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c-o-t-o · 2 months

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Veiled Whispers - Xavier (Part 1)

(Part 2 here)

Author: c-o-t-o

Character: Xavier x fem reader

CW: 18+ only, sexual content/smut, explicit language, drunkenness, dubcon, teasing, light bdsm (some CWs apply to other parts)

Misc: ~1k words, Part 1. This fic is supposed to take off where the 5 star memory ends with Xavier

About: After Xavier tends to your injury and sees you're still drunk, you start feeling him up. Realizing what it is you want, Xavier decides to indulge in you, finally showing you how he feels.

*Do not remove info or credit from posts when reblogging or sharing!*

“We can't delay the sunrise, but… we can make the night a little darker.” Xavier's lips whisper into the skin of your bare shoulder.

You had been up so late to begin with, that going back to his place, the sun was already starting to rise. Xavier closes the blinds, plummeting the room back into near darkness, save for a few very dim lights. Xavier made sure he could make his room very dark for when he was exhausted and needed to sleep in the daytime. It really did feel like it was still the middle of the night.

By now you've sobered up just enough to make sense of everything going on. You were still tipsy though, how could you not be? After all of those drinks you shared with Xavier outside while watching the Valentine's Day lights, it's only natural for you to still be pretty drunk. But at least you're not blacking out anymore. You're… in a good place.

Still sitting on the edge of Xavier's bed, your eyes follow him from the windows as he walks around to the other side of his bed. He pulls the untied tie off his neck and lets it fall to the floor. Slowly crawling onto his bed on his hands and knees, he pulls you back to lay down. The sudden movement makes you a little dizzy, but it quickly subsides. When your eyes refocus, Xavier is kneeling above you, hands pressed into the bed on both sides of your head. His shirt is still completely open.

“Xavier… what-” is all you manage to say before he puts a finger to your mouth to shush you. With his face just above yours, you see his eyes so clearly, even in the dimness. His gaze, normally soft and sleepy, is now filled with determination and hazy lust. And although it almost hurts to be looked at so deeply by him, you can't bring yourself to look away. With your limited view you notice, however, blush spreading beneath his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Seeing him blush makes your heart start racing in your chest because you begin to wonder, ‘why is he blushing?’

Your hand grazes his cheek, thumb rubbing the blush on his skin.

“You're drunk too, aren't you, Xavier? Your face is so red…” your voice trails off when you take notice of how soft, yet hot, his face has become.

“I'm not drunk…” he softly whispers, eyes averting your gaze. He slowly looks back at you, sighing, and cupping his hand over yours on his face. "Hmm. I might be, a little bit.”

Xavier closes his eyes and turns his face to kiss the inside of your hand. He pulls your arm up and begins leaving a trail of kisses from your hand, down your wrist, to your arm. You can hear his short, breathy exhales between each kiss.

Before you know it, Xavier has turned you over onto your stomach, face buried into his pillow. He kneels above you, hands gently resting on your back to keep you from turning back around.

“What are you doing?" You turn your face out of the pillow to ask. At the same time you notice just how soft and plush his pillow is. You can smell his hair and gentle cologne on it, and it gives you goosebumps.

“I've asked you many times if you were worried about me getting back at you one day.” he whispers calmly, seductively. “You're always the one touching me, so why…” his voice trails off almost sadly while he drags the back of his fingers down your cheek. “Why is it that only you get to touch me? To tease me…” his blush reddens after mentioning that. "Aren't you worried I'll get you back? When you're not looking… when your back is turned… just like you've always done to me.”

You feel Xavier gently move your hair away from your shoulder, then suddenly, his warm lips on the back of your neck. He exhales on your skin, raising goosebumps in its path. His kisses are soft and plush against your skin, slowly going from the back of your neck down towards your shoulder. Taking his time with each and every kiss as if he's trying to memorize the feeling every time. The sensation makes your head cringe with pleasure, and you can't help but to moan out loud into his pillow. The sound is muffled, but loud enough to let him know that it feels good to you.

“All I want is to be able to touch you," he murmurs quietly into your ear. “To kiss you," he says as he kisses behind your ear. “To make you feel good." Xavier lets out a low moan in your ear as he exhales on it.

All the while, unbeknownst to you since your head was spinning with pleasure, Xavier slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders, exposing your back. He already unhooked your bra, and was tracing shapes lightly with his fingertips on your skin. You feel your skin raise at the feeling. Noticing that, Xavier presses his warm hands into your back, almost massaging your shoulders.

As gently as he can, he helps you sit up on your knees. Xavier is still behind you, kneeling, chin resting in the crook of your neck.

“You're so beautiful." He exhales as his hands glide around to your front. The top of your dress has already fallen down to your waist, breasts exposed. Xavier’s big, warm hands move around to the front of you and cups them. You glance down and see his strong hands ever so gently fondling your breasts. Every time his hands glide up to the top of them, you see the veins in his hands from his muscles tensing underneath. He handled you so delicately as if you were something to be cherished. Xavier waited so long to be able to express his love for you, and by god, he was going to do it tonight.

“I hope you're ready for what's next, my love.” Xavier nuzzles your cheek with his face while still holding your chest. “I'll make you feel so good that you'll see stars."

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace x reader #xavier #LADS xavier #love and deepspace smut #xavier smut #LADS xavier smut #xavier x you #xavier x fem reader #xavier x reader #fanfic #c-o-t-o

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radiance1 · 9 months

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Danny is so, oh so very tired about the amount of marriage proposals that popped up in front of him. Not even a day past his announcement as Crown prince either.

He's thankful that neither of his four parents are pushing him towards accepting it, but it's everyone (besides his friends of course) else who either try and subtly suggest it or outright asks him if he's chosen a spouse yet.

He's only 14! He doesn't need a spouse! And they were probably far older than him too!

Even Vlad of all people took some kind of pity on him and just decided to be a normal (for a billionaire) guy who isn't trying to kill his dad.

...However, that doesn't mean he wants him to seduce him either!

(Danny: Stop trying to seduce my dad you low-budget vampire!

Vlad, calmly sipping tea: No.)

If he wasn't majorly burnt out from the number of proposals he has to sort through, he would most definitely throw him far across town, away from his dad and mom.

He needed to find a way to stop all of these letters that just keep coming, and fast. He doesn't know how much longer he could take of reading fancy script over and over and over again, his eyes already hurt enough.

He tried to ask his Father for help, his only response was to choose a consort that he saw fit to stand alongside him. Then he had to flee before he gushed about his pops.

He asked his pops, who only said that the answer would come to him in time. Which was of no help whatsoever.

He asked his mom, she at least tried to help somewhat. Giving him some equipment to ward off any ghost who would try and forcibly take him as a consort, which had a low chance of happening considering his strength, but he was happy about it regardless.

He then finally asked his dad, after making sure that vampiric leech isn't near any of his human parents. Surprisingly, he had a pretty good idea of what to do.

He was a halfa, wasn't he? Why limit himself to just ghosts? Surely, due to his half-human status he could choose someone near his age among humanity.

Well, not in those exact words, but it was a great idea regardless! Plus, they never did specify if he had to choose a ghost consort anyways.

Now he just had to decide who to pick, really. His two best friends are out of the option, they're close, but not in that sort of way. Plus, Sam is busy with Undergrowth and Tucker bonding with Technus who was apparently apart of his family tree somewhere along the line.

Then, when he was sorting through the letters and was sure his eyes were about to bleed from reading so many fancy words, he felt it. A tug in his chest, gently urging him somewhere, and you know what, it's way better than what he was doing now, so he answered.

He felt the clothes he was swearing in that moment fade into away into the outfit he wore for his coronation. A suit, a crown made of the coldest ice from the Far Frozen, a cape made from the stars along with various little knickknacks made from various gems and a veil hung over his face.

He looked pretty good, if he says so himself. Though he didn't and still doesn't know the purpose of the veil.

He appeared in what looked like an event for a high society party, most likely filled with various rich people. He floated up and quickly looked over the people and released a sigh of relief that Vlad wasn't here, say what you will, but he doesn't fancy meeting with someone who's actively trying to seduce his dad.

He folded his arms behind his back, trying to imitate the imposing figure of his father from his place in the air, looking down at the cultists(?) below who summoned him.

"Who dares summon me." He stated, rule number one, statements hold power, questions do not. The cultist below fell to his knees, either out of devotion or fear, he didn't know.

"Oh, Prince of the infinite, we called you today for the sole purpose of serving this world to one of your standing, please let us be your servants and spare us when you plunge the world into ruin!" Ah, devotion, then. His eyes bore into the woman (from the sound of her voice) below, his silence working well to unnerve her and the other guests.

"Hm." The reward was already stated, but he neither wants too nor will take over the world. "Denied." It was short, swift, and to the point in his books, he thinks he's doing well acting out Pariah Dark!

"B-but my liege, the king-"

"What the king has been known for in the past, has nothing to do with me. You dare to assume something about me, lowly human." The human below him was actually fully blown shivering, now, slamming her head down onto the floor and shouting out a number of apologies.

Rule number two, do not take back requests you have already denied.

Ok, now he feels bad, that probably hurt a lot. But he's already come this far so-

"Is that the only reason you have called me, or do you require something else. Much of my time is not something you can afford." The woman was most undoubtedly about to say something, probably more apologies, or maybe something else, but the sounds of fighting reached the room and the doors slammed opened, the body of a cultist(?) flying through the air and the appearance of what were most likely heroes.

