Besides, you woke with me after our first night together. Was I not so interesting then?”

Plenty interesting, frighteningly so, he answered internally. “Of course you were,” Astarion assured her, glaring at her boots as if they were singlehandedly responsible for taking her from his tent. “You’re simply even more ‘interesting’ now.”

Áine smirked. “What can I say? I like to snuggle.”

“Duly noted,” Astarion purred. And before she could insinuate it, he added, “And not just for the carnal bonuses… Last night was nice.”

Her features softened. “Apart from what inspired it, yes. It really was,” she agreed. Áine dared to lean in for one more smooch and dodged with only seconds to spare when he meant to snatch her back and tumble her beneath him. “Nice try, my love.”

Astarion dramatically threw his arm across his eyes when she stood up, soon forcing himself up—and the rest of him down—as well to follow her out of his tent and into whatever fray they were soon to step into. No way in the Hells was he going to let her walk out and face Gale alone, even if she didn’t seem concerned about doing so.

The first thing he saw, with satisfaction, was the blackened state of Gale’s left eye. 

The wizard looked over when Áine emerged with Astarion directly behind her, his hackles already up. Clearing his throat, Gale looked at Áine, his studious brow creating a deep fissure at its middle. “Far be it from me to ask for a thing from you, but may I have a word?” he asked.

Áine nodded, glancing down the path from their camp and suggesting, “We can step out to chat if you’d prefer,” allowing him to save face, at least for the time being.

To her surprise and slight concern as well, he politely refused her out. “No, I think it’s best that I hang myself out to dry in mixed company,” Gale said, punctuating his words with a small shake of his index finger. “Good for the ego, you see.”

But good for the vitality? Áine wondered despite not arguing. “Very well, if you think so.” She had to give him some measure of props for this, she supposed. It was a bold choice.

Astarion was less impressed, no surprise there. Not only was he quite sure that nothing Gale could say would calm his ire, but he was quietly rooting for the others now to be upset like he was. More than that, he wanted Áine to be properly angry at him for the position he’d put her in.

They gathered near the fire and Áine sat adjacent to where Gale parked himself, feeling Astarion plunk himself down directly beside her. It was comforting, but she was also wary of her lover being only too happy to make Gale’s right eye match his left. 

Lae’zel remained nearby, her eyes already severe on Gale’s back, and Shadowheart lingered while she worked on her breakfast. Áine felt the cleric’s gaze scan her for any signs of injury, the other woman’s frame only relaxing faintly when she found none. Karlach and Wyll were already at the fire when the three of them sat down and Halsin sat nearby as well, still portioning out breakfast. Karlach and Wyll’s conversation went quiet as they glanced between Áine, Astarion, and Gale, and the only sounds left in camp save for the crackling of the fire were Scratch and the owlbear cub having a game of tag nearby. Well, Gale had his audience.

“Right, what’s happened?” Shadowheart finally asked, clearly uneasy.

Gale cringed at her tone, his jaw working as he tried to parse together what to say. Áine remained silent, watching him clam up and deciding that she’d leave them in awkward silence until he drummed up the courage he’d had just a moment ago upon suggesting this route.

Astarion wasn’t as patient. Furious ruby eyes shot to meet Shadowheart’s as he said, “Our little Gale decided not to keep his hands—and his mouth, I’d wager—to himself last night, Áine’s consent on the matter be damned.”

Áine paled. Oh dear.

The ladle Halsin was using clacked loudly against the pot where he dropped it, his expression horrified as he looked between Gale and Áine. “Oak Father preserve us,” he murmured, but his expression was tinged with tension as if trying to keep his wild shape in check.

The scrape of steel preceded Lae’zel’s response, a fierce glare twisting her features. “Chk, I knew it,” she muttered, her sword glittering dangerously as she freed it. “I demand clarification.”

Wyll went ashen next to Karlach, who crushed the bowl in her hand, remnants of porridge burning black when they hit her blazing flesh. Through clenched teeth, Karlach ground out, “Please tell me there’s a good explanation for this, Gale.”

Shadowheart’s expression twisted with rage, but her attention went first to Áine instead. “Are you alright?” she asked, her fingertips white with pressure as she clutched her dining implements. When Áine nodded, her gaze burned a hole into Gale. “Your destroyer Mystra help you if she weren’t.”

“Please… I—,” he paused to sigh, leaning down to bury his face in his hands and collect himself before he sat up straight and turned fully to face Áine. “There is no ‘good’ explanation for something like this. And it is no excuse that I was out of my mind with wine, fear, and self-pity.

“However, I cannot properly express how sorry I am, Áine. That it happened at all with anyone, but especially that it was you. You’ve done so much for me—you’ve aided me in my affliction, you’ve been a trusted friend, a trusted ally, and I’ve repaid you with this and a deadly lie.” 

He drew in a deep breath and she heard it shudder in his next words. “I do not deserve to carry on with you on this journey. In fact, I deserve little more than to find a barren patch of Faerûn to end my sorry existence on,” he stated, his hands balled in his lap to keep them from shaking. “But if you would allow me, I will take every available opportunity from here on to be a better friend, a better travel companion, and a better ally. And I will endeavor to never again take your kindness and care for granted as I know I have so far.”

Gale gave a weakened sigh as he pushed an anxious hand through his chestnut locks. “And…for whatever it’s worth, nothing about what happened was premeditated,” he added. “Again, it fixes nothing, but I wanted you to know that.”

The silence sat for a long few minutes. All eyes shifted to Áine, awaiting her verdict, while hers stayed fastened on Gale. He felt her measure his worth and the weight of his words as if she, too, were imbued with magic. As if she could see through all that he was.

Slowly, Áine nodded. “So stay. And prove your intentions.”

Gale hastened to nod. “Thank you. I swear, I’ll never a—”

He fell silent when Áine raised a hand. “I require action, not more words,” she said, letting her hand fall back in her lap. “I’d rather not speak of it again.” Astarion could tell in the strain of her voice that she was still upset and just hiding it as flawlessly as ever.

A large hand lowered in front of her and offered her a bowl of porridge and fruit. Áine looked up and accepted the bowl from Halsin as he laid a brief, comforting hand against her hair. She thanked him and he nodded then turned away to reclaim his seat and continue his work by the fire. 

Wyll had shifted closer to them from Astarion’s unoccupied side, reaching across him to touch Áine’s arm and ask quietly again if she was okay. When she said she was, he glanced toward Astarion to get confirmation. The vampire gave him a nod of confirmation and only then did Wyll relax, glancing at Karlach as she worked to temper her rage.

Lae’zel scoffed at the outcome, resheathing her blade. “I have killed gleefully and for far less,” she intoned, glaring down at Gale. “Do not test my might with a second misstep.”

Áine felt Astarion’s arm slip around her shoulders as he agreed with the githyanki. “I, too, have killed for much less,” he said. “Legally and otherwise.” She occasionally forgot he’d been a magistrate in another life.

“You know, normally I’d offer a quick fix to alleviate something like a black eye,” Shadowheart mused, inclining her head to get a good look at Gale’s face. “However, I think you could do with a little suffering for your transgressions. If you’re good, I might change my mind further down the road.”

Gale winced at his companions’ threats, nodding in acknowledgment to each as he wrung his hands. “It’s less damage than I deserved surely,” he agreed. “This will be left to fade in its own time.”

“Karlach, did you want a fresh bowl?” Halsin offered the blazing tiefling.

“Maybe here shortly,” Karlach replied, giving her chest a couple of pounds with the side of her fist. The iron chamber echoed in response. “I love you lot to bits, but you give me heartburn.”

Áine and the others broke the tension a few degrees by smiling at her semi-intentional joke. When the group had more or less dispersed to begin packing up camp, Astarion addressed Áine, his arm still draped around her and his fingertips tracing small circles on the back of her arm. “You,” he accused, “were way too soft on him.”

She shrugged, looking tired all over again as she popped the last raspberry from her breakfast bowl into her mouth. “I know,” she said. “I’m still upset, but I do understand where it came from. And nothing…okay, almost nothing, stop looking at me like that…actually happened.” Áine pursed her lips. “I’m just trying to let bygones be bygones, I suppose.”

Astarion glared down at her but still stroked her arm despite his agitation. “Dearest, just because ‘nothing happened’ does not mean you’re not due your rage.”

Áine laughed sharply. “If I ever really unleashed all my pent-up anger at everyone who ever wronged me, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.”

Astarion gave her a considering look and responded with a shrug of his own. “I would personally pay admission to see it,” he said, his lingering impulse to have a few more swings at the wizard nearby only assuaged by the sweet sound of her laughter. 

“Hardly a welcome party,” Wyll remarked as he cast a glance toward the iron portcullis that separated them currently from a raging minotaur. 

It roared as it beat its horns against the grated gate while the stone atop the statue of Selûne towering above them in the outpost they were setting up camp within shot the beast with bolts of light. The bolts ceased the moment the creature fell dead to the ground, thin tendrils of smoke rising from its smoldered flesh. 

Áine frowned and cast a vague gesture toward the dank yet somehow still beautiful caverns surrounding the manmade lookout they camped inside which looked like a pinprick in comparison to the vast cave system that was truly its own world beneath a world. “Welcome to the Underdark,” she said dispassionately. They’d made good time in getting there, only an extra two days added to their journey to backtrack.

“I don’t mean to make any assumptions, Áine,” Gale said, “but did you grow up down here?”

Astarion stiffened and watched Áine out of the corner of his eye to see how she reacted to the question about her younger years. Now that he knew what he knew, even these casual questions made him want to intervene in some way. 

She took it in stride, not looking bothered at all, and he could only assume that she’d had to deal with friendly personal questions often enough that reaching back just far enough into her memories no longer came at much of a cost. “I didn’t,” she said. “This isn’t my first time down here, but I frequented Baldur’s Gate more than I ever frequented the Underdark.” It wasn’t a lie in the slightest, Áine self-congratulated. It just adjusted the conversation away from the natural next question, which would have been, “Oh, then where did you grow up?”

Shadowheart grimaced up at the Selûne statue and the light that shone from its gem. “Just how long are we intending to leave that infernal thing up there?” she asked.

“As long as it’s of use to us,” Áine asserted, nodding toward the felled minotaur. “When we get ready to leave, I’ll shoot it down or something. For now, while we rest, it’s a nice bit of insurance.”

“Already nostalgic for the sun, Astarion?” Lae’zel guessed when she spotted the vampire. Áine followed her gaze and found him frowning up at the pitch-black cavern ceilings.

Astarion sighed without looking at her. “Of course, I am,” he replied, sounding more inconvenienced than nostalgic. “Imagine being deprived of something for 200 years, getting it back, and then ending up in a place you can’t enjoy it for however long your reprieve lasts.”

To his surprise, he heard the gith grumble in agreement. “Understood,” she acquiesced. “It is only a matter of time before we surface again.” Was she trying to reassure him?

“Even then,” Halsin said with a forlorn expression, “it will be some time before the sun can touch us again. The shadow curse is…” He paused, considering his words. “Vicious.”

“What exactly is the shadow curse?” Wyll asked, his voice appropriately wary.

Suffocating, Áine answered silently. Dismal. Horrifying. She’d never grown accustomed to it in her lifetime there. After quick missives to the city or even to the Underdark, the lands surrounding Moonrise had always felt even more macabre. Darker. Hungrier. Because for all its darkness and strangeness, the Underdark wasn’t a cursed region. It was simply different as it was underground. In some ways, it was beautiful. The curse cloaking the lands they were heading toward was unnatural.

Halsin essentially answered with the same feelings she had, if not different words. Her eyes cast down toward the campfire Gale was working over to prepare them some dinner and, across from her a few paces away, Astarion watched the flames lick her amber irises. 

He was a bit of a fool, but he wasn’t fool enough to not realize when two puzzle pieces fit together. Her reaction to Halsin’s first mention of this place and then everything she’d told him last night was piecing together. Astarion could be wrong, but he had a feeling that they were walking back into someplace she’d much sooner forget than return to. He knew next to nothing of her past ten years, only that she’d gotten away in that time to find her own path.

The entire idea was a conjecture. It could’ve been something entirely different that had driven her to panic at the idea of going to Moonrise. However, he couldn’t think of an alternative theory, so he let that one sit for now. Instead, despite knowing from the sun’s position just before their descent into this place that it would be nighttime aboveground, he glared toward the caves surrounding them as if he could drill skylights into them through the power of spite.

Astarion glanced over when he sensed someone coming to stand beside him, knowing instinctually that it wasn’t Áine based on the footfalls and presence alone. The last person he’d expected to see was Gale. 