"Well?" He let that question slide, the cold around the room descending around the woman below as a bunch of other cultists tried to fight off the heroes.

The woman seemed hysterical with worry, most likely not wanting to go to jail, perhaps. She quickly took her head off the floor and tried to stand up, almost falling back to the ground but managing to find her footing. "M-my liege, please help us!"

He tilted his head. "And as to what, would you give me?"

"The sacrifice, yes! The sacrifice!" The woman quickly pointed below him, and only then, did Danny realize there was a boy bound below him, only to be met with a glare.

Danny hummed. Yes. That will do. "It shall be done."

Danny waved his hand, ice sprouting from the ground to force the heroes and cultists apart and then blasting a hole through the nearby wall and to the outside, a path of ice leading down to the ground. "Go." He commanded, the woman nodding her head quickly and calling to the others and disappearing outside, he then blocked off the hole with ice.

He then slowly floated downwards, besides the bound human, ignoring the shattering of ice and footfalls of no doubt the heroes trying to stop him from what he was doing. He leaned over the boy- about his age- and asked one question.

"Do you wish to become my consort?"

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #oopsie #Ended up writing lol #Anwyays #damian wayne #ghost prince danny #damian wayne x danny fenton #He's the guy bound up by the cultists lol #Danny needed to find a consort to not have to deal with marriage proposals anymore #He's sure nothing would really come out of this #Surely after this he could just claim the boy as his consort- if he says yes- and they could just go about their seperate ways #pariah dark #dp clockwork #dp dark ages #dark ages #darkages #Danny has 4 parents and then one vampiric leech trying to worm his way in lol

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theonewiththefanfics · 2 months

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A Life Worth Living (one-shot)

Synopsis: As sickness creeps closer in taking her life, Y/N has come to make her final amends. Though the Astarion she fell for no longer exists, even the cold clutch of absolute power can't match true love.

This is sort of an AU! because in truth, Ascended Astarion would not give a single shit if you've left him at this point, sorry :D I just had to get this out of my head

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x fem!Reader; Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: talks of sickness (not specified), dying, death, swearing etc. Minimally edited :)

Word count: 5115

The day was much like any other in Baldur’s Gate – sunny without even a single wispy cloud in the sky, yet the Ancunin palace rose above all the rest like a beast in the night, drowning the houses in menacing shadows.

Matches, Y/N thought, to the person living inside.

Wrought iron gate surrounded the grounds, thorny rose vines looping through, while beautiful blooms opened towards the slowly moving star above.

This could’ve been her home, had she not said no. She shuddered to think what her life would’ve been like.

That had been almost five years ago. So much had changed during that time. It didn’t even feel like just half a decade had passed, it felt more like a century since Y/N had left Astarion. But she couldn’t stay with him. Not after he’d Ascended, completing the ritual he’d killed Cazador for, and became what he had always hated – a version of Cazador himself.

Her hand had barely touched the handle of the gates before it swung open on its own accord. Y/N shouldn’t be surprised by it, not with how much magic she’d seen and experienced during her travels, but still, such small things made their impact. Whether it was an invitation inside, or a trap only time would tell.

She didn’t have much of it, which is why she was there in the first place. Had that cursed sickness not been slowly taking over her body, eating away at it, cell by cell, Y/N would have dragged this final meeting with Astarion as far in the future as she could, but there were still friends she wanted to visit, places to see, no matter how limited her life had become.

With thinly veiled amazement, because she didn’t want to marvel at what surely was slave work, she walked down the gravel path towards the large double doors of the mansion, looking at the meticulously groomed gardens. Not even a single leaf was out of place. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. Where once she would’ve believed Astarion to be the one to care for these plants, now Y/N knew in her heart, he’d never stoop so low as to even get on one knee to prune a rose. Such a thing was below him nowadays. Let alone sleeping next to her on a bedroll.

When she stood face to face with the large carved oak doors, her heart picked up its rhythm. She couldn’t help it, as years of memories, of love won and lost, rushed through her mind. Slowly, she raised her hand to knock.

It took about half a minute for the doors to open, an unfamiliar face staring back at her.

A vampire spawn, eyes red and glowing, looking at her with a cocked head.

“Can I help you?” he asked, giving her an appraising glance.

Y/N let out a breath. “I’m here to see Astarion.”

“Master Ancunin is not taking any visitors. Not without a previous notice,” he said it almost with a sneer, but she just gave him a smile.

“Tell him an old friend has stopped by. From the times before.”

The vampire looked ready to scoff and throw the door closed in her face, but stopped as he was closing it, a recollection of something flashing across his features. Whether he recognised her as a hero of Baldur’s Gate, or maybe he recognised her from a story Astarion might’ve told didn’t matter, because whatever it was, hopefully would grant her this one meeting.

With that though, Y/N was left to wait outside, pretty much twiddling her thumbs. Astarion probably wouldn’t take it too kindly if she went and took a bloom, though it used to be something he did for her. He used to do so much for her…

About five minutes later, the same spawn appeared, opening the door and motioning for her to enter.

“Master Ancunin will be with you shortly.”

And once again, she was left awing at the hallway, this time completely alone. She guessed no one saw her as a threat, despite the fact she had felled many enemies, including the Absolute. But oh well. At least she didn’t have to awkwardly stand with a guard or something, trying to figure out what small talk to fill the silence with. This gave her a chance to have a look at her surroundings.

A grand staircase, looping up to both sides, stood in front of her, while the palace spiralled away to the right and left. The entrance itself was almost like a ballroom, and she was sure, Astarion had at least one, if not more. What would those look like? What would a ball itself in the Ancunin residence look like? Would there be dancing and singing? Would people be laughing?

She couldn’t imagine it. Not with how he had degraded her after Ascending, telling her to kneel, telling her he’d turn her into a spawn, not because he wanted to spend the rest of their eternities together, but because of the control he now wished to exert over her.

A vision of herself, a blood-red gown, her eyes matching the velvet he’d no doubt dress her in, flashed across her mind. And a beautiful pearl necklace cinched tightly, two large bite marks across the slant of the skin. A collar disguised as gems to tether her to him. One large gilded cage to keep her in.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t my darling, crawling back home.”

Astarion stood at the top of the staircase landing, bringing Y/N out of her pondering.

He was a vision, as he always had been, but now, were vulnerability and love had shone in his eyes, only wry amusement and cruelty were left in their place.

His steps echoed across the empty house as he made his way down, not taking his gaze away from her. Y/N could imagine how she looked to him – covered in dirt and dust from weeks of traveling, eyes hollowed by dark circles and hair a complete mess, skin cracked around her lips, its colour dull. Compared to his meticulously coifed locks, the intricate frock and trousers, and even his gem-covered boots, she was a disaster.

Despite the pain in her heart, Y/N managed a smile. “You look good, Astarion.”

He scoffed, coming to stand before her. “Of course, I look good. I always did. You just didn’t appreciate it. Have you come back to beg? I do like a bit of grovelling. Though after what you did, there might be more you have to do than just plead for me to take you back.”

She chuckled, shaking her head and looped her arm through his elbow, undoubtedly surprising him, as she took charge and led them to the left, no idea where the hallway was going to bring her to, otherwise she might start crying. “Tell me everything Astarion. I want to know how you’ve faired these past five years.”

Her nonchalance, her whole attitude had completely stunned him, something Y/N didn’t think she was capable of, but maybe it was good. Without having knocked him off balance a bit, he might’ve just turned her away, but she needed this conversation. This closure before the sickness took her.

Together they walked inside what turned out to be a dining room. Did he even need one? He didn’t eat human food, even though he was Ascended now, and could enjoy the tastes.

“I have to say,” he started, “I did not expect to see you again.”

Y/N sighed, looking at the paintings hung along the walls, at the gleaming chandeliers above. “Believe me, I did not expect to come either.”

“Then why are you here? If not to apologise for what you did, why bother wasting my time?”

The words stung, but she wasn’t going to tell him the real reason. It wouldn’t matter to him anyway. He told her he wished she died screaming, and though that might still be a possibility, it was more likely she would simply go to sleep one night and never wake up. “Because, although I do not believe I have anything to apologise for, I did wish to make amends. Life for us mortals, is so short… and the thought of living the rest of mine, without at least having tried, seemed… wrong.”

Astarion scoffed, but she could feel him tightening his elbow, as if he didn’t want her hand to slip from the crook it rested in. “I will not apologise for my decisions.”

“I am not asking you to,” Y/N said. “I simply wish for us to become friends once more. If only for the sake of sentimentality.”

“Sentiment,” Astarion sneered. “But what else can I expect from such a creature as a human.”

Y/N let out an amused huff, pressing down the real impact it left on her heart. He knew right where to cut, because when they’d been together during the tadpole adventure, she’d laid her soul bare to him. Told him all about her fears and hopes, how much of a hopeless romantic she was, so now, to tell her it was foolish to try and rekindle if only a friendship, was stupid… but she hadn’t expected more from this version of Astarion.

He’d already given much more time than she’d expected. Half of her had thought when the spawn would tell him who was at the door, he would take the chance and fulfil his words by killing her himself.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It’s what she’d told him when she’d tried to talk him out of the ritual. How he would be condemning seven thousand other lives. But he hadn’t cared. Astarion had believed he deserved the power, deserved to complete what Cazador couldn’t. Y/N couldn’t stand by and watch, nor would her conscience allow her to be by his side.

And so she’d left. Because there was nothing left of the man she’d fallen in love with. For these five years after, she’d avoided Baldur’s Gate, hearing from whispers and gossip how he’d risen in the ranks of politics and society, how brutal he could be to his servants and those who stood in his way, almost reminding her of when he’d talked about his Magistrate days, only amped to a hundred. A new, sickening Cazador at the helm.

“But how have you been, darling?” Astarion almost sounded bored as they moved into what passed for a living room in this palace, Y/N assumed. “What shenanigans have you caused?”

And so she told him. As a servant spawn brought a tea-set laying out two cups, though Astarion didn’t even pick his up, Y/N recounted how she’d gone all across the Sword Coast, had travelled over the seas and seen knew lands. How she’d done the things he’d promised they would do together.

“Sounds rather… dull,” he commented, lounging on the seat. “But I suppose to such simple minds and hearts as yours, it’s all very exciting and enthralling.”

She wanted to snap at him, remind how half of the ideas she’d completed, had been his, but instead, Y/N just took a deep breath. “Have you finally gotten everything you wanted, Astarion?” she asked instead. “Are you finally happy?”

That had been the true question plaguing her mind these past years.

He turned to look at her, eyes blazing. “I have power, status, people bow to my every whim. What more could I possibly want?”

“Then I’m happy for you,” she said, setting down her half-drunk tea. “Even if it means nothing to you anymore, I am happy you’ve finally gotten what you wished.”

An awkward silence settled between the two, and Y/N took it as her cue to wrap things up. “I best take my leave.”

“And where will you possibly go?” he sneered, but stood up alongside her, making their way back to the grand oak doors.

“Karlach and I are meeting up at a local tavern. And then we’re all going to the get together at Wyll’s. You would know that, had you come to the party Wither’s invited us all to.”

“And waste my time?” he scoffed. “No thanks. This conversation has done enough of that.”

By now they were at the doors, and Y/N turned around, taking in her final fill of the vampire. No doubt this would be the last time she ever saw him. “I hope you have a good life, Astarion. You deserve it. Despite how things went down between us, I do wish all the best for you.”

Slowly, she leaned up and pressed a kiss against his cheek. It was cold, but not as cold as she had been used to. No doubt he used every opportunity to lazy out in the sun, or feed on someone.

Just as she was about to exit, he grabbed her by the wrist, his hold tight and not something she’d be able to break out of.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes narrowed in on her, pulling her closer to him.

Y/N’s heart spiked. Was he really still that hurt, he would finally cash in on that revenge? She knew she would never be able to hurt him. No matter what, that romantic heart of hers would betray her.

He snapped her to his chest, her breath hitching in her lungs, as he leaned down by her neck and inhaled. Her frame was ramrod straight, not daring to move a muscle. When he finally moved back, anger and something else raged in his eyes. Was it… fear?

“Now, my dear, tell me the real reason you came here.”

“I -,”

“And don’t lie,” he hissed. “Because I can smell it on you. In your blood.”

“Smell what?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Death.” And Y/N had to be hallucinating, because she was sure she heard his voice crack. “Sickness and death runs through your veins. It’s – it’s like acid.”

“What’s it matter, Astarion? What would any of it change?”

“It would chan-,” but he stopped himself.

Y/N leaned a bit closer, her Y/E/C eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what she was seeing on that stony face, but pulled back, shaking her head. “Maybe you will finally get your wish and I will die screaming.”

By the look on his face, she understood Astarion did not appreciate the comment. “You dare enter my home, under the pretences of lies and deceit,” but his vile words didn’t match what she could see brewing underneath – despair. If only she was still naïve enough to believe he felt anything else but contempt for her. “I deserve to know the truth.”

“But you do know it.” Y/N shrugged. “So I’m going to ask you once again – what does the knowledge that I am dying, change? I would still die someday. Whether it is in a week or in half a century, I would still die. What’s it matter?”

“Had you not been stupid, and accepted my offer of becoming a spawn, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” Astarion spit, but didn’t release his grip.

“I did not come here to ask you to change me.” She placed her hand against where his heart should be beating, yet everything was still under her fingers. “I am not afraid of death. I am not happy its coming for me so quickly, but I would rather have my life end now, than live as a spawn.”

Hurt crossed his face. “Would living with me really be so repulsive to you?”

“Living as your slave would.” Y/N lifted her chin. “We would not be equals. You would never see me as the person I am, but rather as a thing to own. And I, for one, thought you would be the first person to understand why I would never choose such an option.”

This was not how she wanted them to part, but it seemed like it would once again leave them as enemies.

She pulled away from Astarion, and this time he let her.

“I hope one day you do understand my choices. Because as much as I disagree with yours, I have always accepted and understood them. Live Astarion, if only for yourself.”

Sunlight greeted her, as she opened the door, but she didn’t manage to put a single foot outside, when the vampire grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulling her back in and slamming the door shut.

“I am sorry my dear, but that simply won’t do.”

Fear didn’t even get a chance to rush through her veins when everything went black.

It was a while before Y/N finally came to, but when she did, she was laid on a plush bed, body covered in a duvet, head resting against the softest pillow in the universe, and the sky outside was the violet of the setting day.

Horror struck her as her memories came to her – of Astarion pressing his palm against her nose and mouth, preventing her from breathing. Of how unconsciousness took over, while his red eyes glared at her fading form. But worse – the conversation they’d had right before that, about refusing to become a spawn.

Did he really hate her that much, he’d turn her against her will?

But instead of Astarion sitting in the room she found…

“Gale?” Y/N’s brow furrowed as she raised herself to her forearms on the mattress. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, you’re awake.” The wizard stood with a smile, walking to sit beside her. “How are you feeling?” He pressed a palm against her forehead, checking the temperature, and hummed when he deemed it to be normal.

“Fine,” she mumbled. “But again – what are you doing here?”

“Astarion called.”

“Astarion?” Y/N was befuddled. She would’ve assumed Gale would be the last person ever he would contact, well, last except for her. Especially if he’d turned her into a spawn. No doubt would their friends come to battle if they heard such a thing. And yet Gale seemed perfectly content in the vampire’s castle.

“He sent such a panicked message, I portaled here as quickly as the Weave would allow and-,”

Gale was stopped mid-sentence as the door clicked open.

But the man standing in the doorway wasn’t the Astarion she’d known before, the man she had fallen head over heels in love with, or even the Ascended Astarion she’d spoken to that day. No. This Astarion had eyes as bright green as freshly grown grass, cheeks red and full of life and the blunt incisors of a human, hope and shame shining in his irises.

She whipped her head to Gale. “What in the name of all the Hells did you two do?”

“We saved your life,” the now ex-vampire entered the room, his movements slow as if Y/N was a deer he would startle if he did anything quicker than the pace of a snail. “And I paid the price for it.”

She swallowed hard. “And what exactly was the price?”

“My immortality.”

Now, Y/N assumed she’d been cured as she was inclined to believe not only because of Astarion’s transformation, but because Gale so meticulously was counting her breaths and heartbeat, but that confession almost did take her out, the shock of it all.

She threw a wary glance at the wizard. “So – so I’m not a spawn?”

“No,” Astarion shook his head. “But I don’t blame you for believing I would do such a… vile thing.”

Heavy silence settled in the room when she finally turned to look at him. “But I thought you had everything you ever wanted.”

“I did so too,” he nodded. “But when I smelled it, that – that sickness in your blood… I guess it is true what they say – love is the most powerful magic of all. Because the thought of you dying – it did something to my head… my heart. I could not let that happen.”

Y/N surveyed him, the new person standing before her. “You gave up everything for me. All the power… everything…”

“I won’t lie – I almost gave into the temptation, I almost did bite you. But these past five years were… miserable. And the thought of living the rest of eternity with the knowledge you hated me before you died… it wasn’t something I could do. Even with all the power in the world, the one weakness I have never been able to rid myself of is you.”

Neither noticed Gale clear his throat and motion towards the door, and neither noticed how it shut behind the wizard, leaving them on their own.

She watched as Astarion crossed the room, and sat himself down at the very foot of the bed, eyes locked onto the fingers in his lap. He was still as graceful as ever, but no longer was there this predatory supernatural sense to it. Now he was more a ballet dancer, than a stalking panther.

“So what happens now?”

“Now,” he sighed. “Now I don’t know. I didn’t really think further than Gale performing the ritual and hoping it would be enough.”

“Am I… immortal now?”

“No,” Astarion shook his head, and his smile was so warm, it almost knocked her back down to the bed. “You’re as human, as human can be. Only healthy now. Hopefully with many a decade before you yet to be lived.”

“And you?” she had to address the elephant in the room. “What exactly are you now?”

“I,” he sighed and looked at the wall. No, not the wall, but a large mirror, his eyes boring into the ones of his reflection. “I am what I was before Cazador. As common as a high elf can be.”

“I just don’t understand,” Y/N said. “I don’t get why you would do such a thing. Seven thousand spawn died for you to gain all that power, for you to prove you could complete what Cazador couldn’t. How could you just throw it all away?”

Astarion sighed, standing up and moving to the other side of the room where a large open door stood, leading out to a balcony. He leaned against the railing, and Y/N finally got out of the bed.