Their eyes met and Astarion’s narrowed with wary speculation. The black eye he’d given the wizard was starting to yellow at the edges as it healed. Shadowheart had finally offered to relieve him of it the previous evening, but he’d politely refused. Astarion also knew that Gale was capable of a simple healing spell that would absolve his bruising within seconds. Was he trying to prove something by keeping it?

Gale noticed Astarion scrutinizing his handiwork and gave a self-deprecating smirk. “It was a good punch,” the wizard commented, his pale companion stiffening when spoken to. “And well-deserved.”

“Indeed,” Astarion agreed, his suspicion at the interaction coating his words. 

Gale sighed. “Thank you,” he said finally, “for putting me in my place. For helping her.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Astarion snapped.

“I know,” Gale murmured, his tone careful and placating. It did the opposite to Astarion’s mood. The wizard seemed to be thinking better of approaching in the first place, but he squared his shoulders a little instead of changing his mind. “I also want to offer my apologies—”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong person,” Astarion interrupted him, his tone dismissive. 

“I’m not,” Gale said with the patience of a saint. “I’ve apologized to Áine almost every time I’ve dared to speak with her. She’s since told me I’m not allowed to say that I’m sorry more than once daily ‘if I absolutely must say it at all’.” A faint smirk crossed Astarion’s lips at the wizard’s recollection of Áine’s direct orders. That’s my girl. “All that to say… I broke your trust, too.”

Astarion scoffed. “Bold of you to assume you had it at all.”

“Indeed,” Gale said, nervously resting his hand against his neck. “Too bold. But if, on the off chance I did in the slightest and it is now broken, I am deeply sorry, Astarion. I wronged her most, but I wronged you as well. I don’t remember much from that night, but your relationship with her has never been a secret, and even blind-drunk it would be an obvious thing.”

The vampire shifted uncomfortably. “You speak as if you moved in on my territory.”

Bewildered, Gale said, “Well, of course. I did.”

“She is not mine,” Astarion murmured. “She is not beholden to me and can bed whomever she wants. That’s hardly the point of my upset.”

“I think I’ve misspoken, so let me try again,” Gale said, weighing his words over again. “I endangered her. Full stop. This is my greatest sin. Separate from that, I caused a shockwave of worry and hurt for everyone who cares about her.”

“Then why apologize specifically to me?” Astarion demanded defensively. 

Gale’s pleading demeanor began to dissipate and he raised a brow at Astarion as if to ask if he was seriously asking that question of him. “Because, exclusive or not, you care about each other deeply,” he said.

“That’s too bold,” Astarion declared in a grumble.

To Astarion’s surprise and irritation, Gale just smiled. “It’s a good thing,” he stated in a gentler tone. “It’s not my place to press, so I won’t. Just know that I value you as part of the group and I hope to earn back—to earn your trust someday, despite probably not deserving it.” He glanced toward the portcullis as another minotaur slunk closely enough for the statue of Selûne to rear back to life. “I at least hope to not do anything that will warrant getting punched by you again.”

“Let’s start with that,” Astarion muttered, thrown off by the idea of someone wanting to prove themself to him.

“It’s a deal,” Gale agreed, palpable relief in his voice that simply served to confuse Astarion even more. “Right, well, I’ll cease bothering you. Thank you.”

Astarion gave a noncommittal grunt that sent Gale on his way. He still had an inkling to maim him, but his ire had slowly wound down over the last couple of days. He’d gone from a state of hypervigilance and practically hovering over Áine back to his normal level of watchfulness once it became clear that Gale meant what he’d promised her and seemed to be actively trying at every turn to redeem himself. Unlike the others though, Astarion was at best slow to forgive if he did at all and never to forget.

The sweetly low drone of a flute note drew his attention back to the center of camp, his scarlet stare fastening with a quiet reverence on the bard perched upon the statue’s massive base, a purloined wooden flute held enviably to her puckered lips. The flute was a bit clunkier but more ornate and unique than the one she’d been carrying when he’d met her, an indistinct instrument only special when she’d turned it into an accidental weapon. 

A smirk traced his mouth at the memory, unexpectedly tender toward such a gory memory. If he were honest with himself, truly, that was what had started it for him. He absently wondered when it had begun for her as he watched her tease a melody from the unextraordinary hollow tube with little more than her breath and fingers. The purposeful chaining of notes swirled upward, drifting against the obsidian stone surrounding them and returning in gentle form.

Sometime in the “night”—what was night really when it was always so dark?—Astarion ended up near the fire, using its warmth in place of the sun which surely had to be coming up by now on the surface. He was also using a bit of the flickering light to once again mend a fray in his doublet embroidery despite hardly wearing it on their travels anymore, some of the lighter armor they’d found proving a better option as they went further and further into the thick of things. He was among the last awake, which wasn’t unusual, and it was just himself, Halsin, and Áine. 

Halsin had been ever more restless the closer they got to another shot at entering the shadow-cursed lands he spoke of, but even he retired after another hour with a quiet “goodnight” bid to each of those remaining awake. Astarion nodded in response, focused on his stitching. He’d completed his fix on his past work and now worked on a new line on the left wrist of the doublet, trying his hand at embroidering a lilac design while he idly listened to Áine toying with her lute behind him. 

She’d remained on her perch—he wasn’t completely sure she could get down from that height on her own without it being amusingly clumsy, which he was looking forward to—and forsaken the flute for the night when their party had begun to go off to bed in favor of a quieter instrument. Astarion only lifted his head from his work when he heard her speak.

No… Heard her sing.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, wondering if he even should. Had she forgotten he was still there with her? He had the answer to his question when their eyes met. 

Hers were, not unexpectedly, already pooling with tears. A faint smirk played on her mouth as instead of whatever lyric to the song she meant to sing next, she sang in tune to the melody, “Will my performance infringe on your work?” to see if she was bothering him, he supposed. As if she were capable of that. 

Astarion chuckled and shook his head in reply, just marveling at her for everything she was. Finding a way to check on him, even make him laugh a little, while she sat there also amused but in such sweet melancholy, he could feel a twinge of it himself by extension. 

Her gaze dropped back down to her lute as she adjusted her fingertips and he meant to return to his embroidery, but he just couldn’t look away from her. She was an enchanting sight—long legs half-tucked under her and pressed against the stonework beneath her, starlight-colored tresses that put real constellations to shame, shuttered dark amber eyes that lightened like honey when the firelight caught them just right. 

He rose to his feet as she slowly brought her song to a close, her voice ghosting against the walls surrounding them. As she sang through the repetitious last lines—”Never wanted to leave,”—Astarion took measured steps toward her. She watched his progress without faltering as he came close enough to place his hands neatly atop her knee, his chin resting against them as he held her gaze and his silence. He noticed that her skin, even in the faintest reaches of the Underdark’s bioluminescent glow, looked more radiant than ever.

Áine let her final note carry and fade and they simply gazed at each other for a long moment in mutual fascination. She didn’t even think to wipe her eyes until he shifted in their stillness, arranged his doublet over one arm, and then held his arms open for her. The bard smiled, her somber air feathering into obscurity for now, and carefully maneuvered her arms around his shoulders and her lute behind his back. 

She let him pluck her off her stage, wrapping her legs around his waist as he supported her with one strong arm firmly slanted across her back, his hand spread to hold the underside of one of her thighs. Astarion kissed her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder and he walked them and their instruments of choice back to her tent tonight.   

What they had couldn’t continue to spiral from its noxiously selfish origin point. He’d go mad if it did. He had no idea if he was capable of offering her something real—if he had anything of the sort left to give, if he’d ever had it in him in the first place—but he’d wanted to since that first night they’d spent together. Probably even longer than that if he allowed himself to be sincere. 

And he supposed if he wanted an honest chance with her, he had to finally tell her the truth.

Next chapter: Chapter 16, "Full of Surprises"

#angst with a happy ending #astarion x oc #astarion x female oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #tav #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate iii #bg3 tav #tavstarion #unbound fic #spawn astarion

[kasagia]

Our little game pt. 2

~Part 1~ ~Part 3~ ~Part 4~ ~Part 5~

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x witch! reader Summary: After the engagement party, you, Katherine, Freya, and Rebekah start to organize a grand fairytale wedding for family members only. Which means you'll be staying at Mikaelson's house a little longer than you initially assumed. But everyone is delighted with your presence. Especially little Hope and her dad, who loves to watch you play with his little princess. Kol is teasing him that he's using the baby charm to get to your cold, iced heart because he isn't hot enough. Kol nearly gets stabbed. But Elijah comes and rescues his youngest brother. After all, someone has to perform the marriage ceremony. You also meet "The Hybrid's Therapist" and makes a huge, life-changing discovery. Word count: 6,3k+

Y/N POV

Three days. That's how long it took the original family to get me acquainted with everything that happened in those missing years. They found a new member of the family, killed their parents (and crazy aunt) again, and ruled New Orleans just like "in the old, good times." That was too much information to get in that short time. Especially since I was drunk for half of it. Bekah and Kit-kat made the decision to get to know me and Freya by attending parties every night. It was fun at first. But when the hangover came to me the morning after, it wasn't funny anymore. At least I made a new friend.

"Earth to Y/N!" someone screamed at me and pushed, making me fall from the kitchen chair. I groaned in pain, rubbing my sore butt.

"Kol Mikaelson. Do you wish to die on this awful morning?"

"It's 11am." he replied, annoyed. The 10th-century maniac always started his day with the crowing of the hens. I was unworthy (or too lazy) to participate in this mystery of the rising sun.

"I told you. Morning."

"I'm sorry, but I, unlike others, have a real problem on my hands, and I don't have time to deal with your bitter, hangover attitude."

"I apologize for your grace. What is so important that you have to hurt people this morning? You broke one of Klaus' paintings or finally stole his precious daggers?"

"That's better." I gave him a stern look. "Relax, darling. I was joking."

"Not appreciated."

"God. I don't know why my brother likes you."

"Hey! Elijah is my friend; of course he likes me." I replied offended.

"Not these ones. And not in a platonic way." my amused, kind smile faded at his suggestion.

"You know what? I'm too hungry to… what did you say? Deal with your attitude?" I said with a mean smirk on my way out of the kitchen.

"No! Wait a second!" he used his vampire speed to stand before me. "I'll make you breakfast. Just help me."

"What will you cook?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Scrambled eggs?"

"I want waffles."

"Waffles?"

"Uhm. With cherry jam, whipped cream, and strawberries."

"You're going to be fat."

"And very happy. You don't want me to be happy?" I gave him my best puppy eyes.

"Alright, alright. Three waffles then." he agreed, heading to the cooker.

"Six." I corrected him, sitting down at the kitchen island across from him to watch him cook my food.

"Seriously?" he gave me an incredulous look.

"I told you. I'm hungry."

"My God, watch over your future husband."

"And his bank account." Kol burst out laughing as he started cooking my breakfast. "So? What can I help you?"

"It worked. I have a real date with Davina."

"Congratulations." I nodded as I poured myself a glass of orange juice.

"Thank you. But now, as she said yes, I have to make this day unforgetable and amazing."

"I'm starting to worry about you. Are you feeling fine? How many fingers do you see?" I asked, showing him two fingers in front of his face. He snorted, pushing my hand away.

"This is very funny, but I need your help."

"Why me? I mean, you have two older sisters and two older brothers who have probably been in many more relationships than me. They know how to flirt better than me." I inquired, feeling uncomfortable about assisting a 1,000-year-old vampire in picking up a girl when the number of my ex-boyfriends was limited to only one.

"Oh, you'd be surprised…" he says, looking at me with a little smile. "Maybe they have some... romantic experience, but they are over a thousand years old. And Davina is from these times, like you. You know what I'm trying to say?"

"Usually? No. But let's say this time I understand that you called your sibling pensioners. So, tell me something about your girl. I need to know her likes."

~•♤♤♤•~

*After some time*

"I think that's all." he handed me my food, looking at me expectantly.

"Well... I think you shouldn't take her on your first date to any fancy restaurant, cinema, or theater."

"Then what?"

"You're a good cook. Make her something and go boating on the river at night. You know stars and constellations, tell her about them after dinner. But don't make yourself a genius, women usually don't like this."

"Do you think that's enough?"

"You can scatter rose petals on the deck and decorate it with lights. But definitely don't take the poor girl to Paris, or you'll overwhelm her. Save something special for significant dates, like big anniversaries or something."

"You sure?"

"Trust me, women like it when a man makes an effort. She'll be delighted if you do everything yourself. A pampered vampire prince flying around town to fulfill her every little whim and do something special for her? She will love it."

"Vampire prince?"

"Please... like your family doesn't act like royalty."