She could feel the strength having returned to her muscles. No longer did they ache, no longer did her bones scream, no longer did she feel tired and weak. A new zeal of life had filled her, and she couldn’t get why Astarion had given it all up for her to – what? Live maybe just a couple of more decades?

Together they leaned on the marble railing, overlooking the lush gardens, the flowers now a duller colour, but still as beautiful in moonlight, as they were in the sun.

“For five years I imagined what I would do if you showed up on my doorstep,” Astarion started. “There were times I imagined taking you and putting you in chains, dragging you to a dungeon and inflicting unspeakable pain, because that’s how it felt when you left. I wanted to do nothing but hurt you. And then I imagined how you would have come to your senses, how you would come and beg me to turn you into a spawn, finally realising your place was always beside me.”

He looked at her. “But then you did turn up. And all I could do was barely hold it together and not kiss you then and there. When you said you were dying, but that it would be a better life than with me, something… something cracked. Whether it was my sense coming back to me, the part of my brain that made good decisions being released from a prison of power, I don’t know.” Astarion chuckled. “But the only thing running through my head was – the one person that has always loved you selflessly, is dying. And you’re a pathetic coward that can’t do anything to stop it.”

“When Gale told me there was a way to heal you, but it would cost me, somehow I didn’t even pause to think. I just told him to do it. If the price for you being able to live a fulfilled life was having my power, my immortality stripped away, he could’ve for all I cared, spilled all my blood and let me bleed dry. As long as it meant you were here – living and breathing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what you would’ve done. And I couldn’t be bested by a dying woman. Would turn you into a full martyr, and I couldn’t have someone outshining me like that.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, letting out a choked back laugh. “What was the ritual?”

“Apparently Gale had been looking at certain transfers of power for a while.” Astarion shrugged. “When I contacted him, I didn’t even have anything specific in mind, I just knew he would probably be the best at figuring out what, if anything, could be done. Of course, had the answer been negative, it would not have ended well for our dear wizard, but you understand my point.”

“Well, I am glad Gale is still in one piece.” Y/N looked at him as she slowly covered his palm with hers. Astarion’s breath hitched, when she intertwined their fingers. “And I am grateful to the both of you for what you did. But I will forever be in debted to you.”

“No,” Astarion shook his head, tightening his hold, as if terrified she’d slip away like sand. “There is no debt to be repaid. Actually, I think I should be the one thanking you. For showing up. For even thinking I was worth enough to say goodbye to, but I have to ask… Were you ever going to tell? Had I not smelled it on you, would you have ever told anyone? Because when I told Gale, he was so stunned, I almost thought he would join you and pass out.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “By the time I decided I had to see you at least once more before I… well, you know… I’d already met all of our friends individually. I had thought of asking Shadowheart if there was a spell maybe, but ultimately, no.”

“Why would you keep something like that to yourself?”

“I didn’t feel like burdening the others.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We’ve all gone through so much darkness, have so much else to worry about, I didn’t want to add more to that.”

“Surely you know those idiots would ride blindfolded into battle for you.”

“I do. But it’s not like I would want that. Besides… if those were to be my last days, I wanted them to be filled with joy and fun things. Not with Halsin worrying if such excitement was healthy for me, or Lae’Zel scolding me for certain decisions. And let’s not even mention Karlach who’d cross the world searching for a cure that might not even exist.”

“And you left me for last…”

Y/N bit down hard on her lip. “Because it took everything in me to get over the hurt. Get over what you did and said. Because I was terrified you would slam the door in my face if I showed up.”

A tear rolled down his own cheek, as he bit the inside of it. “A fair assumption. And maybe if you’d come earlier, I would have. But… deep down I knew, I would have done everything to try and make you stay. Even through the haze of that power… my heart has always been yours. And still is. If you will have it.”

The words coming out of her mouth hurt, but they had to be said, despite how ardently she wished to say yes and return to how things were. But she knew she couldn’t neither of them could. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Astarion.” She could see him visibly shrink down, tears now unabated as they flowed like rivers from his eye. He wanted to pull away, but she didn’t let him, holding onto his hand tighter, running a soothing thumb over his hand, so warm and alive under her touch, it made her sigh.

“You’ve just regained yourself.” Y/N tried to give what was an endearing smile, but was probably more a grimace. “You’ve just become an elf again… there is so much you need to grasp and realise… I don’t think a relationship is what would be good right now.”

Two green eyes met her Y/E/C ones. Gods, the colour was so gorgeous, she felt like drowning in his gaze. “The only thing I was ever sure of in my life was you. Even as an Ascended bastard. And then I blew it. Absolutely smashed my chance to pieces like an idiot, but… if you’ll allow it. I would like another try. If only at being someone worthy to stand by your side.”

Y/N felt her lips quirk up. “Would it be overtly presumptuous of me to think, that by the end of it, you would wish to be more than friends?”

“If I am only allowed to be your friends, I will fall to my knees before you and beg for the chance. But no longer will I lie and say my true intentions aren’t to hopefully, one day, get on one knee, and wish for a shared life.”

She had not seen such a version of Astarion, so candid and vulnerable, since leaving him. And for him to be so open, made some resolve in her melt a bit. “We can try. Slowly.”

It was like a boulder had rolled off Astarion’s chest, his whole body visibly shuddering in relief, before he tentatively, as if waiting for her rejection, weaved a hand around her waist.

She rested her head against his shoulder, revelling in the feeling of him pressing his cheek to the top of it. And when he tilted her chin up, a hopeful gaze in his eyes as it slipped to her lips, she didn’t stop him when he pressed his mouth to hers.

It was like surfacing for a breath after years of being pulled down in an abyss, something Y/N never thought she’d be able to do again. And that kiss – it was filled with so much love, she didn’t need oxygen to breathe.

There was still a world of hurt between then, a universe of making up to be done, but they had time. They had all the time they wanted or could need.

“To a new start, my love.” She muttered against his lips, and the smile Astarion gave her was more brilliant than the moon and stars shining in the sky combined.

“And to a life worth living.”

The next kiss they shared sure as hells was.

Tags:

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird @omggiannarosa @poisonquinzell @iffazu @alisoncdariel

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstrange

A/N: My tags are always open

Please don't repost onto other platforms! That is called plaigarism :)

I also had an idea of writing this from Astarion's POV, so if that is something of interest, do let me know :)

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gallifreyanhotfive · 4 months

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 3

The Master's father, Marnal, wrote an episode for Star Trek but took his name off it after they changed it too much.

The Fifth Doctor took Tegan back and time to kill that same would-be-dictator as a baby but was also unable to go through with it.

Nyssa once turned the Fifth Doctor into a vampire.

The Time Lords created the Were Lords, a species of lycanthropic soldiers who could regenerate, to fight for them in the Vampire Wars.

The Tenth and Fourteenth Doctors have different enough blood that the Fourteenth Doctor was able to resist blood control that used the Tenth Doctor's blood.

The Garvond is a monstrous entity in the APC Net of the Matrix composed of all the demented, evil sides of the Time Lords.

The First Great Time War was between the Time Lords and the Order of the Black Sun.

The Veil was fond of the Twelfth Doctor and considered them to be companions. The Veil hoped that the Twelfth Doctor would take them with him when he escaped from the confession dial.

Jack Harkness described the Midnight entity as someone who could eat its way into a person's brain and steal their voice. Given that it is unknown where he got this information, this suggests that Jack might have had an encounter at some point.

Both the Doctor and the Master have used the name "Merlin" before.

The final incarnation of the Master was a highly destructive entropy wave in one timeline.

The Eleventh Doctor once returned to the Library with Amy Pond, but he never mentioned River Song. They encountered Book Monsters.

The Doctor's first TARDIS was a Type 50, but they were left behind when the Doctor ran away from Gallifrey. This left them angry and hurt that the Doctor had replaced them, so they ran off from Gallifrey to find him.

According to the Seventh Doctor, the Rani and her giant rodent came to his graduation party.

There exists a canned drink called Sontaran Up that a Sontaran was seen drinking.

The Sixth Doctor's method for fighting the Weeping Angels included winking one eye at a time, so the Angels were always being observed. Given that he was almost immediately sent back in time where he encountered the Tenth Doctor, this isn't a very good method.

Due to similarities between the life stories of the Doctor and the Devil, there are many races who believe they are the same being.

The Thirteenth Doctor, Yaz, and Dan once watched a production of Cinderella. While trying to make it more exciting, the Doctor accidentally replaced all the characters and props with the real versions, who began to attack each other and the audience.

The Doctor had thirteen children before running away on Gallifrey who were all killed (or perhaps a better word would be 'culled') by the Watch after Susan's birth.

The Doctor has had other children over the years (although they did not recognize all of them as such) including but not limited to Miranda Dawkins, Edward Grove, the Sound Creature, Daqar Keep, Jenny, and the Sapling.

Gostak was one of the First Doctor's tutors who he admired very much, but similar to Borusa, he went mad and had to be stopped by several incarnations of the Doctor.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

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sleepy-writes-stuff · 1 year

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DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #3

(I'm feeling kinda angsty today, I guess. If there's a fic/prompt like this already tho, please link me. 👀)

✦

Reaper of Heroes

Once crowned as the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms, Danny gains some grim reaper-like abilities and dominion over a specific subset of souls.

Heroes.

People who don masks and capes to protect the innocent from those who would harm them, just like he once did in the beginning of his existence as a halfa. He's was horrified by the responsibility but is eventually resigned to it. Due to bittersweet nostalgia, he quickly grows fond of the heroes that rose up after he took the throne and packed away the suit. Responsible he may be for the collection of their souls, but with council from Clockwork and the Ghost of Time's knowledge of the most desired paths, sometimes he'll just... let a soul slip through his fingers and return to it's vessel before it's chain is completely severed. He doesn't care that the observants complain constantly about those particular actions. If there's still room for a soul to do good for the better of everyone else, they can hardly stop him from straying from their plans. Much less with him as their king and protection as his obsession.

Only he is responsible for the reaping of these specific souls, unless delegated to one of the more common reapers at his command of course. Sometimes he follows his favorite heroes around, invisible to them unless he wishes them to see him or they're very close to death's door. He's trailed them so closely that some heroes have reported seeing a kind but sad looking man with white hair and aurora green eyes when they've nearly been pushed past the limits of their mortal bodies.

Ones who have passed through the veil but came back report vague memories of a similar sort; a kind man who cradled the very essence of their being with hands so gentle it's worth a few awe filled tears once he released them back amongst the living. The JL give him the moniker Grim, for his black and white coloring and for the shadowy scythe he carries not as a weapon but more like a key that unlocks the chain that binds them to their flesh. He never speaks to any of the heroes he interacts with tho. Always silent with a calculating, but sorrowful gaze.

At least until now.

When he appears before a bruised and beaten, young Jason Todd with whisper soft words in his ear as he comforted the concussed boy about to be killed in a fiery inferno at the hands of Gotham's mad clown.

As the explosion comes to a close, an unseen figure cradles the star-like light of a soul close to his chest as he wept and apologized for being unable to save the young soul from such a painful end but was thankful the poor boy this light belonged to could feel it no longer.

✦

What do you think? Angsty enough? I might have a little more to add to this but I'm gonna stop for now. I injured my hand yesterday, so it hurts to type for too long.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #danny is ghost king #danny is the reaper of heroes souls #the job can be pretty depressing sometimes #danny comforts jason before his death #writing prompt #angst prompt #prompt #dp x dc prompt #Reaper of Heroes AU #sleepy-writes-stuff

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visibleclosedeyes · 9 months

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✧𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘✧

Yaoshi x reader

1k words AO3 version here

Very slightly yandere

Many years ago—possibly millennia, you were simply a small and insignificant mortal living on a planet that could only be described as desolate. It used to be full of life and vegetation—and the crystal clear water in the river always reflected the light from the sun like a valuable stone. But then it was all gone, the meteor had stroked your world; leaving nothing but a crater, a charred living being and the remains of the land and the river slowly but surely disappear. This world is dying—wasting away among the stars which share no empathy. The survivors live their life on a fragile veil of hope.

They said that the only relationship possible between mortals and Aeons is that of distant and fleeting gazes from the divines. Like a gentle yet frightening gust of invisible force and a pair ( or several pairs) of eyes staring down at them from a distance of several thousand light-years away. So you, too, assumed that to be true. Even if you pray to the Abundance, you didn’t expect anything in return–you didn’t expect answers. Even if Yaoshi was described as the most empathetic being in the universe; you believed that it has to take more than a small prayer to get their attention. Yet, you pray every day, just so you didn’t feel alone. Just so you and your family would feel better. Like a lie, parents would tell children so they would stop worrying and go to bed.

And one day you feel it; a million miles away from here—someone or something, with thousands of pairs of eyes, has glanced at you. In a small millisecond, you feel like you have seen something; the image and feelings have been imprinted into your brain like a footprint on a dry-out concrete. What WAS that? Is that what you think it is? That thing which mortal legends have claimed to be true? Aeon’s gaze. But you put no mind on it since nothing happened immediately after; you have dismissed it as a sudden hallucination from heat then go on with your day.

Little did you know that the magnificent being exists several light years away from your home planet, that entity has always been listening to your prayers. Aeons do not really answer pathstriders, and if they do that was a chance lower than finding a planet that has no sun and moon. For Yaoshi, they only converse and answer mortals only when they have met face to face. Prayers; they can hear but they do not have enough time for all the little prayers erupting from different corners of the universe. And here they thought being an Aeon would provide all the reach they needed. Still, sometimes some individuals cannot simply be ignored and you happen to be one of those individuals. Maybe it’s because of the scale of your sufferings or the constant prayers over and over again—the Aeon of the Abundance decided to glance you a visit.

That night after you have fulfilled your tasks for the day you go to sleep, drifting into the realm of dreams which stretches beyond the limitations of the universe. In dreams, mortals like yourself are boundless. To every corner of the crafted universe they go, sink themselves into the realm of thousand possibilities. You wake up in some sort of wild garden—too wild and too abundant to be any realistic garden you have ever seen from your home planet. The light shines on trees and grass seems to almost be golden but the sunlight itself doesn’t feel too hot nor does it feel too cool. Looking up ahead of yourself, a light sensation touches your cheek, you catch it, and… the object seems to be a leaf you learned from the elders as ‘gringko’. Every tree that can bear fruits bears that cannot, however, spread their large branches and lush green-yellow-golden leaves to compete. You can hear animals—like a deer and even the growling of a tiger but they seem to be far away. Critters busied themselves with harvesting fruits and nuts which seemed to never run out. What IS this place? This place doesn’t even resemble anything you have seen in your homeland. Is it possible for a mortal to imagine and dream about the thing they never experienced in their lifetime?

You follow the path forward where the grass seems to be shortened and mulled over like many have walked over them for a very long time—so this must have been the main road to whatever was waiting for you. After some walking, you see a large tree forward. A golden ray of light emits from it seems to be the culprit who dyes the scenery golden. Grinko leaves dancing in the air also seem to be let go from this very tree. On its foot, there is a figure that sitting on a throne which seems to be fabricated from all manners of barks and roots

On that throne, a figure with several arms resigns. One of their legs crossed with the other is free—in several of their palms, each one of the fruit and grain is being held. They all look freshly picked; the water drop can practically be seen dripping down the curve of plump healthy-looking fruit. You have no idea when you have been close to them enough for the strange entity to reach out to you. Your eyes went shut instinctively when one of their fingers reached toward you—a long nail scratched your left cheek with utmost care. When you opened your eyes, you were there; sat right in front of them on your knees. They were and felt larger than life, behind them was a golden tree shining its benevolent light on all creatures and critters alike, it shined through you too. Hm, how…considerate. And then you realized, that pattern, how their body isn’t pattern… they are moving, staring eyes…all over their body. Whatever they are…is far removed from what you know.

“Child, I have heard your prayers, you are in great pain. But not the pain of your—it’s the pain of the dying world and your people,” They spoke. The voice is soft like velvet slowly and gracefully making contact with your consciousness–dripping with an overwhelmingly large amount of empathy. Yet, their voice firmly reeked with confidence. Before you could say anything back a long and elegant finger pressed shut your frail lips.

“I understand, I, too, was once wondered—’ why do all things need to come to an end? Why does suffering itself have no other end other than death? Their pain, I have seen the world you have saw; through the prayers you’ve delivered to me. You shall be set free by me—and by proxy, carry my blessings to your kinsman. Only…under one condition,”

You listened to the honeyed words from the fascinating entity as you suddenly forgot how to breathe. It was now clear who this strange entity was. Yaoshi, Aeon of the abundance. But—why? And if they were real does that mean—

“Become mine. Become my Emanator and my consort; then—leave this world behind with me. You shall have to protect your kins, give them my eternal blessings. Just only if you will submit to me,”

Dividers by cafekitsune

#hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr yaoshi #hsr yao x reader #yaoshi x reader #yaoshi #star rail #star rail x reader #star rail x y/n #star rail x you

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

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Elven for Astarion fanfiction

I absolutely love the idea of Astarion using Elven words and phrases

Here are some useful phrases and words you can use for fics. I specifally chose what you might find useful, for more terms you can check the sources.

Source (wiki)

Source (dictionary)

Phrases

Ai armiel telere maenen hir. - You hold my heart forever.

Aillesel Seldarie - May the Seldarine Save Us.

Al Hond Ebrath, Uol Tath Shantar En Tath Lalala Ol Hond Ebrath – A True Friend, As The Trees And The Water Are True Friends.

Besthunit Nenle – ‘Hurry Up Slowly’ (Eastern Lythari Dialect)

Bwaelan Dro - "It's Good to be Alive", a religious hymn of celebration.

Chu Set – ‘Hold Calm/Calm Down’ (Eastern Lythari Dialect).

Dilit – Be Quiet (Eastern Lythari Dialect).

Es'Caerta – Deeply Emotional Plea Ending A Prayer (like Amen).

Gys Sa Salen – Give Me a Drink/I Need A Drink.

Maethe - maybe.

Ikwe - Get back!

Iorwe - Step aside!

Oloth elgg ssussun - Darkness slays light.

Seldarine! – Gods! (Expression of Exasperation).

Uluvathae (pronounced: /ˈuːluːˈvɔːθeɪ/ Oo-loo-VAW-thay) - "[May your] fortune bring you joy". An informal greeting or parting used amongst individuals which enjoyed each other's company. Used amongst close friends, it was either seen as an insult, or as a warning that a third party was listening.