"Does that mean I'm the king, love?" Klaus came to the kitchen with a little girl in his arms. God. This man looked too hot while he was holding a child.

"Absolutely not. But this sweetheart in your arms is a true princess. Yes, Hope?" I asked, giggling, when she started laughing after I tickled her. I was so fascinated by the sweet child that I didn't notice the look a holding her hybrid was giving me.

"If I remember correctly, this is not your babysitting week. Have you been stealing her from Hayley for three days because you missed her, or do you have another reason, brother?" Kol asked, snapping me out of my trance. This child could easily charm people around her.

"Did you steal her?" I asked indignantly.

"I am her father, love." he replied, looking at me offended.

"What's your point?"

"I can't steal my own child."

"Well, since you don't get along too well with her mother, I believe you can. Did he steal you, angel?" I asked her as she started to grab my hair in her little hand, forcing Klaus to lower himself to my level so the little princess wouldn't fall out of his arms.

"No, I don't. Hayley knows where she is. You two don't have to worry." I gave him a chair so he could sit next to me and not have to do gymnastics with the little troublemaker he held.

He sat her on his lap so she had better access to my bracelets, which turned out to be her next interest. I giggled as I watched her mumble over the pendant of a silver witch flying on a broomstick towards a diamond moon. A birthday present from her father. Talking about the hybrid, he also probably appreciated the selection of my jewelry.

"May you be more like your mother, sweetheart. It would have saved her a lot of nerves." I said to her, taking the pendant away just as it was about to go to her mouth. She screamed something in her language and grabbed my finger instead, trying to drop it with her gums.

"She must have been teething." I thought, not even noticing the gentle, lovely gaze the hybrid was giving me while holding the baby.

"She has the look of the devil in her eyes. That's all me, love." I shifted my gaze to the girl's father.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"I think we already talked about nights and beds. Did you reconsider my invitation?" he asked, smiling and leaning closer to me.

"Don't talk to me like that with a little baby in your arms. It may be traumatizing for her. Just like for me." I replied, pretending to tremble with disgust.

Kol's snort reminded both of us of his presence.

"I told you, Nik. The baby trick doesn't work on her when your baby is cuter than you. You have to find another way into her cold heart."

"Don't you have a girl to chase?" I asked, shooting him a stern look. Did each of them have to be joking about our improbable romance?

"Actually, I do Y/N." Kol came over to us, kissed Hope on the cheek, and did the same to me. Klaus's quiet growl didn't go unnoticed. "Bye darling!"

"Stop calling me like that, you're a taken man!" I shouted after him. "Idiot. What?" I asked the hybrid, who was staring at me with a strange, unfamiliar look in his eyes.

"H e did you breakfast?" he asked with a cold, impassive tone, trying to cover his emotion.

"Yeah. He wanted help, so I made him do something useful in return."

"Oh, I see. Were that cheek kiss and "taken man" talk also part of your generous help." his resentment became more audible in his voice with each passing second. He was angry. But why the fuck?

"What's wrong with you? Kol and I are friends if you expect me to act like we don't..."

"Are you two just friends?" he immediately cut me off, not caring to hear what I was about to say.

"No. We're secretly married, and I'm expecting his child. I'm madly in love with him." I said sarcastically as I was about to leave the kitchen. I didn't like the direction this conversation was going.

"Y/N." Mikaelson's firm tone of voice and the use of my name instead of his usual "love" told me he wasn't joking or playing a game after all.

I turned and took a step closer to him, so our chests met. Hope's legs were hitting me a little as she waved them around, muttering something under her breath. His eyes were all on mine. Unwanted shivers ran through me.

"Kol fell for your town witch, Davina. I helped him plan a fantastic date. That's all. Don't misinterpret our actions. That's how we talk to each other. But even if we were something more, it wouldn't be your business. I'm not your toy that you can appropriate."

"I've never said you are. Don't misinterpret my actions."

"Are you using my own words against me?"

"I don't know, love. Did I?"

He gave me a challenging look, occasionally lowering his gaze to my lips. I stood there, never thinking about how close we were until his nose brushed mine. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of backing out. He'd never kiss me anyway, would he? We did a lot of stuff, true, but a real kiss was something neither of us could do as part of our "game." At least that's how I explained my suppressed desire to be close to him.

"NIKLAUS!" Elijah's yell immediately pulled us apart. I cleared my throat, reaching out to take the little one from him.

"I'll take her to the park. Maybe we even go to the playground, what do you think, Hope? Do you want to swing with auntie Y/N?"

"I'll try my best to come to you two as fast as I can." he said, and gave me his child.

He took a moment to look at both of us, and before he left, he kissed Hope on the head. Little bastard had to give me a "goodbye kiss" in the exact same place as Kol did. And just to be clear, I wasn't blushing.

Blood just suddenly ran into my face and made me red like a tomato. Just it. It had nothing to do with a kiss from the original.

~•♤♤♤•~

3rd PERSON POV

"I hope you had a good reason to call for me, because I was that close to finally making this little, stubborn witch kiss me."

Klaus ran into a library to meet his elder brother. It appeared that he wasn't alone. Kol was right behind Elijah, proudly smiling at him. That little bastard tricked him.

"What's going on here?"

"Kol told me about your..."

"Using our niece to flirt with Y/N. How do you plead from that?" Kol chimed in on his older brother's words.

"I'm not going to talk with you about my relationship with Y/N."

"Which, by the way, doesn't exist at all." the blond man moved towards his younger brother, but the oldest Mikaelson's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Behave yourselves. Both of you."

"I'm sorry, brother, but as you can see, he's the one who has consistently sabotaged my plans for Y/N. Make him behave himself." he pointed an accusing finger at Kol.

"I'm trying to save you from making the great mistake of your life. As much as I love Y/N, she doesn't fit our lifestyle. If you started to date her, you'd put her in the middle of our enemies, old, crazy witches who want to kill us, or even worse, your ex-girlfriends. You'll ruin her, and she deserves something more than our family drama."

"And you, Elijah? Do you share his opinion?"

"It doesn't matter. We just... want you to reconsider your plans before it's too late."

"Yeah. Let's take Hayley as an example. She didn't end up well after a night with you. Or... both of you." Kol stopped as he saw his brothers' angry look. "Alright, that was the wrong example, but you know what I mean. She's just a human with superpowers. She wouldn't put up with all the pain that comes with being a Mikaelson."

"Yes? Then what would you say about Davina? Is she strong enough? How is she different from Y/N?"

"She was born here. From the beginning, she grew up among witches. Y/N has known our world for only 4 years. That's a short time even for a mortal."

"When exactly did you become the voice of reason in our family? I thought it was Elijah's responsibility."

"Well, someone has to, as long as he's enchanted by Petrova's charm. By the way, you're no better than him."

The hybrid was about to throw a dagger at the brazen original, but his phone rang. He gave his brother his most terrifying look and went out of the room, taking the call.

"Oh my god, I miraculously escaped this. I'm never playing bad cop in your plan again, Petrova!"

"Do you think it will really work?" Elijah asked, completely ignoring his brother's nervous outburst.

"Of course, honey. We all know that he hated when someone tried to control him or give him an order. He'll run straight to her and admit his feelings right after he deals with the new vampire group. Let's hope Y/N finally tells him how she really feels about him." Katerina stepped out of the shadows, embracing her fiancé before kissing him on the cheek (to Kol's groan of disgust).

"How did you know where he went?"

"I could convince Rebekah to turn some vampires against Klaus and Marcel to keep them busy for the rest of the afternoon. Which will give me enough time to implement plan B."

"Which is?"

"What kind of matchmaker would I be if I told you before anything really happened? Trust me, they will be officially together on the day of our wedding at the latest." she said, then kissed the smiling original passionately, not caring that they had company in the room.

"Ugh! That's too much, even for me. Get a room or something before another innocent soul sees that. Before I go. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Yes. Me and Rebekah will help you with this date, but we are not cooking. Only decorate."

"Thanks. Play nice and use protection!" he shouted as he left, causing his brother to blush. Katerina laughed, kissing the vampire's rosy cheek.

"Wanna help me set up your stupid brother with Y/N?" she inquired, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

"Why exactly are you helping him? I thought you hated him?"

"Well, besides wanting to score points in your eyes and be able to point it out to him every chance I get, I think it would be nice to have Y/N with us permanently. She's a good friend."

"It's nice to see that you're starting to think not only about yourself but also about others around you." he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Well, if you come upstairs with me, I can show you how much I think about others… pleasure."

"Are we alone?"

"Mhmm..." the original picked her up in bridal style, causing the younger vampire to laugh as he carried her up the stairs.

~•♤♤♤•~

Y/N POV

Damon called me for the fourth time that day. I have been successful at ignoring him and playing with Hope. At least until Katherine didn't join us and took my phone to hang him up.

"What does he want? I thought your group fell apart?" she asked, putting my phone back in my pocket.

"Well... let's say we are on a break." I said, trying to get my hair out of Hope's grip to set the girl on the swing.

"Do they know where you are?"

"No. Actually, I only wrote to Bonnie to say that I'm safe and she doesn't have to worry about me."

Now that I think about it, none of them took an interest in my fate. Only Bonnie. On the other hand, it didn't bother me at all. I already had people who cared about me.

Damon called again, causing Kat to grimace in annoyance.

"Please, can I pick up your phone and tell him to fu..."

"Katherine! There're children here!" I cut her off before the curse reached Hope's ears. Klaus would kill me if his daughter's first words were "fuck".

"Atherine!" I froze in place, stopping swinging the girl. Now, I think he'd rather hear that her first word was curse than Katherine.

"Ha ha. You should see your face!" the woman laughed as she continued swinging Hope.

"But... how... when... What?" I mumbled, still in shock.

"Please, I taught her my name a long time ago. That's how I won Kol's collection of wine." I felt a stone fall from my heart. I was safe. "But this is the first time she told it in front of someone other than me and Kol, so... I don't think that Klaus knew." a mischievous smirk grew on her face. Well, I guess I'll be dead after all.

"No. Absolutely not. It'll break his heart if he hears that's her first word." I stopped the swing and crouched down to be at Hope's height. "C'mon Hope. Say daddy."

"Y/N... continue like that, and Klaus would rather listen to you calling him daddy than his own child." Katherine began to tease, making my face flush uninvitedly. If I was screwed anyway, why did she have to kick me down?

"Stop it. It's a serious situation. I took her for a walk, what should I do when we return and she starts calling your name?!"

"Well, if you try to use this daddy line on him..."

"Katherine!" I stood up and yelled at the laughing vampire.

"Atherine!" she cried, waving her arms happily.

"No sweetheart. Dad. Daddy. Dada. Dad." I knelt in front of the baby once again, practically begging her to help me in my unfair battle with amused Katherine.

"That's not how you teach a child."

"And how should I know that? I'm 20 with no siblings. Hope is the first child I care for. Thinking about that, I'm surprised that Klaus even gave her to me."

"From the first seconds of her life, this little one has had a 24-hour survival school. One afternoon with an inexperienced aunt wouldn't kill her." She stopped seeing how upset I was. She took my arm and made me look into her eyes. "Hey. Do not panic. Nothing happened. I will teach her, and Klaus will never know. You don't have to worry."

"Are you sure?" I asked, looking at her unconvincingly.

"I did it once. I can do it again. In the meantime, you can go pick up alcohol for the wedding from the bar across the street."

"Did you order alcohol from the bar? Doesn't your fiancé happen to have an age-old collection of all sorts of liquors?"

"Yes, but it is not an inexhaustible well. Kol insisted that we have to start restocking our supplies this year, and for every bottle we take, he makes us add new ones. It's not my fault that moron likes a special recipe that they only make at this particular bar."

"The Mikaelsons and their picky palates." I mumbled under my breath, kissing Hope's head before leaving her alone with aunt Katherine.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I left the playground. If Klaus finds his daughter with Katherine, at least she'll be to blame for the little girl shouting her name in fascination.

Or he'll have a heart attack. Maybe it's better to warn him.

Hello half-wolfie. I just want to let you know that the little princess is with Her Majesty. Don't get mad when you see them two - I have to go and take care of the wedding (which you're not helping me with at all, Mr. Best Man). I'm getting alcohol and rings, so you're responsible for flowers and food. Good luck! :)

Mr. Big Ego: I hope you know what you're doing. Also, if flowers and food aren't a woman's thing to do?

I'll turn a blind eye to this horrible sexist discrimination just because you're probably miles away and my magic won't reach you. Back to the topic. You're an artist, and you have a pretty good sense of style, so I believe you'll do just fine. Besides, you're quite handsome. Use your charm on the women, and they'll do the job for you.

Mr. Big Ego: Thanks for the advice, I'm just trying to use it in case you hadn't noticed. ;)

My God, are you getting senile blindness? I wrote that you're "quite handsome," not "incredible hot." You've got to find a desperate woman, so go and do your job, because I'm not going to do shitwork for you, LOVE. :-*

Mr. Big Ego: I'd rather read how you call me that under other circumstances... :-/

Take what they give you.

Mr. Big Ego: We both know I can get a lot more out of you. Like those tempting, little moans a couple days ago...

Don't you happen to have something urgent to do, your grace?

Mr. Big Ego: Nothing is more important than you (and Hope). Until we meet again, my love. <3

"Boyfriend?" woman's voice brought me back to earth. I looked around, realizing I was under the bar and blocking the entrance. I was annoyed that I couldn't stop smiling since I began writing to the hybrid.

"He wishes." I replied as I put my phone away and entered the bar.

I headed straight for the bar, hoping to settle this as soon as possible and get back to my girls. I loved Katherine, but the desire to spite Klaus might outweigh her good-natured offer. I wanted to make sure she didn't teach Hope anything terrible (like "Kol," for example).

Fortunately, the bar wasn't that crowded, so I was able to get to the barmaid without any problems.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. My friend ordered some of your drinks for her wedding. I promised her I would get them. It should be booked for Petrova or Mikaelson."

"Oh yes. I know. I am Cami. It's nice to finally meet you. After all the stories I've heard about you, I feel like we've known each other for a long time."

"Klaus' psychotherapist? I thought it was at least a full-time job." the blonde giggled.

"Let's say he's making progress."

"Which doesn't explain how you know me. Is Klaus talking about me all the time, again and again? I must be the real bane of his existence."

"Actually, he's very fond of you."

"Fond of me? In what universe?"

"Wanna have a drink?"

My first thought was to say no, but the barmaid poured me a drink before I could decline her offer.

Maybe one drink won't hurt me.

~•♤♤♤•~

"Have you never been in love?" Cami asked after serving me another tequila.

In those few hours (and probably 2 bottles used to make me a drink) the blonde went back to the topic of Klaus's untrue feelings for me. Forcing me, in a way, to talk about my love conquests. I was sure that they were not as diverse and interesting as hybrids.

"I was. Long time ago. We did all these stupid, cheesy things together. Stargazing in the forest on top of his car, swimming in the lake at night, dancing in the rain. He was my date at prom. We even won the king and queen contest. But the point is that my personal experience tells me that loving him wasn't worth it at all."

"And why is that?"

"Because my boyfriend—the man I'd been dating since we were ten years old—broke up with me via fucking SMS on my 18th birthday."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. And please don't give me any therapist speech about that: "He was the problem, not me." I got over him a long time ago." I said, taking a sip of my drink to avoid her sympathetic gaze.

"Then why don't you want to give a chance to someone new?" I mean, it's been proven that a new relationship and crush can aid in the healing of broken hearts."

"Well, I'm assuming you can't heal something that doesn't exist anymore. Also I don't need any new love in my life; I have my friends, and they are giving me enough of it."

"For now, but what will happen if one day you would like to have your own family? A person who'll choose you above everything else in their life?"

"Please, don't even tell me that Klaus fits into this "ideal" husband-to-be for me." the woman sighed, rubbing her forehead. I smiled victoriously, knowing that I had won over Klaus' therapist and that Katherine's little ruse had failed.

"To be honest, I shouldn't do that, but desperate times and all of that." the blonde took out a small dictaphone from her pocket and played a recording after a few clicks. "A week before Elijah and Katherine's engagement party."

"All right. Let's talk about something else. How do you feel about your brother getting married to Katherine?"

"Stupid question. Of course I'm happy for him. Even if his partner leaves much to be desired."

"Well, I've heard something different."

"And what exactly?"

"That you're grumpier than usual and growl at every poor soul around you. There are also many stories in the city about you. You've gone mad because you're secretly in love with Katherine, and that's why you don't want them to get married. But my personal favorite is that you tried to steal the ring from Elijah and sell it on Amazon."

"I admit I was more… moody in the passing days, but all is well now. I'm really happy for them. Very."

"Are you sure your mood swings have nothing to do with Y/N?"

"Veto."

"Come on. We need to finally talk about her. It's the perfect time."

"You're not going to let this topic go, are you?"

"Not as long as she is an important person in your life. Rebekah told me she had an impact on you. You tried to be a better man for her! I thought only Hope had that power over you."

"Do not say that. She'd be overjoyed to learn she has any power over me."

"Would it be wrong if she listened to how important she is to you?"

"Y/N and I are… complicated. We actually never say nice things to each other. I don't even know why Rebekah told you about her."

"Your sister said you loved her. You still do. Even after a year without receiving a single call, text, or email from her. I also saw her portraits in your art room. And pencil sketches. Maybe even some sculptures…"

"I see what you're saying, but it's not my fault she's… unimaginably, incredibly beautiful. I'm just admiring her charm. As an artist, it's my duty to try to capture the depths of her eyes. Or her sweet smile when she is laughing at stupid little things she admires. That's true. I have many pictures of her, because despite my tireless efforts, I have not succeeded in presenting her beauty in a proper way. There are no paints that match the color of her eyes and hair, not even talking about her probably soft, delicate skin. No canvas big enough for her portrait will ever make me forget her or stop imagining her every time I close my eyes. She is always in my darkest nightmares or in my sweetest dreams. Every single day, she steals my thoughts, so that sometimes I find myself thinking that she is here, chasing me around my own city to make me want her more than I already do. I'm disgusted at how easily I succumbed to the magic of her charm. And the worst part is that she didn't even have to use her power to make me enchanted with herself. It looks like she has to mess with me even when she isn't around."

"I think it's enough." she said, pausing. I stared at the recorder for a good few minutes, analyzing what I had just heard. "I'll leave you with that for a while and see if Steve has already sent you crates of alcohol. Take your time."

I took a sip of my tequila. It's impossible for him to have feelings for me, right? He has a child, a city to rule, and I… I'm only 20. I don't have so much on my mind, and I wouldn't find myself in a life like his. It's something else to spend here a month than… half of my life. And even if I wanted to be with him (assuming we really love each other), I would have to become a vampire.

As if my life wasn't already complicated enough without knowing the hybrid's supposed feelings for me.

At least it can't get any worse.

"Y/N? Is that you?" Fuck. I take that back.

"Tom." I said after I turned to the place where his voice had come from. My worst fears came true.

"It's you."

"Yeah. It's me." I replied, not sharing his delight and amazement. Meeting my ex was the last thing I wanted to do after hearing Camille's recording. As if I didn't have a mess in my head anyway.

"It's good to see you."

"You don't have to lie." I replied, turning back to the bar. Not trusting his words even a little bit.

"I'm not. To be honest I… I missed you."

"What?" I asked, eyeing him properly for almost two years.

He has changed. His dark hair, which was always combed and slicked back, was tousled in all directions, adding charm and feistiness to him. He had a slight stubble on his face, and judging by the obvious fatigue on his face, life had not been kind to him either.

"Can we go somewhere private and... you know, talk?" he asked tentatively, trying to grab my hand, but I pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry, but you're like, two bloody years late. We have nothing to talk about." I got up, intending to leave the bar as soon as it was possible, so I could free myself from him. What happened in the past should remain in the past. There was no point in re-entering the same river.

"Y/N! Wait a second, please! I know I screwed up then, but please, let me at least tell you why I had to do what I've done."

"The thing is... I don't care about it, Thomas. You abandoned me in the darkest, most difficult period of my life, when I desperately needed someone to care for me, without so much as a blink of your eye. You didn't have to explain this then, so I don't want to listen to it right now."

"I did it for your safety!"

"My safety?! Please spare me that pathetic excuse. You had two years to come up with something really good, and you went with: "I did it for your safety."

"Two years ago I turned to vampire, Y/N. Ripper to be precise."

"What? But who turned you? Damon?" I asked in shock, not believing that my sweet, darling Thomas could ever turn into one of them.

"I had an accident that was quite dangerous. I was on the edge of life, so they gave me vampire blood in the hospital to help me heal, but… it didn't go right. I woke up hours ago with that uncontrollable hunger. I could only think about human blood. I was too scared to get close to you or anyone else. Damon helped me get out of town, he sent me here so I could learn how to control myself."

"He didn't tell me anything. Not even a little word. And he had known all along when he saw me crying on his brother's shoulder." if I was angry at Damon before, I am mad as hell at him now. This son of a bitch didn't deserve any help from me.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I tought it'd be easier for you to forget about me if I... broke your heart."

"Do not flatter yourself. It takes so much more to break it. You weren't even close enough."

"I should know. You've always been the strongest person I've ever met."

"Don't act like you still care about me." I growled, moving backward with each step he took towards me, until I hit the wall behind me.

"Y/N. I have no idea what you've been through these two years, but all I know is that when I was gone, all I could find myself thinking about—all I could remind myself of my old life—was you and our time together. I've never stopped loving you, Y/N. I don't think I could ever do. But I had to leave. Otherwise, I could hurt you. Only here could I learn to control myself and my primal hunger for blood. The mere fact that somehow, from all places in the world, you found yourself here proves that we are meant for each other."

"Stop it. You can't just show up after a year and tell me all of this as if nothing happened. You left me. You break up with me by fucking SMS. Did you even know how it hurt me? You, of all people, promised me that we... we would last forever. And I believed you. I don't think I could ever trust you again."

"I know, honey. I know I fucked up, but all I can do right now is prove to you that I would never, ever leave you and hurt you like this again. Just give us one more chance."

"And what if I have someone? What if I've already found the one man who would never even consider hurting me? Who would rather tear the world apart than see me in pain?" I asked, staring hard into his eyes.

"Do you truly have that someone, honey?" he replied, rubbing a tear from my cheek with his thumb that had unknowingly flown from my eye.

"I... I..." I really would. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell him what I really want.

Before I could answer him, the dark-haired man came closer to me and connected our lips in a tender, longing kiss. I shivered as, for no reason, I felt watched.

What was truly terrifying to me was that I didn't feel anything but guilty. But I shouldn't be... right? I was a free, single woman.

Then why did I feel like I was doing something wrong? Why didn't I have any butterflies around my first love? Why all I could think about was how much better Klaus' lips would be on mine?

"Please, don't give up on us." he said, resting his brow on mine.

"Tommy I... I..." Why didn't I feel anything?

"Y/N? Are you okay?" I was almost glad to hear Camille's confused, worried voice. She must have noticed my red eyes from crying and possibly my makeup smudged by tears.

"Yes. Thomas was leaving, right?"

"Here. If you changed your mind." he slipped a piece of paper into my hand and kissed my forehead before obediently leaving the bar.

"Who was that guy? Does he hurt you? Should I call…"

"No! There's no need. Tom would never hurt me. Not deliberately." I cut her off before she could say HIS name. I didn't need another dose of confusion in my head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I will come home. I think that's enough excitement for one day."

"Okay. I'll call you tomorrow. Just to check if everything is fine."

"There's no need." I responded, unaccustomed to the other's concern about me.

"You know I'm a good friend too. Not just a pseudo-therapist for a bloodthirsty millennial vampire." I smiled involuntarily, feeling some of my overwhelming emotion disappear after her little joke.

"I'll remember that for next time."

"Bye Y/N! It was nice to finally meet you." I waved to her as I crossed the exit from the bar.

As I turned to head towards the mansion, I noticed someone hiding in the darkness and staring at the bar's window. Someone who was as broken as I never imagined he could be. 

Shit. He saw us. But why did I care?

And then, when our eyes met, I knew that my decision about me and Thomas would be much harder than I had previously thought. And it was at this point in our game that Klaus and I had to finally define who we had to be to each other. It would be the hardest choice of my life.

A terrible (but true) thought crossed my mind.

I'm a freaking Elena Gilbert.

~•♤♤♤•~

Hi everyone! I just wanted to thank you for every heart and follow; I really appreciate it. <3 For anyone who is interested, this "story" will have like 5 or 6 parts in total.

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x y/n #katherine pierce #katerina petrova #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x katherine pierce #rebekah mikaelson #freya mikaelson #hope mikaelson #camille o'connell #new orleans #vampire #tvd #the originals #romance #witches #witch #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #tvd klaus #klaus x y/n #kol mikaelson #davina claire #kol mikaelson x davina claire #Spotify #kalijah #kolvina #klaus mikaelson one shot #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson angst

[dross-the-fish]

would it be okay to ask for a drabble of Hyde patching up anon? (tho if you feel like writing something like that would be ooc, or just not feeling it, i 100% get if you just ignore this ✌️)

This one came out a bit angsty but I hope you like it. .....