Words

aethen - "others", modern elven slang for non-elves.

alun - transgender.

amastacia - star flower.

ar - sun.

arael – heart.

aravae - great joy.

ardavanshee – Elven Juvenile Delinquent.

arivae – sunlight.

a’sum - daughter.

avae - joy.

avae’ess - joy bringer.

arkhlavae - lovemaking.

bhin - young human male (slang).

biir - "garbage", used as an insult against those of half-elven and human heritage.

calann - cup (one’s hands, to hold).

daoin – star.

damia - a term of endearment directed to sweethearts or children.

ebrath - friend.

essraul – enthusiastic Slaying.

e'sum – son.

etriel - noble female elf (in bloodline, character, or both).

evae - love, absence of malice.

filliken – open skirt (Prostitute).

hond ebrath - true friend(s)

immaea - familial love, loyalty to kin and family.

immeeira - act or demonstration of love (deed, testimonial or honour, not lovemaking).

ithlil - lily.

ivaebhin - boy filled with brightness.

kerym - blade (as in blade made of steel), sword.

liyan - homosexual male (slang).

lorkh - Savage Butchers who Lost Their Elven Nature Long Ago Through Such Behavior.

mor - darkness, the true death.

nanta - destiny.

nias – agreement.

nikym – dagger.

nor - love, passion.

N'Tel'Quess - "Not-people". A derogatory term elves use to describe non-elves.

o'si - mother.

o'su - father.

penaal - battlepoet (bard).

piir - treasure.

re - bear.

ru - dream.

rua - star.

saece - crossdresser.

savalir - murderer.

sha'Quessir - elf-friend.

Sildur - "at rest after changing". Referred to an animal, insect, or plant having reached maturity after passing through a life-cycle of changes. Was later borrowed by Common as a term for transgender individuals.

solicallor - warm light of the sun.

srendaen - beautiful, only applied to things of natural beauty not to people.

srinna - One Who Tests Limits and Establishes New Boundaries.

talibund - the veiled one. referring to the creature whose future is unclear and cannot be divined.

taran - gift.

Tel'Quessir - the collective name elves use for their race. translates into common to mean, "The People".

tham - to be close to.

thor - vow, promise.

vaarnar - evil entity or sentient being.

vaendaan-naes - reborn in life's bright struggles.

vaendin-thiil - fatigued by life's dark trials.

veluthe – beautiful.

vyshaan - power-mad (derogatory).

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #elven #elven language #forgotten realms #dnd #astarion fanfiction #fic writing

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waklman · 1 year

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Birthday Wish

summary: bradley realizes you’re his source of comfort or bradley celebrates his first birthday with you.

warnings: angst, mentions of death/trauma from childhood. 18+ blog in general.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: wrote this in the spur of the moment because of this song. raahhh

something ‘bout you masterlist.

When Bradley was a little boy, he didn’t have a special blanky to hang onto, not like the other kids in his daycare did.

All he had was a miniature toy plane. It was flimsy–something that would probably snap right in half, if he squeezed his tiny hand around it too hard.

But, that cheap piece of plastic offered little Bradley everything he needed—everything a blanket couldn’t ever give him.

So four year old Bradley loved it with all his heart—well, he loved it with his limited knowledge of the concept. There wasn’t a moment where he didn’t cling onto it, bringing it everywhere his growing feet took him. He even slept with it, ignoring the dulling pain caused by it’s blunt edges—stabbing right into his ribs as he hugged it for solace.

Anyone could imagine the heartbreak he felt the day it broke.

Bradley threw a fit that very day, not wanting to blow out his birthday candles—not wanting to celebrate his birthday without his Goosey. Bradley wasn’t sure himself, why it made him so angry–why he felt so wrong in his own skin when the homemade cake was placed in front of him, with a celebratory song accompanying it.

All little Bradley knew in that confusing stir of emotions—was that he wanted to toss that cheaply made toy in his hands. So he did—he slammed it to the ground with all his strength–all the strength he’s accumulated in five years of life went into tossing the thing.

And it completely came undone onto the kitchen tile in front of him, sending shockwaves of guilt into the air.

Finally registering what came of his outburst—Bradley cried harder in discernment—his screams came out with great force, as his mother scrambled for the toy with shaky hands.

All Bradley knew at that moment was that he just wanted his toy plane back.

Though he couldn’t clearly recall the day of his father’s funeral, Bradley remembered his mother’s quite well.

He sat at the grave for hours—letting the rain wash over him, letting it soak through his rented suit.

After the sun had finally set into the horizon, the soggy fabric clung onto Bradley’s skin coldly—almost as a punishment. There was no longer any sunshine to soothe the goosebumps scattered down his arms.

It didn’t bother him at the time, the way his button up uncomfortably glued itself to his back, the way his shoulder pads sat thickly on his shoulders, gaining weight from the water it absorbed—because Bradley had already decided that nothing could possibly outweigh the numbing pain in his chest.

Where was that toy plane when he needed it? Bradley laughed bitterly to himself at the question.

Whoosh.

The familiar sound of an aircraft could be heard above the graveyard, pulling Bradley’s tired eyes away from the weather-beaten headstone.

His lids stretched at the sight, burning the surface of his eyeballs—now exposed to the saltiness of the air around him.

Bradley couldn’t believe his eyes, because there was his plane.

It was white with a streak of cobalt blue stretched over its wing, just how he remembered it.

But as quickly as Bradley caught sight of it, it was gone again—sweeping through the sky with a new destination in mind.

It was like greeting a long lost friend. The exchange was bittersweet—because you both had the knowledge that you’ll part ways soon, after finally seeing eachother again.

Bradley spent the next few hours staring at the vast amount of stars in the sky, watching them twinkle amongst each other.

But there was one specific star that caught his attention that night. It was the biggest mass there, and the brightest one too—completely contrasting against the black veil of darkness behind it.

Falling into a deep trance, Bradley eventually decided that the star reminded him of Carole Bradshaw. Maybe it was the grief speaking or maybe it was truly her. Its luminosity almost perfectly resembled the ring of bright highlights crowning her head—there was no mistake in that likeness—Bradley knew that for sure.

And for as long as he could, Bradley didn’t tear his eyes off that glow in the sky, not wanting to lose it amongst the other shimmers of light surrounding it, trying to weakly outshine it. He didn’t even blink, worried it would disappear if he did.

He knew he would eventually lose it, he couldn’t stay at his mother’s grave forever, the night security guard would find him and ask him to leave soon enough. But for now, Bradley sat motionless, staring up at his mother who shined back down on him.

He wishes he could stay here with her forever.

Bradley found himself here many times before. Laying in the darkness, only to punishingly stare at the daunting clock hung above his bedroom door frame—reminding him how early he’s woken up again.

But this time, you’re here with him—sleeping over for the first time. Bradley turns his head, pooling his attention onto you. Your cheek is pressed against the mattress under you, exhausted from the long day spent with him, and your arm is thrown over his waist like a weighted pillow.

Gently, Bradley reaches out a hand over to your face, brushing back the hairs that block your passageway of air, moving the drool coated globs of hair that shields your parted lips. He smiles to himself, humming at the way you sweetly press your cheek against his palm, mistaking him for the mattress.

And though the room is pitch black, with the darkness completely wrapping itself around your figure—Bradley swears he sees you glow. It’s brief, it always is.

He catches small glimpses of it here and there—where your skin radiates against his.

It was there when he first spotted you in that parking lot, it was there when your shared pet goldfish died, and it was there when he anxiously couldn’t pick which birthday cake he wanted from the day before.

You glowed like a star, making everything surrounding you into the night sky. Bradley’s heart swells at the conclusion.

It’s only you two in the kitchen. You woke up around five am, two hours after Bradley had stirred awake—pressing his birthday boy kisses all over the expanse of his face as he shyly smiled under you, caught off guard by your burst of energy.

Too excited to go back to sleep, you pulled him out of bed with a grin, and a desire to eat chocolate cake.

Now, Bradley sits with a cake in front of him again, and you in his lap.

“..happy birthday to you!” You sing excitedly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, waiting for him to blow out the candle with an encouraging smile. “Whenever you’re ready, honey,” you whisper the assurance, resting your head onto his shoulder.

Bradley squeezes his arms tighter around your waist, and you glow again—he sees it from the corner of his eye. It’s all Bradley needs to blow out the already melting candles.

“What’d you wish for big guy?” You ask, pulling him into a bruising hug.

Bradley softly smiles. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you, babybear or else it won’t come true,” he mumbles against your neck.

You laugh, shaking him back in fourth in the hug, almost knocking you both out of the chair. “Nooo! You’re right birthday boy—aren’t I silly?”

“Just a little,” he answers, lightly laughing at you.

Bradley couldn’t tell you what he wished for. Not because he was afraid it wouldn’t come true—he didn’t believe in that crap.

It was because he didn’t wish for anything at all. Right as his eyes shut to blow out the wax symbolizing his growth, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted.

Because truly—there was nothing to wish for, not this birthday.

Bradley doesn’t need that toy plane nor did he need to see that resilient star that glowed against his skin that one night, not when he has them both here in his arms.

They’ve just took a new shape.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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your-eternal-lies · 1 month

Text

_ LOVE IS A CHOICE (chapter three)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Bucky Barnes x Agent f!Reader SERIES SUMMARY — In your experience, relationships only bring drama and heartbreak, and you want absolutely none of it. That is, until an act of sheer recklessness brings Bucky Barnes back into your life.