“Dr Watson?” Anon called, cradling their slashed arm to their chest. The vampire attack had taken them by surprise and they’d dodged just a little too slowly. It wasn’t life threatening, they didn’t think, but the amount of blood staining the sleeve of their shirt was beginning to concern them.

“Dr Watson!” they called a little more forcefully, hoping he would hear them.

“He’s not in,” A door in the corridor cracked open and the gruff voice of Edward Hyde slithered out, “What’d you want with him?”

Anon gestured at their bleeding arm, “I’m hurt,” they said, “When will he be back?”

“Won’t be for a while yet. Someone said they spotted Sherlock Holmes and an odd fellow at a local tavern and he’s gone to investigate,” Hyde peered at the injury with a scowl, “That looks rather bad, I’m not working right now so I can spare a minute to patch you up.”

Though it was not out of the question for Edward to tend to the wounded in Watson’s absence Anon was uncertain it would be wise to take him up on his offer. He was not known for being especially kind to patients and just last week Adam had tried to demand that Edward wash his hands prior to treating him and had come away with a scalpel sticking out of his knee.

Anon must have hesitated a moment too long for Edward suddenly became impatient, “Fine, bleed all over the hallway then, it’s not my problem!”

As he moved to shut the door Anon stopped him, “Wait, please help!” they pleaded reaching out and putting their good hand on Edward’s sleeve. He froze, and for a terrible moment Anon thought he would attack them. But to their surprise his face seemed almost to soften for a moment.

“Aye, come in then, I’ll patch you.”

Anon followed him, the lab, for once, was tidy. When Edward worked it was a mess of fluids, scattered tools and strange smells filling the air as questionable concoctions bubbled in glass flasks over their burners. Today it was still, the desk was orderly and it seemed as though the fearsome Edward Hyde, scourge of London, had been up to nothing more sinister than balancing a cheque book.

“What are you staring at?” Hyde barked, causing Anon to snap to attention.

“Nothing…just…the lab is usually busier,” they replied.

Edward gave a short huff, “I’ve run into a bit of a block on Larry’s cure. Working on something else helps clear my mind. I’m quite sure if I hadn’t put my work away for a moment, I would have killed the next person who passed my door.”

He was not joking. Though he kept himself in check for the sake of the group Edward Hyde’s temper was legendary and inflicting pain was an indulgence to him, one he rarely denied himself when given cause or opportunity. Anon wondered if they would be subject to his abuses today; they hoped not.

Gesturing at the chair by his desk Edward bade them to sit while he fetched a medical supply kit. He had them roll up their sleeve while he cleaned the blood away.

“Oooh, look at those claw marks. Those’ll need stitches,” he remarked, his face splitting into a grin that made Anon just a little uncomfortable.

Edward plopped a glass decanter full of amber liquid on the desk next to them, “Drink a swig of that, it will dull your senses a little. I’ve got no laudanum so that’ll have to do.”

Anon removed the stopper and gave the bottle a sniff. It was scotch and it smelled…expensive. The decanter was luxurious too, actual crystal, from what they could tell. Awfully nice liquor for someone as greasy looking as Edward Hyde to be drinking. They took a swallow and found it strong but not unpleasant. Edward had them lay their arm out on the table so he could begin his stitching.

It was painful, but not unbearable and Anon held as still as they could. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a doctor,” they said, emboldened a bit by the alcohol.

“Most don’t,” Hyde grunted, “I have two doctorates in law as well, comes in handy when I need to deal with the police. Oh, don’t stare at me like that, I am every bit a scholar and gentleman, despite my more unsavory activities.”

“What made you quit practicing? It takes years to be come a doctor, why not make a career of it?”

“What makes you think I didn’t?” he gave them a particularly hard jab with the needle.

Anon yelped and shuffled uncomfortably, “Well, you’re-“ they gestured with their good arm, “-here!”

“Och, so is Watson and I don’t see you questioning his credentials,” Hyde snarled indignantly, waving the needle to remind Anon that they should have a care for what they said in his presence.

“I’m sorry! I meant no offence, I just wonder…well…I wonder-what happened to you?”

Acid green eyes flickered up to meet Anon’s own, they held for a moment, as though he were on the cusp of a confession before he lowered them and resumed his stitching.

“I thought I loved being Edward Hyde more than I loved everything…everyone else in my life,” there was grief in his voice, and Anon wondered if perhaps they’d had too much to drink for Edward’s voice sounded strange to them. Softer, smoother and deeper, as though it belonged to someone else. They tried to focus on his face and, for an instance, it was as if Edward’s form had become blurry and larger before condensing back into shape.

Anon put the bottle back on the desk and decided they had had enough. Edward finished the last suture and wiped down his desk, waving a thick, hairy hand at Anon in dismissal. He seemed off-kilter and against their better judgement, Anon rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Mr. Hyde. I hope maybe someday you can get back some of what you lost.”

Had Anon spoken out of empty pity Edward would have slammed their head into the desk until their skull cracked open and their brains splattered across the varnished wood. But they hadn’t, they were sincere and that was so much worse because Edward Hyde did not know what to do with sincerity. True goodness always made him feel small, made him feel more sharply the burden of being the horrible creature he was. He loved and hated and wanted it so much that it was all he could do not to howl in despair. Shaking he turned away from anon and choked out “-Get out…get out now before I hurt you. I don’t want to this time, but I will if you stay even a moment longer.”

Anon reeled back and fled from the lab, feeling as though they had just had just escaped something much more dangerous than the vampire that had attacked them.

#drabbles for anon #Edward Hyde #Jekyll cameo?

[1indigoisles]

TWP Crackpot Theory Time!!!

So, we finally got the TWP titles! Woohoo!

Except the third one's called The Last Shadowhunter. And we are all dying a little inside because of it.

But, it may not be what we all, in at least some part of our brains, believe.

Now, before I begin with my probably crazy theory, I've been thinking about one thing ever since the titles came out, namely The Last Shadowhunter. So, Lucifer is our main villain, right? And villains, as we all know, are hugely fond of giving our heroes nicknames. So, what I'm thinking, is that Lucifer calls Kit Last Shadowhunter. I promise, it fits in my theory.

Now, we all read the Shadowhunters wiki about The Wicked Powers, yes? And it says over there that all the different generations of Shadowhunters that we have read of so far will have to band together to save the world, and Angel knows how many other different realms, from ultimate doom.

That would require them all to come from the past, right?

So we have magic the messes with both dimensions (I'm talking Thule over here) and time, which in this case means the past.

But what if it also means the future?

Now, what I'm thinking is that our TWP gang, namely Kit, Ty and Dru, somehow, through the craziness of the first two books, manage to land themselves into a possibility of the future. Mind the word possibility.

See where this is going? Dru, Ty and Kit then find themselves in a world where the nine princes won, Downworlders run rampant, warlocks are forced to join the princes, faerie are the only uniform government left, werewolves and vampires are scattered, and worst of all, Shadowhunters are all gone.

Except for one.

Kit Herondale from the future swoops in and rescues the time-travellers from an oncoming demon attack. And yes, he can fly because he has gold wings (read my other theories and convince me otherwise). Kit having gold wings and faerie magic is my Roman empire, okay?

He stares at the three of them, Ty and Dru in particular because they're dead. There's a huge confusion at first, but then future Kit explains what happened.

So the Nine Princes of Hell won. Shadowhunters, even part-Downworlder and Ascended, are all truly dust and shadows. Because Lucifer, knowing the saying We are dust and shadows really well, he gains supreme power and turns all Shadowhunters into dust and leaves their shadows behind (this is my other Roman empire, okay? Kill me later).

And just when every Shadowhunter around him was disintegrating, and Kit saw everybody he loved die too and was glad he himself was about to die, he didn't.

Nothing and no one could explain it.

All that aside, Kit had lost his parents, his sister, his friends, Dru, Ty. And lots of other people lost too. Magnus and Max lost Alec and Rafe, Maia and Lily lost their good friends, Kieran lost Mark and Cristina (and I like to think that Kieran swore to exact vengeance for the deaths of the people he loved), and Gwyn lost Diana, and the list of people who lost doesn't end. Tessa, however, is dead too, because she is also part-Shadowhunter, but Ash is still alive because he's half-faerie, quarter-Shadowhunter and quarter-demon.

Now, Kit, Ty and Dru finally understood why Lucifer called Kit Last Shadowhunter. It was because Lucifer had foreseen a future exactly like this, a future where he'd won.

And it is in this future that Kit, Ty and Dru finally find a way to stop the Princes of Hell.

Now, I have a question for you all.

#The Wicked Powers #The Last Shadowhunter #Kit Herondale #Ty Blackthorn #Dru Blackthorn #Nine Princes of Hell #Lucifer #Cassandra Clare #Theory!

[infectiouspiss]

sorry i’m on a vampire bender today so here’s my tags about tiny toothed vampire gerard from this post because looking back at them they slap hard

#OH NO SHES PATHETIC #SHE WOULD NEED TO CARRY A LITTLE KNIFE TO STAB INTO YOUR NECK SO SHE COULD DRINK #that's . much more erotic hold on #getting cornered in an alley by a vampire and you're like oh fuck i'm dead' then he takes out a little tiny pocket knife and you're like #the fuck is happening?' #and he's all i won't kill you i promise just hold still° #and you're scared but you kinda trust him #holds you firm but not so tight you can't escape #and carefully pierces your neck with the knife whispering praise bcs now this is sexual #he drinks carefully and slowly #you can hear him moaning because you taste good #he stops after a while to ask how you're doing and you tell him he can drink some more #your legs start going weak and he stops drinking and lowers you to the floor #he sits with you until you're able to speak again and you ask why he didn't kill you #he doesn't say anything he just pulls you closer and holds you #he pulls out a little first aid kit and patches you up his mouth open as he concentrates #you see his teeth are teeny tiny and you realise this vampire would starve without that knife #you feel sorry for him. he can't feed normally #he almost needs consent to feed . maybe that's why he was moaning maybe he hadn't eaten in a long time #there's no fancy vampire juice in your neck. no anti-coagulant. no anaesthetic. he was gentle the whole time #because he knew you'd feel everything . he was kind #eventually the sky starts to get lighter. he's been holding you for hours now. just making sure you're alive #he pulls out a phone and calls an ambulance. just to make sure you're going to be okay #you ask for his name. gerard. and his number. y know .. just in case #just in case of what?' he asks #in case you get hungry again' #sorry i uh. i like vampires

#bishop.txt

[medusapelagia]

02 AU-gust: Immortals

Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: none WC: 844

AU-gust Masterlist

When Eddie imagined himself being immortal he thought about something cool like a posh vampire, a demon, maybe even an angel.

Not being trapped in the form of a little cute bat. That’s fucking unfair, thanks! 

And all of that because no one told him that he should transform back into a human before dawn and not fly around all night long!

How the fuck was he supposed to know that, uh? It seemed so fun flying above Steve's head and messing up his hair, taking Dustin's hat and hiding it on the highest shelf, or traveling around in Lucas’ duffle bag without anyone noticing!

No one gave him fucking instructions so how the hell was he supposed to know that?!

The moral of the story is that now he wants to know everything about his new condition and Henderson has been so helpful, he really has a scientific mind!

They found out that he couldn’t fly higher than Steve’s roof. That he can lift double his weight. That he doesn’t love water. And right now they are testing the theory that he is immortal.

I mean, he died and woke up so he is pretty sure he is immortal right now, but what if he is wrong? He has to be sure! So Dustin has taken a few things from Steve’s room and now they are in his tool shed with an emergency kit and some weapons.

Dustin will try to hit him and they will see what happens.

“Are you ready Eddie?” The kid asks, taking a knife “I think that you would not be hurt, but if you do we have the emergency kit, ok?”

The little bat nods and sits on the ground in front of him, offering his leg.

He doesn’t want to sacrifice his wings if they are wrong. 

Dustin is ready to stab him when someone opens the door and asks them “What the hell are you doing?”

They both jump and Dustin accidentally hurts Steve with the knife he is holding.

“What the fuck Henderson!” He complains, holding his arm closer and trying to understand how deep the cut is.

“I’m sorry Steve! We were testing if Eddie is immortal and…”

Steve’s eyes finally see all the weapons in the tool shed.

“You were doing what?!”

“Testing a theory.”

Eddie's little bat head nods in agreement.

“There is no fucking way I’ll let you try to kill Eddie! Not after all the trouble we went to to bring him back!”

“But he has the right to know!”

“I will not let you try to kill Eddie! There is no point in arguing! So get out of this stupid tool shed right now. I have to clean this cut.”

Dustin lowers his eyes “I’m sorry for hurting you, Steve.”

He sighs “It’s ok. Now out! Both of you.”

Steve disappears for a moment, while Dustin and Eddie wait for him in the living room.

“He is mad…” Dustin says and Eddie sighs. Steve is not wrong to be mad, they could have got hurt and Steve definitely was so…

“Do I have to drive you back?” The boy asks while trying to wrap the wound with one hand.

“I biked.” 

“Ok, so go back home before it gets dark. And call me when you’re home!”

Dustin nods, apologizes again, and then leaves.

Steve sits on the couch, while Eddie slowly climbs over his chest looking at him with a guilty look.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.”

Eddie sighs again and lies on Steve’s chest. That’s the part that he loves the most about his new condition, being able to cuddle with Steve without worrying about a thing. 

“Come here… little hooligan.” He gently scolds him, holding him tight.

His arm is still bleeding when he reaches for Eddie and the little bat nuzzles at his wound.

“Are you hungry?” 

He is not, but he hates to see Steve’s blood being wasted like that so he nuzzles again, and with a sigh Steve frees his arm from the bandages.

Eddie starts to lick Steve’s blood. It’s hot, and metal, and so fucking good, but he tries to keep his mind focused: he is testing a new theory.

He keeps licking and licking until he feels the familiar sensation of the skin closing under his tongue.

Steve tries to move his arm but Eddie gives him a warning little bite.

“It tickles!” Steve complains, but Eddie keeps licking until the blood stops and the skin is closed.

“Oh. That’s new.” Steve says, astonished “Thanks, Eddie.”

The little bat hides his face in the comfortable curve of Steve’s neck, tired.

“Sleep, baby.” He whispers in his ear.

Eddie does not have proof that he is really immortal or not, but he loves the time he spends with Steve, being cuddled, cared for, and kissed.

Maybe in the future, he will find a way to transform back into a human and express his feelings, but for the moment resting on Steve’s chest is more than enough.

#tumblr fic #myfanfic #steddie #au gust 2023 #immortals #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #medusapelagia fanfic #medusapelagia #my fanfic

[rosenbergamot]

What about the word: mistake

YIPPEE ok i found this old silly fic i was writing ab vampire mumbo and nobody knowing or believing that hes a vampire. its just like little snippets until the big reveal and i think im gonna pick it back up bc it was fun and silly and i enjoyed it. heres a small scene from it!!

There’s someone approaching; he hears him clunking down the stairs. Judging by the scent (all warm wet moss and Etho’s deodorant) it’s absolutely Bdubs. He turns to see him, wiping a trail of blood off of his mouth with his suit jacket-- he’d gotten a little aggressive while feeding, made a little mistake, killed a villager, all that. 

“Hi Mumbo-- oh my gosh!” He trips on the last step as he sees the blood. Smells very much like Etho. They must have just stopped hanging out. Why on Earth is he here, then? “W-What the heck? Are you okay?! My god, he’s bleeding everywhere! I don’t know first aid! What should I do?”

His friend frantically runs around, searching for a first aid kit or a potion or anything. It’s quite silly of him. There isn’t even a visible wound. He looks perfectly fine.

“BdoubleO, I’m perfectly fine! Calm down, man!”

He stops so quickly it should leave an indent in the stone. “Then why the heck is there so much blood everywhere, Mumbo? Huh?”

“Just doing my daily feeding is all.” 

“You eat blood?!” He cries out, face paling. The allay part of him makes a distressed chiming sound before he slaps a hand over his mouth, clearly embarrassed. “Is that a thing humans do? I need to ask Iskall next time I see them…” 

What.

“No, it’s a vampire thing, mate… like the first thing people think of when you say vampire.” 

“Oh, Mumbo, you’re such a prankster!” He slaps his knee. “You set this whole thing up just to make a vampire joke? That’s freakin’ rich, man. Do you not have anything else to do?”

His eyes narrow. “No, BdoubleO, I suppose I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“You should probably get a hobby! Just saying!” He chirps very helpfully. The villagers have started to recuperate. Their ire has been forgotten as he turns to stare at them. He hopes his eyes communicate the ‘what the absolute hell?’ sort of vibe he’s going for. They seem just as puzzled as he does, twin puncture wounds on each of their necks. 

He sucks a bit of stray blood off his fang. “You know what, Bdubs? I think you’re right. Maybe my new hobby will be convincing people I’m a vampire.” 

“You’re gonna have to get more convincing than this,” Bdubs gestures to all the blood. “I mean, I thought you were injured or something! Thank goodness you’re not-- though I do know how to take care of it. Licensed first aid and all that.”

He just nods and tries to look very convinced. “I’m sure you do. Now why are you in my trading hall…?” 

Bdubs launches into a rant about how he ran out of building materials halfway through constructing his stable, but all Mumbo can think about is how strange it is that this has happened twice. Do people… really not know?

#finding new excuses to juts post chunks of my fanfiction without actually finishing it #hermitblr #hermitfic #hermitcraft #THANKS FOR SENDING ONE IN <3 #theres not much to say ab this one its very lighthearted and enjoyable. fun family friendly fun (with lots of blood) #rosie talks #ask game #can u tell i have no restraint in how much i post #blinks so cutely at u

[glitterypin]

9 favorite movies of 2023! (I assume we are talking about movies I watched in 2023, not films released in 2023 because I only have one of those)

tagged by bestie @snugsunresplendence

in order in which I watched them:

But I'm a Cheerleader (1999) Teen romantic comedy about a young lesbian girl sent to conversion camp. Funny, sad, sweet, inspiring, sort of wish there were a lot more films like this because it warmed my little heart.

Barbie (2023) Everything that could be said about this film has already been said because people wouldn't shut up about it for months. For my two cents, I thought it was very well made and the script was good.

Women On the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988) One of Almodovar's finest, it is hilarious but also avant-garde, dramatic (the way a soap opera is dramatic) but also very real and it's just beautiful to watch.

Fever Pitch (1997) Colin Firth stars in this very British story written by Nick Hornby, about a man who really likes his favourite football team. It's funny, romantic, rings very real and also Colin Firth plays working class background remarkably well.

Underworld (2003) Dark, gritty, fun. Vampires, werewolves, guns. Action-packed, satisfying level of lore, good performances. Michael Sheen.

Heartlands (2002) Heartwarming, sweet, inspiring, it's a road movie about a man who rides his moped all the way to the big city to win back his wife and suddenly realizes how big and wonderful the world is. Michael Sheen.

Music Within (2007) Based on the real story of how veteran Richard Pimentel became a disabled rights activist and helped pass the Americans with Disabilities Act. Inspiring, funny, occasionally heartbreaking. Michael Sheen (actually steals the show as Art Honeyman).

7 Days In Hell (2015) Quite possibly THE funniest thing I watched in 2023. Mockumentary about two fictional tennis players (played by Andy Samberg and Kit Harrington), playing a match that lasts a whole week. There is not much to be said here, except that it was HILARIOUS. Michael Sheen (also steals the show for me).

Beautiful Boy (2010) Not to be confused by the 2018 film of the same name. This one is about a couple whose son has committed a mass shooting and then killed himself. It completely avoids any sort of sensationalism. The most dramatic moments happen off-screen. It is a study in the cruelty of time and how life has to go on, even in the face of great tragedy. I couldn't stop crying in the end. Michael Sheen.

TAGGING: @gothic-goon , @luuu37 , @queenlovett , @ineffableloverboy, @oceanwithinsblog (as usual: no pressure)

#films #michael sheen #yeah he was my most watched actor #we've established that #favourite films of 2023 #tag thing

[mothonfire]

A Beer in a Wine Glass

read in ao3 || this masterlist 

Adrian Chase // male!reader 

Warnings ; mentions of blood, descriptions of smut. 

Sipnosis ; Adrian gives you a blow job for pride month 

3.3k

Cold, shining, golden beer was all you could think about. God, you could almost taste it, from the bar down the road, second tap to the left, Heineken; or, if you were lucky, one stubby of Estrella Galicia, just because it felt closer to home. The day was almost over, the vampires were killed, the mission was done for the day and that beer had light of its own inside your mind.

“You have no idea how bad I wanna get wasted right now,” Chris let his bag on your desk with a loud thud and clapped his hands.

“Fuck, yeah” Vigilante took his mask off, a drop of blood down the side of his face. You sighed, going into the bathroom and hoped he didn´t need stitches. It was almost last call and you wanted your beer, stitches would take for ever.

Emilia came back to the main room in your new headquarters, a small house on the outskirts. “There is no way you are drinking tonight” Adrian frowned, standing up from the office chair he was sitting on.

“Why not?” You came back, first aid kit in hand.

Emilia left a gun on her table. “I am a hundred percent sure you have a concussion”

“No, I do not!” He looked offended and you nudged him, gesturing to the table behind him. He half sat.

“You hit your head, on a traffic sign. Then fell off a cliff and landed on a rock”

He frowned. “Well not with my head!” You cleaned the trail of blood and took the hair out of his forehead. You knew your breath was hitting his cheek. He liked it.  

“You were unconscious for twenty minutes!”

“I fell asleep!”

“Bullshit,”

“Oh no, Vig, dude” you covered your mouth and he looked up at you, wide eyed “I can see your brain spilling out your head!” You wanted to distract him, your head hurt a bit and his daily back and forth with Emilia was making you want he was unconscious again.

He stood up. “What?” it was kind of stupid how highpitched his scream was “Is it gonna fall off? Can it fall off? Oh, no, I like my brain inside my head dude! Quick, catch it” You started laughing a little and he stopped “Oh you were messing with me,” he sat back down with a small smile “that was funny”

“You are not drinking today,” he only needed butterfly stitches.

“Not you too!”

“I'm sorry,” you smiled “But you did hit your head pretty hard” You closed the cut “So no drinking”

He looked at you like if you had stabbed him. “That is so not fair,” he climbed off the table and stormed out the room. You closed the kit.

“There is no drinking for you either,” Harcourt said.

You snapped your head back. “What? Why?” You heard a muffed ‘Hah, loser’ from the other room and you frowned on it´s direction. Fucking hell.

“You are absurdly behind with your reports, I need at least the ones from last week for tomorrow” Emilia grabbed her things.

Man. “I'm not that behind, come on,” that cold beer was slowly drifting away from you.

Emilia gave you a look "Dude, come on, even Chris has written down more than you"

"Ah, suck it" he was smiling proudly, cleaning his helmet.

"Oh, piss off!" you got closer to Emilia and clasped your hands together "Please, please, I'll do them later" Devastating, absolutely devastating.

"No, you stay. It's an order"

You sighed, curling up your lip. Ow, man. "What a bummer" Vigilante mocked, holding himself by the door frame. The fucker was laughing a bit. He was also on black sweatpants and a tight shirt, some of the spare clothes he left in the HQ.

"You stay too," Emilia started walking away with everyone else "you need to start writing reports, we are paying you now"

"Hah, loser" you murmured and he frowned at you.

"It's not fun if you say it," and they all left the house.

 You had more than a week of late reports. Eleven missions, if you were being precise. And that was going to take you all night. God you wished you had done them earlier, now you could be drinking. And you weren't drinking. You hated not drinking. You loved drinking. So much, man.

"This is so boring I think I'm going to die," in the span of an hour, Adrian had sat on the couch, thrown knives at the wall, eaten chocolate, hidden under a table, lost his phone, found it and stabbed a pencil in an apple.

"You could write reports," you looked back at him "that's just an idea"

"I don't wanna do that!" and he was back on the couch, like a vicious cycle. “It's boring, I need action” You went back to the writing. Just seven more to go. The silence didn't last long. “My legs feel like they are going to explode”

“You have been here for an hour,” your eyes were locked on the screen.

“And twenty-three minutes!”

Your head fell to your hands and you groaned, fingers pressed to your eyes, then intertwined on top of your mouth. “If you don't wanna be here, leave. I need to finish”  

“I don't wanna leave,” he kind of murmured that one, sitting up on the couch. You made a face, frowning with your lip curled up and your eyes small. “I shouldn't leave you alone, it's late”

You kept the face “Okay, that is just bullshit”

“No-uh” he stood up, a defiant finger pointed at you. Kind of energetic and definitely out of place, absolutely comically stupid.

“Yuh-uh,” you stood up too, finger to his face. “I´m a fucking soldier” kind of.

He stared for a second. “I think you are a, uh, a small weak man and that—that you need me to protect you,” your mouth flew open. He was so obviously lying but it was funny to see him try.

“I could totally fuck you up,” you couldn’t help the smile.

“Oh, oh, umh there is no way in that, I´d win you with a hand to my back,” he raised his eyebrows at you “you have some uh, skinny wiggled arms, and some like, not at all strong hands and you are not—you don't,” he pointed a finger to you “you don't train as much as I do” He looked pretty satisfied with that.