WARNINGS — Angst, blood and injury, Hydra are assholes, torture, grief, nightmares, ptsd, everyone is just so darn sad. I won’t lie to you, my darlings, this chapter is rough.

LOVE IS A CHOICE

CHAPTER THREE

He always heard the screaming as if it wasn’t his own.

This time, it really wasn’t.

Hidden in the shadows, the Asset fights the urge to look away as his cruelest handler bends over the screaming woman, dragging the tip of a blade over her skin as if trying to carve the secrets directly out of her flesh.

The wounds from her last torture session haven’t even fully healed yet before they are torn open once again, fresh blood spilling onto the frozen concrete floor of her dungeon cell.

But the woman insists she knows nothing. She sobs it over and over, promising that she knows nothing of Natasha Romanoff’s defection.

The Asset stands motionless, unyielding and unflinching, blue eyes as cold as the ice. In all his years here, he has learned to spot when others are lying.

And this one is lying through her teeth.

He can’t understand why.

Self-preservation is the main language he’s learned to speak. Born out of pain, created by now faceless scientists who shock his veins and ice his blood, he is merely a tool at their disposal.

Leave no survivors. That’s the only rule he must abide by when he’s completing a mission. Women and children aren’t exempt from harm, regardless of how much he desperately wants to spare them.

But the Asset knows now. At the very least, he can guarantee their deaths are quick and painless. He is never granted the same mercy. It’s either them or him, and he doesn’t have the luxury to feel sorry that he picks himself every single time.

Granted, his handlers would probably kill her once they were done, but at least the agony would stop. He would personally give anything for it to stop. But, he can’t help but wonder… what could possibly be worth suffering through all that pain?

Despite himself, he is bombarded by images he can’t recognize. A boy with hair brighter than sunshine and eyes that could mirror his own, a suit of stars and stripes, the echo of a scream over the sounds of a running train.

“Soldat,” his handler’s gravelly voice pulls him back into reality. The Asset does not respond from behind his mask; he never does. “I’m taking a break. Keep an eye on the girl.”

Taking a break, he says. As if he hasn’t spent the last few days torturing a girl half his size, sheathing a still blood-covered blade in its usual spot in his belt. The Asset hides his disgust behind a veil of indifference, eyes seeing but unfeeling.

But as the days wore on, as the events of the previous ones kept repeating over and over, as the woman kept insisting she knew absolutely nothing, making it clear she was ready to die to keep whatever secrets she held close, something truly terrifying happens.

Whenever they left him alone with her, he would emerge from the shadows, something deep in his soul reacting to her sorrow. His eyes asked her questions his mouth never would, and she would lie there against that concrete slab, exhausted but unable to sleep, and tell him to survive.

“You must live,” she would insist, and he would find that over the course of their limited exchanges, his palm would somehow find its way against hers. “You’re not who they say you are.”

That was all it took. One small sliver of warmth and, in the previously hollow expanse of his chest, a heart he didn’t know still existed stuttered back to life.

And when the time came for her pain to resume, he found he did not want to move from his spot at her side. He wanted to kill every last one of them, anyone who laid even a finger on her, but she would remove her hand from his and silently beckon him to comply.

Ah, he thought as he did as she wished, forcing himself to listen to every last whimper and shriek, this was his punishment, wasn’t it?

He told himself then that he wouldn’t forget, no matter how much they tried to make him. He would remember her face, her voice, and the feel of her skin against his—even the metallic scent of her blood.

He would remember The Woman, he promised.

He would allow Natasha Romanoff, when she finally returned to Moscow with a wrath hot enough to scorch the frozen earth beneath her, to kill his handler with a swift flick of her blade. He would hide in the shadows once more, allowing her to pick The Woman up and carry her away.

“No!” She had begged, reaching out for him in vain, too weak to properly protest. In that moment, he wished he knew her name, wished he could caress her cheek with his one good hand, and commit the feeling to memory.

But then a swarm of footsteps brought more agents, more handlers, more carnage into the fray. Only when Romanoff was a good distance away did he step between the women and his very own captors.

The Woman still screams in the distance, with a new kind of pain that carves deep in his bones, her voice echoing off the concrete walls, the both of them understanding the gravity of the decision he’d just made.

It takes nearly a dozen guards to subdue him, after he’s already spilled the blood of another ten. They strap him down back into that blasted chair, the one that used to scare him, the one he went to impossible and devastating lengths to avoid.

This time, he allows them to push him into it. He accepts his fate, closing his eyes against the impending agony, wondering if The Woman is finally safe. Pain-free.

Or rather, just plain free.

And here he used to wonder, what could possibly be worth suffering through all that pain? It had been such a mystery mere weeks ago, now made incredibly simple.

The Asset is momentarily soothed when he thinks of The Woman’s face, but as the machine is turned on and unspeakable agony is torn from his throat, they make him do the one thing he said he wouldn’t.

They make him break his promise.

Because he forgets.

Steve feels like he owes you.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that much.” He remembers saying the day you met, only months after he came out of the ice, outside his small gym of choice tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, carrying that punching bag over his shoulder like it was a weightless sack of potatoes. “I’ve barely managed to shake you all day.”

You looked up at him then, out the driver’s seat window of your dark sedan, sipping loudly at a pink smoothie and squinting casually against the golden light of the setting sun behind him. Completely unfazed at having been made, you weren’t even slightly intimidated by his looming stature and, quite frankly, his even larger reputation.

Nor were you particularly disturbed by the fact that you’d probably been watching him throw punches all day, as if all that equipment had personally offended him somehow.

You didn’t even bother tucking away your SHIELD-issued tablet, which you had obviously been using to keep tabs on him. He knew now how easy it must have been for you to hack into the city’s CCTV cameras, let alone the gym’s—all mere child’s play for a spy.

The sun was setting on Agent 19’s first day on Captain America Babysitting Duty, and this was the most you’d seen of each other since sunrise that morning.

“Well, Captain,” you said, shrugging and tossing the tablet onto the passenger seat beside you. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

There was also an open file lying across the seat, complete with blown-up photos of him, pre- and post-serum, along with a full profile and background check.

“But I didn’t know you resorted to thieving these days,” you gestured at the punching bag on his shoulder. “I do hope you cleaned up after yourself, by the way.”

Steve almost smiled then, recalling the way the punching bag he’d ruined earlier leaked sand all over the floors. He, in fact, hadn’t cleaned up, too much in a hurry to leave your boss behind to bother.

“Like I just told Fury, I don’t need a handler,” he said evenly to keep from grinning. You scoffed then, rolling your eyes so hard he thought they might fall right out of your head.

“No offence, Cap, but do you think I wanted this job? One day in and you’re already a pain in my ass,” you pick up his file, flapping it in the air with frustration, sending papers scattering all over the interior of your car. “Does this sound like a good use of my time to you, when I could be out there kicking the absolute shit out of some bad guys right now?”

“You sound a little resentful, Agent,” Steve deadpanned, turning around to start the short walk back to his apartment before you could reply. He ignored you the rest of the trip, even though you followed closely behind him at a snail’s pace, shouting a string of profanities at him, pissing off every other driver on the road.

Steve lets a brief smile loose at the memory. Neither of you could have known that the relationship you’d come to share—him with his reluctant handler, and you with your equally unwilling charge—would blossom into a friendship unlike any other he’d ever had.

You didn’t appreciate it at first whenever he tagged along on your missions, insisting you didn’t need micromanaging. But over time, you grew accustomed to his quiet presence, admitting at one point that things just didn’t feel right if he wasn’t there watching your six.

He grew fond of your obscure pop culture references that always went over his head, began keeping an eye on you instead of the other way around, given your uncanny knack for getting mixed up into trouble even when you weren’t looking for it.

And he doesn’t even know your name. Not your real one, anyway, but it just didn’t matter. No matter what your real name was, where you really came from, Steve, despite his reservations, grew to love you in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

He’d been an only child, watching on with envy whenever he saw Bucky together with little Rebecca. His best friend’s little sister chased after her brother like he hung the moon, reaching out her tiny hands and only letting out her signature squeal of laughter whenever Bucky reached back.

That kind of love was special. Steve never thought he’d experience anything close to it, but whenever he looks at you, he knew that was what you were—a sister given to him by circumstances, but the one he always knew he wanted.

But when the other shoe dropped, because it always did, the day you both discovered that SHIELD had been compromised, that your lives’ work had been almost for nothing, trust and love was shattered with a single question.

Who are you really, Agent 19?

It never occurred to him to ask before then, but it made some semblance of sense in his angst-filled state. Why else had Alexander Pierce been so insistent, relentless almost, that Steve be assigned a handler in the first place?

But no matter how justified his suspicions might have been, no matter how far he felt his heart sink when he learned that the traitor was, in fact, your longtime partner and not you yourself, the choice had already been made.

Whatever light that had remained in your eyes went out that day, and Steve couldn’t seem to bring it back, no matter how many times he tried to restore the friendship to what it was. He carried the broken shards of what remained in his hands, spirits falling each time you silently rebuffed him with that forlorn look in your eyes.

The good humour and affection between you dissipated like smoke, and now whenever you spoke the words were always terse, charged, and angry. Steve knew how much he fucked up, because it was clear from the moment his question left his lips that you hadn’t known the answer, either.