“Mh, is that so?” The truth is that it wasn't true at all, you weren't as jacked as Peacemaker was but you handled yourself and you thought of yourself as a pretty good fighter. You knew Adrian though this too. “You think you can beat me in a fight, Chase?” That’s were he wanted to end. He was bored, when he was bored he needed to move and, for some reason he didn´t want to leave so he was provoking you. You found it pretty funny, how blandly obvious it was.

“I know it” and you punched him on the face.

It wasn't really that hard, not even half as hard as you normally would punch someone. You aimed for the jaw, so his glasses wouldn't take any damage. He stumbled back, got a hand to his jaw, looked at you half crouched and launched himself at you. He did not hit you as hard as he could have.

After a bit he grabbed your arm and tried to make you lose your balance, knock you down, but you kicked him and punched him again. He wasn't focused. You were good, really good, trained and skilled but Adrian would have been able to kill you with a good sharpened pencil only. But he didn't. In fact, he was losing.

It went on for a long while. Kicks and punches thrown there and then. He punched you once, on the nose, and you kicked him. In the motion he got a foot under you, making you fall back, to the couch. You sat there, confused for a second, looking up at him, chest heaving. You tried to stand up. He grabbed your wrists and you struggled, groaning. He leaned in, his weight helping him. He put one leg on either side of yours, knee next to the thigh. Your legs were spread open so it was hard for him to balance himself.

“Get off me,” your voice came out low, you tried to move your body one last time but he sank you further into the couch, both your hands trapped over your head now.

“I win,” and he was smiling. You were holding back, and now he was smiling down at you, sweat damping his hair, out of breath. Smiling.

You stared at him breathing out of your mouth. You really couldn't move. His whole weight on you. Well not all of it, he still had his knees on the couch. You kind of wished it was all of it. You just stared.

He had beautiful eyes, greenish blue. He had a small mole on his cheek and little freckles around it and his nose. You wondered where else he had them.

You swallowed hard, not struggling anymore though his grip did not loosen. He felt like he was closer now. In fact he was. Slowly, not smiling anymore, he was lowering his head. He blew a warm breath to your open mouth and you sighed, setting your hands free, grabbing his face, slamming him into you. He hummed with his throat, tilting his head. You opened your mouth again and deepened the kiss, he leaned in, body and soul. His belly pressed against the end of your chest. You let go of his face, slipped your hands down at his waist, slow at first, his skin felt too smooth to hurt it. He bit your bottom lip and stared into your eyes through his lashes, slowly pulling away, glasses at the end of his nose. You held his waist tightly, squeezing it a bit. He let a breath out, it was warm and made a small whining sound. You kissed him again, fingers digging to his flesh this time. He pressed himself closer, small sounds escaping every time air came between your lips. He held your face and pressed you further down, your fingertips rubbing the small of his back.

You weren't sure how long it took him to let go of your face and start fumbling with the buttons of your shirt, struggling with his mouth still over yours. After a bit he looked down, big wet sigh escaping his lips. He got the first button; the corner of his mouth twitched up and you felt it in the depths of your stomach. He got the second button.

You leaned up a bit. "Wait, there's blood on your face" it was over his mouth and on the tip of his nose, you reached up but his hand got there first. He didn't lose the smile, cleaning the blood with the back of his thumb.

He stopped to look at it and then at you, this other hand still half into your shirt. "I think it's yours," his voice was so low and his eyes so deep it took you a while to process what he had said. You blinked a few times.

"Oh, fuck, sorry," you tried to move, pressing your wrist to your nose. He cleaned himself a bit and went back to your shirt, tilting his head down to kiss your neck.

"Don't apologize," his voice came warm from under your ear, he was being quiet. You could feel his smile, "I was the one who punched you" He bit your skin and your head fell back onto the couch.

He unfastened the last button and half a second after his hands were inside the shirt. He couldn't stop, he had to touch you everywhere all at once, he pressed your ribs and chest as he sucked small dots bruising all over your throat. You pulled him up to kiss him again and he stood on his knees, drifting away slowly, smiling.

“It's odd to look up at you,” you whispered.

“What? Why?” you just wanted to see that confused frown again.

“Cause I'm always looking down,” you played with the fabric of his shirt “I'm taller”

He gaped his mouth, taking a big breath in. “That is not true!” You kissed him and he hummed again, now it felt more like a hug, with him tilting his head and you holding him on top of you. “I love your neck…” he breathed with a hand around it and his mouth on your jaw. He was careful now, going down, kissing your chest, dropping to the ground, grabbing your belt.

“Adrian—” he was in between your legs, eyes with light of their own.

“What? Do I stop?” his eyebrows shot up “I need your consent and stuff,”

He was adorable. “No, it's fine just,” you looked around “everyone uses this couch, it feels kind of wrong”

Adrian nodded, as if he was following you though it was obvious he wasn't. “There's the upstairs rooms,”

“We all use those,” you take turns to sleep in long shifts.

He was disappointed now, let down, that thing he had was consuming itself inside him and you couldn't let it disappear. It had woken something in you, and you felt the sense grow back in you, the voice that whispered that you couldn't do it, that it was Adrian, that he was your teammate and just that. You wanted to do it, wanted to let him in, wanted him like that just for a bit more. “Don't you have a car?” And it was back in his eyes, with the smile and the tight grip. He got up and left. You looked for paper in the bathroom and let the water run for a second, staring at your bloody face in front of you. “Come on, let's go,” he was behind you. You looked at him through the mirror. “Don't wash, it's kinda hot,”

Adrian took your arm and dragged you out. He stopped and pressed something that beeped. The air was cold outside, night long fallen, streetlights reflecting on his glasses. You couldn't stop staring at him, at his profile, his smile, his nose and his jaw. He pulled your arm and you followed him down the road. It was a new neighbourhood, on the outskirts, half the houses still unbuilt, no neighbours. Perfect for a HQ. And for you.

He opened the door for you and you climbed to the passenger’s seat, back against the other door, head on the window. It was still kind of cold. He closed the door behind him and threw himself at you, kissing you, making you hit the back of your head. He pulled back. “Dude, I need to suck you off, right now, or I think I´ll die” you laughed, just a bit, then you undid your belt. His smile was priceless, he looked down at your hand on your crotch as if they were made of gold. “Let me, let me” He undid the button and looked up at you, asking for permission, more excited than you had ever seen him. And that was saying a lot.

You leaned down to kiss him and then nodded, murmuring a small “go for it,” he kissed your tummy and pulled the zipper down slowly. Your legs started to feel numb, him in between your thighs. He got his head up for a second and got you off your pants, smiling at the sight.

"Hey, big boy," he whispered and you wanted to laugh again. He ran a hand down your thigh, pulling your leg up, resting it on his shoulder. His hand gripped you and you locked eyes with the ceiling, sighing.

Adrian started stroking, slower than you thought he would, holding himself back, pushing down the hunger. He ran his tongue down your tip, your hands falling to his hair as soon as his lips met you. His hair was clean and soft. You groaned when you felt him pull you deeper.

His hands rubbed the back of your legs, spreading your legs apart. The air was starting to suffocate you. He was all warm. You wrapped your legs around him, drowning out the noises coming off your throat. He gripped your waist, fingers digging into your skin, and pulled you further down. Your head hit the car door and your back was pressed against the seat. Adrian maneuverer you without losing his peace, deepening, pressing up with his tongue. You pushed his head down a little bit, to see how far he could go. He made a pleasant sound and your legs tightened around him. He got it out, breathing for a second, stroking you slowly, kissing down. You couldn't see his face, buried in between your legs. He was licking under your dick now, kissing, breathing heavily. You hand was still lost in his hair.

He looked at you, for a brief second, then you were deep down his throat. “Fuck—” Your legs shoved him down, around his neck, you tried to loosen the grip, afraid of making him believe he was trapped. He let his hands still, focusing on his mouth, unsteady peace. His lips closed at your tip before shoving down again. He started going faster, messier, playing with the tempo. You started to feel him all around you, not only his lips and the back of his throat, not only the warmth of his breath on your belly. He was in your veins, you felt him in your stomach. Sounds were coming off you, up from forgotten places. You gripped his hair, he was fast but just enough and you almost couldn't breathe, the tension down your stomach expanding through your veins.

“Adrian,” it came out weak “Adrian, I´m— Fuck, I´m gonna…” He made a sound with his throat and you arched your back, releasing it all, wanting him close, pulling his hair. “F—uck…” You let your back fall, everything relaxed and you breathed deeply. He pulled back and you let go of his hair. He kept his hands on your legs. You were sweaty, felt warm all over, your eyes on the car ceiling, your head resting up, your breaths going in and out at weird tempos.

His hands rubbed your legs, going up to your waist, playing with the button up around your sides. “How was it?” His throat was sore but he sounded happy.

“Fucking hell…” you breathed out, unable to move. He kissed your knee, folded up, then your thigh. You looked down at him. He was on one knee in between your legs, the other with his foot touching the ground, leg under your leg. His hair was messed up and his cheeks dyed a pinkish shade. He was smiling, sweat damping his hair. “Did you swallow it?”

He was looking at you in an odd way, you had never seen that look directed towards you. “Yeah,” he was admiring you. He breathed out. “You are really beautiful”

You breathed out a laugh, sitting up. “Shut up,” you smiled a little when you pressed your lips back together. He hummed a bit, holding your face, kissing slowly. You pushed him back, lips still connected. His back rested half on the door on his side, half on his seat. Your mouth fell to his neck. “You are too dressed,” you whispered against his skin.

He took his shirt off without a single word. His skin was soft, you traced it as you kissed under his jaw. His heartbeat sped up, he sighed. He was sweet. His hands were on your hair. You kissed him as you pulled his pants down.

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase #adrian chase x male reader #peacemaker #peacemaker fanfiction #male reader #they should fight more tbh #im not sure if i like this or not

[only-lonely-stars]

Halloween Drabble 6 (Sugar High)

[1 - Carving Pumpkins] // [2 - Trick-or-Treating] // [3 - Vampirism] // [4 - Scary Movie Marathon] // [5 - Halloween Party] // [7 - Costume Fight] // [8 - Cobwebs] – (FFN) (AO3)

Summary:

A collection of drabbles, all to do with Halloween!

Prompt:

Sugar high! (Dragongem17 on FFN)

"Hey, Nya! Where'd you put the candy?" a voice called from inside the Monastery.

"I left it in the kitchen!" the water master called back, just on the other side of the wall.

"It's not there!"

"Then I didn't move it, Kai!"

Kai grumbled sourly, coming around by her. "I just want my Kit-Kats."

Nya paused. "...You know, I saw Lloyd eating some of those…"

Their eyes widened in realization. "Lloyd got to the candy."

-----

Let there be a lesson known to all who cross Lloyd Garmadon, the mighty Green Ninja: never, under any circumstances, give him free access to sugar. As for why…

-----

Lloyd lounged over the back of the couch, head on the seat cushions and legs slung over the back. A pile of wrappers sat next to him.

"Lloyd? What happened to you?" Nya asked gingerly.

Lloyd grinned and looked up at her. "Hey, Nya! Nothing happened."

"You look dead," Kai commented bluntly. "Or high."

"Sugar high, maybe." Lloyd snickered. "It feels amazing."

"You're going to crash so hard tonight."

The younger ninja laughed and turned himself so he sat properly, then jumped to his feet. "I won't crash! You can't make me!"

Kai growled. "You ate my Kit-Kats!"

"Maaaaybe."

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"Catch me if you can!" Lloyd immediately dashed out the door.

"LLOYD!"

As her brothers ran off, shouting, Nya sighed and shook her head. "Idiots. Both of you are idiots." Her eyes strayed to the little pile of candy that remained. "Well… maybe I'll snag just one."

#ninjago #ninjago lloyd #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #nya smith #rgb siblings #ninjago fanfiction #OLST fanfic #OLST writing #halloween drabbles

[love-liberty21]

Van Helsing yesterday:

I've just been thinking: If I staked Lucy right now, it would be the easiest way out, but Jack and Arthur are friends and Jack probably couldn't keep this a secret and even if so, their friendship would suffer from it. And then Arthur might blame me for killing his wife by burying her alive and blame Jack for bringing me in. In any case, he would spent the rest of his life in doubt and that wouldn't be good. I've seen how much better Jonathan Harker was dealing with horrors once he was certain they were real. I have to do the same for Arthur and his american friend, too, while we're at it. Knowing might be bad, but not knowing is definitely worse.