And now you’re teetering over the edge of life and death, and once again, Steve isn’t there. Natasha steps up behind him and places a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to ease his knuckle-white grip on the quinjet’s yoke, her own distress evident in her normally stoic features.

His leather gloves are still splattered with blood. The rest of the team didn’t protest, or didn’t dare protest, as he instructed Clint to pilot the jet back towards the Hydra base he had singlehandedly sent you to. With military-like efficiency, Steve took down that base and every last agent that stood in his way—unforgiving and vengeful—despite Sam’s attempts at calming him.

But it is what they found on those computers that haunt him, that haunt them all. Natasha stares straight ahead, but the way her eyes shine in the moonlight belies her grief.

Wanda sits in one of the seats behind him, chin wobbling as she closes her eyes against a fresh wave of tears, remembering the sounds of your horrible screams, captured on video and morbidly saved in Hydra’s digital archives for years.

Sam and Clint hunch over in their own seats in an uncomfortable yet pensive silence. Tony taps an impatient foot against the floor, brows knitted together in concentration. The entire team struggles to grapple with a startling and devastating conclusion.

This whole time, you and Bucky were tied together, but you were the only one who was burdened to remember.

Steve swallows the lump of emotion that forms in his throat, suddenly feeling the urge to just bawl into his hands.

In hindsight, it all makes sense. The thinly veiled shock when Steve brought Bucky back to the Compound. The way you used to look at him, as if you were both unspeakably angry and horribly miserable. The way you reacted to his reassignment. The distance you were determined to maintain between you.

The decision to ask Helen Cho to use the Regeneration Cradle to eliminate those scars. You used to wear them like a badge of honour, a sign of your undying loyalty to your best friend. But the second Bucky had come around, you wanted them gone.

All of it made sense now.

Natasha finally breaks down, as if coming to the same realizations, turning away to storm off to the back of the jet where she clearly hoped nobody would pay attention to her muffled sobs.

Steve bites down on the inside of his cheek, wondering how much Hydra was going to take before they were satisfied. Better question, how much more was Steve willing to let them take? The answer was none. No more. Not on his watch.

And if he couldn’t convince you using his words that he trusted you, that he regretted ever doubting you in the first place, then he’d show you in a different way.

He’d entrust you with a new mission so important that you wouldn’t possibly be able to draw any other conclusion. He would give you Bucky, his best friend, who may as well have been his very heart personified, and leave him in your very capable hands.

Steve lets out a humourless laugh. He didn’t have to give you anything; turns out, Bucky had been yours for a long time now.

But at the very least, he would see to it that you remembered one very important detail: that despite your unknown origins, your past with the KGB, despite Aiden Galloway, despite Hydra, despite all of it—you are loved, important, and irreplaceable.

All you had to do was stay alive.

Agent Galloway has one hand pressed to a wound just below his ribcage, warm blood seeping out from between his fingers. He’s got even more injuries, each just as devastating as the next, but he doesn’t have enough hands for them all.

You watch as the floor beneath him is stained with a slowly growing pool of crimson, but you make no move to help him.

You’re the one who shot him, after all.

Your ears are ringing from the ongoing sounds of gunfire and explosions, the walls of the Triskelion coming down around you in dust and cinders. You slump against a nearby wall that’s miraculously still intact, your right hand still loosely clutching your firearm. You’re not seriously wounded, but you’re exhausted all the same.

“Come in, Agent! Come in!” Natasha’s voice crackles over your earpiece, desperate and angry, maybe even a little scared. The Black Widow you fight alongside with in the field never shows any fear, any hesitation, but today she’s not an agent—neither are you.

She is just Natasha Romanoff today, your scaredy cat big sister who hides behind an armour of indifference and stoicism. But you know better; she’s got the biggest heart of all.

“Hill! Do you have eyes on 19?” She yells over the sounds of a whirring helicopter, but you can still hear the panic in her voice.

“Negative!” Maria Hill responds over the distant roar of another explosion, and even she sounds a little frantic. Aw. Is that sentiment you hear in the spy’s voice? “Agent 19, can you hear me?”

You want to respond, make a snarky little comment about how they’re both going soft, but something prevents your voice from working. Emotion lodges itself in your throat as you slide to the floor, burning behind your eyes as you squeeze them shut against the pain, stemming from your physical wounds and countless others that can’t be seen.

You won’t die here, not at the hands of Hydra, the damn parasites. Steve is taking down the helicarriers now, and you have no doubt he will succeed. After that, Sam will likely come find you and pull you from the wreckage with Natasha in tow. You’ll listen to her lecture all the way to the hospital, just like old times.

Your friends will come… won’t they?

Natasha has saved you more times than you can count, but you can’t help the doubt that creeps in, dark and quiet just like the first hints of fear. Will she wonder about you too, once they find out that the formerly-decorated SHIELD agent Aiden Galloway—your friend, your mentor, your partner, your brother-in-arms—is dirty?

Will an everlasting cloud of suspicion hang over your head even if you emerge from this, alive but not unscathed? Even Steve had doubted you once. Does he still? Will you ever know for sure?

“How does it feel?” Galloway rasps at you, flashing a morbid smile as his death approaches. It’s not fast enough for you, unfortunately, as you listen to his deathbed confession. “To know that all of it was a lie?”

You hate to give him the satisfaction, but your face distorts with anguish all the same as he twists the proverbial knife, one last time.

Being an agent wasn’t just a title. It was a privilege for someone like you, who had come from unknown origins, who defected to SHIELD without even a name of her own, who once spent years of her life either being locked up or trained to spread calamity and discord.

But all this time, what were you even fighting for? You thought you were finally standing on the right side of history, but it wasn’t true, was it? You weren’t, in fact, a noble agent of SHIELD. You were just another unwitting Hydra pawn all along.

All those battles fought in the name of good and justice, all those comrades lost over the years, and for what? For a world that quite frankly asked too much and gave too little in return.

What had this world ever done for you, other than punish you for simply being born?

“You won’t win,” you bite out vindictively, adrenaline melting out of your veins with every breath. “Men like you never do.”

“The Asset won’t let us down,” Aiden laughs. He actually laughs, the motherfucker. “You remember him, don’t you?”

Your heart splits, a fresh wave of pain washing over you. The memories come flooding back: blue eyes peering at you over the edge of a mask—a black muzzle for a boy taken, kept like a prisoner, and then used like a piece of machinery; the warmth of his palm against yours in that freezing cold dungeon; and the sacrifice he’d made so you and Natasha could escape.

He had been alive all this time, all alone, not knowing that people out there remembered him, thought about him, and cared about him.

You can’t help but think of Steve, every stricken look on the rare occasion he deigned to speak about his childhood friend, as if reliving an eighty-year-old nightmare.

Your force your eyes open. This Aiden Galloway before you is a stranger, because the one you knew, the one you had grown to love like a brother, could never be so cruel. He took you under his wing when you first arrived, showing you the ropes and teaching you everything you knew about being a good agent.

He’d done wonders too; soon, you were working in Fury’s division with the revered likes of Natasha, Maria, and the famous Clint Barton.

So why?

Galloway had pulled you out of more scrapes than you could remember during your first missions as a reckless rookie agent. He had covered for your mistakes, took scoldings and official reprimands in your place with a carefree smile. He had taken literal bullets for you. He had bled in your stead.

If this was always Hydra’s endgame, then why bother saving you at all? Why not just let you die out there somewhere, blaming it on literally anything and anyone else but himself? Why couldn’t he just kill you before the seeds of affection could ever blossom?

Why pretend to care about you at all?

It’s stunning that the existence of cruelty, plain and simple, still manages to surprise you. You’d think that, after all this time, after everything you’ve seen and everything you’ve suffered, you’d come to expect it at every corner… or at least get better at spotting it.

Well.

You won’t make the same mistake again.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you lift your gun. You’ve handled this weapon hundreds of times, used it to end countless lives before today and will likely continue to do so after, but today it feels oddly heavy in your hand.

Ending a life never comes easy, no matter how many times you do it or which side of history you stand on, but you already know that this particular kill is one that won’t ever leave you.

You take aim, your finger steady on the trigger. Just like Aiden taught you. He won’t last much longer anyhow, given how much blood he’s already lost, but you have to remind yourself that this isn’t an act of mercy. It’s an act of retribution, one he most definitely deserves.

You wonder, if you repeat it to yourself enough times, will you come to believe your own words?

Aiden grins, a ruby-red smile that sears itself in your mind and stays with you long after he’s gone. The bastard just has to get in the last word, and even as his eyes glaze over, two words reach into the smoke and haunt your dreams.

“Hail Hydra.”

Your eyes snap open, your lungs drawing in a sharp gasp of a breath.

For a disorienting heartbeat, you’re lost in time, trying to claw your way out of the clutches of a persistent nightmare, and blinking rapidly against the stark reality of consciousness.

A sheen of cold sweat clings to your brow, your skin prickling and clammy under a heavy quilt as you try to sit up.

You regret it instantly, a searing pain shooting up and down your body, every muscle protesting the movement. The walls of a rustic cabin materialize slowly around you like a developing polaroid, and suddenly you remember.

The safe house. You had entered its coordinates on your jet just before it crashed about a mile away. You didn’t think you’d make it, growing dizzy with pain and blood loss before eventually collapsing in the snow.

The room is brightly-lit by a flickering fire, where a log pops loudly and sparks jumping up before disappearing again onto the stone hearth. You take deep breaths to