But I can't have Lucy be out and about tonight, that would endanger children, even if she hasn't permanently harmed one yet, and that would be irresponsible. So I will make sure through religious symbols and garlic that she can't leave tonight. Which will also be good, because she will be even more keen to get out tomorrow and then Arthur and Quincey will see with their own eyes. And if they believe, then they also can help hunt down the actually dangerous vampire, before he hurts even more people.

Seeing as I've been overly confident in my vampire kit before and Lucy paid the price for it, I will stay here at the cemetery, to be absolutely on the safe side. She won't get out while I'm here. Perhaps Dracula will show up, so I'm leaving Jack all information, just in case I die tonight.

What some people seem to have heard:

Ha, I'm an irresponsible old man and now that I have Jack convinced, I might as well drag this out a little longer and do harm to Arthur and Quincey, too. Who cares if kids are being eaten! I'm Van Helsing, I do what I want!

#honestly how do you do these mental flips? #He's finally coming completely clean and now thats wrong too? #he is doing absolutely everything he can to make sure no one will suffer more from the one day delay #and he's right to tell Art #especially after we just learned from Jonathan that he handles the truth a thousand times better now he knows it's true #dracula daily #abraham van helsing #september 27

[spaceumbredoggos]

So much for Stardust Chapter thirty

I followed Kenz, who was foaming at the mouth and hissing. Their short hair was matted and scraggy, like they slept on it wrong. They reeked of dead skunk and mud, and there were clumps of mud on their clothes. Their eyes were an unnatural shade of amber, and the way they held themself seemed cat-like.

“Kenz! What’s gotten into you?” They didn’t reply as they tackled Volo, hissing and putting their nails on Volo’s throat. Volo punched them in the face, but they didn’t budge. Kenz is never this offensive when they’re fighting.

I noticed that their nails were sharp and claw-like, serrated at the tip. Kenz’s canine teeth were seemingly wittled to fangs, and were covered in bloody pulp. Kenz yowled like a cat as Volo tried to entrance them. This seemed to agitate them more, causing them to slash at Volo’s throat.

No blood poured from the wound. Volo’s eyes widened with a terror I never knew the man to have. The blood pouring down Kenz’s neck had clotted and dried to a maroon.

“Kenz!!! Calm down!!! Let me handle him!!!”

They turned to face me, yowling. That’s probably not Kenz at this point. Their eyes were amber with a cat-like pupils. They crouched like a feral cat, hissing. I grabbed my tranquilizer gun and shot them in the neck. They flopped on the ground, yowling. “Why is this body so sleepy? What twoleg abomination did that older twoleg do?”

“Twoleg?” Volo chimed, rubbing his nose. I grabbed some handcuffs and tackled Volo to the ground. “Dont think you’re getting away that easily. You almost killed my kid.”

I brought the two back to my private study. I sat Volo down and laid Kenz on the couch. Kenz gazed at me with those amber eyes as I wrapped them in blankets to keep them from moving and attacking. “Okay. Now. First things first. Volo. I’m going to have to turn you into the Interdimensional Police. You’re doing time in prison for your crimes against the multiverse.”

“They’ll never take me alive!!!” But Volo couldn’t move out of his restraints. Kenz started purring, louder than they usually purred. I noticed that they caught the sight of a mouse and was starting to crouch. “Kenz!!!” I shooed the mouse away and held them. They flailed and thrashed, trying to hiss at Volo. “Kenz. I know you’re in there somewhere. What’s going on?”

“The twoleg kit is weak. Can’t win a fight against an apprentice with both paws tied in a fox trap.” They snarled threateningly. Twoleg? Apprentice? The words that they used were familiar. I grabbed one of my journals and read back about the clan of cats beside the lake. We’ve got more Warrior Cat trouble don’t we?

I sighed, putting my journal aside. “Who are you?” I asked, shining a light inside the possessor’s eyes. “How do you know I’m not this ‘Kenz’ you think of so fondly?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m Mapleshade. Not that you twolegs would understand who I am.” Mapleshade wriggled out of my grasp and sat down on the couch, still dazed from the drugs. “What did you do with Kenz’s mind?”

“Why should I tell you? The kit was enthralled by that monster you hate so much. They passed out and ended up in my domain. I never thought I would possess a twoleg body before. It’s weird trying to walk on two legs. I modified it to be more dangerous. But I can’t seem to attack any cat. It’s so cuddly. The only thing I can get it to do around cats is cuddle and pet. It’s revolting. It was really hard to even get it to offensively attack the vampire so viciously.” Mapleshade panted, gazing at Volo threateningly. “Whatever is possessing that kid is a monster!!!”

“You’re the one to talk. Preying on young kits who seem to enjoy being enthralled a little too much.” Mapleshade crouched as I held her back. “Please give Kenz their body back?”

“I’m afraid it’s not so simple. I have them trapped in my domain. Their mind is shut off. I tried waking them up, but they seemed pretty out of it. So, I’m trapped in this body as they are trapped in my domain. It’s weird how they can easily travel to the Place of no Stars. They tried to wrestle me out of their body when they finally started to snap out of the hypnosis, but they were too drowsy.” Mapleshade yawned. “This stupid twoleg body is functioning against me!!! What did you do to it?”

“You’re injected with a sedative.”

“It’s like I ate poppy seeds!!” Mapleshade flopped on her side, purring. “Don’t try to fight it. Now. Can you tell me how to get Kenz back?”

“And why should I?” Mapleshade hissed. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in seasons. Why possess a cat when you can possess a Twoleg? I’m more powerful than Ashfur ever was! Sure I’m possessing a soft Twoleg that seems a bit in touch with their body and has a cuddly personality. But I can change that. I’ll have this Twoleg exacting my revenge in no time!!!”

Kenz’s personality is really strong. I never thought one’s personality could fuse to their body so effectively that any entity possessing it would have difficulty controlling it. I decided to test this by putting my hand out and giving Kenz’s body a head pat. Kenz’s body smiled on its own and leaned into the touch, purring. “What? What is happening? I’m not doing that!!!”

“Kenz is touch starved to the point where they appreciate any affection. Which was probably how Volo was able to enthrall them so easily.”

“Fuck you!!! They’re a child!!! It was a little bit too easy to knock them out with a simple touch. And they did seem to enjoy being bitten.” Volo seemed disgusted by this. “But their blood is incredibly valuable. As being an umbredoggo makes their blood highly nutritious.”

“Umbredoggo?” Mapleshade crouched and managed to trigger Kenz’s umbredoggo form. She purred, stumbling on four legs from the sedation. “Why did I have to go through all the trouble of sharpening claws when I could have this!!!” I grabbed Mapleshade by the scruff as she involuntarily transformed back into Kenz’s human form. She smiled and purred, cuddling the couch cushions as I sat her down. I noticed the amber color start to fade to green as I noticed a few wrappers of my edible chocolates on Kenz’s shirt. “Volo?”

“What?”

“Care to explain the edible wrappers on Kenz’s shirt?”

“I don’t know. They probably thought it was just regular chocolate.”

That does seem like the typical Kenz mistake. Mapleshade started to laugh. “Fox dung. What is happening to me? Oh. Hey Kenz. How did you escape? And what’s with this fuzzy feeling in your body? I’m ready for it to be your problem now. But I’ll be back.”

Kenz’s eyes returned green as they yawned, purring loudly from their throat. “What just happened?” They leaned on me, smiling and stifling a laugh. “Good to have you back.”

“Care to fucking explain why you have edibles laying around?” But Kenz’s giggly voice extinguished any anger in their demeanor that words could say. “You should sleep it off and you’ll recover in the morning. Let me handle Volo.”

“Can vampires get high from weed?”

“I can’t. And I don’t even know what weed is.”

“Oh. You must be the Volo from Pokemon Legends Arceus. What happened to your Pokemon man?” Kenz couldn’t hold back their hyper laughter as they smiled at Volo. Volo grumbled something under his breath along the lines of “can we have Mapleshade back.”

I tucked Kenz in on the couch in a bunch of blankets. “Hey Ford?”

“What?”

“Ever wonder how countless timelines. Countless possibilities… And…” Kenz purred, cutting of their words.

“And?”

“And I somehow wound up with the best adoptive dad in the world?” My heart swelled in my chest with pride. Kenz started to doze off, cuddling their Minecraft fox plush. I kissed them on the forehead goodnight, rubbing their head. Never change, Kenz.

#gravity falls #self insert #ford pines #volo pokémon #Mapleshade #so much for stardust

[aquidragon]

Be Mine? [Vampire! Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader]

Just a little vampire leon drabble! 

Rating: M 

CW(s): Blood

Word Count: 768

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His lips and chin were saturated with blood; as his pink tongue swept over the red liquid. Red eyes rolled to the back of his head, savoring the sweet crimson that tingled his tastebuds. His large hands were cold against your bare hips, trimmed fingernails digging into your skin.

You breathed heavily, looking back at burning red eyes, no longer a lovely shade of cobalt. His face was stained with your own blood, as he stared deep into your eyes. Leon’s breath was heavy, as he pressed his forehead against yours, pulling your body flush against his chest. 

Your mother had warned you against vampires. 

In the story books, she would read, tales about monsters in black capes, white, hypodermic fangs, and insatiable bloodlust. You whimpered as he lowered his head to lap at the puncture wound on your neck, an attempt to soothe the pain. Your hands gripped fruitlessly at his tight, black shirt, feeling the firm muscle underneath. The vampire smirked against your skin, making sure every drop of blood was licked clean from your flesh. 

“Leon, a-are you almost done?” You asked, feeling the vampire venom, which temporarily numbed your pain ebbed away. “It hurts.” 

Your vampiric partner hummed with acknowledgment, pressing a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck. “Almost done, sweetheart.” Leon purred, his wet tongue dragging over the bitemark one less time, making you shiver. 

Once the blonde was satisfied, he sat back, and the mattress beneath you both creaked. Scarlet dotted across the navy gray sheets, staining the fabric, most likely permanently. You watched quietly as Leon prepared the First Aid Kit. Formerly crimson eyes faded back into the familiar blue, now that he was properly fed. 

“Was I too rough?” He asked, sounding ashamed. He poured anti-septic on a cotton swab, gently dabbing it on your wound. 

You hissed, but the stinging pain was brief. “N-No, it’s just been a while.” You responded honestly, looking into his sad eyes. Leon’s brown eyebrows furrowed in concern, as the remains of blood began to dry on his cheeks and chin. 

You knew when he returned from his mission in Spain, he would be starving. You made sure to drink plenty of water, as well as go on regular jogs to make sure your circulation was in tune, in time to feed your lover. Not to your surprise, he drank a lot more than he usually did, not that you minded. 

“You look pale.” The vampire observed, not sounding thrilled. He dug around the plastic container for bandages, not wanting to look at you. “I drank too much.” 

You sighed, reaching over to cup Leon’s cheek, which he leaned against. “Leon, it’s alright. It’s just been a while, I’m fine.” 

Leon exhaled heavily, finally relaxing underneath your touch. “If you say so.” His lips parted in a small smile, his pristine, white fang catching the filtered moonlight. In the darkness of the bedroom, his sapphire blues had a slight glow to them. “I worry about you.” 

“I know you won’t kill me.” You smiled at him, warmth coming back to your face. “I trust you Leon, I always will.”

Your partner made sure the fabric Band-Aid was aligned perfectly against your wounds as he pasted two of them on your neck. Then, he pressed his forehead against yours again, his bangs framing his face. “I missed you.” His voice was husky as he tilted his head, chapped lips meeting yours in a delicate kiss. 

You kissed him back, the pain from his bite long faded, as your mind focused on the vampire before you. His arms wrapped around your waist, gentler this time, as he savored your touch. You stayed like that for a few moments, wrapped up in each other, as you wordlessly shared your thoughts. 

Eventually, oxygen was needed, and you both pulled away. “I’m so lucky I have someone like you.” He breathed, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb. “-Become mates with me.” 

Your heart began to pound loudly against your chest, and your eyes widened. “W-What?” 

Leon inhaled deeply, before letting out a slow exhale. “Y/N, I’m asking you to become mates with me. Be mine forever.”

You studied his pale face in the dim lighting, seeing nothing but genuine affection on his face. You kissed him, holding both cheeks in your hands before pulling away. “Leon, I’d love to” you yawned loudly “-but let’s talk more about it tomorrow?” You smiled sheepishly at him. 

The vampire laughed, pulling you down on the plush pillows with him, pulling the blanket over you both, not caring about the dried blood. “Of course, my love.”

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thank you for reading, as I get out of my writers block! For more vampire content, I suggest reading work by @lottathoughts​

#resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #gender neutral reader #vampire leon s kennedy #vampire leon #vampire au #cw blood #cw vampire #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader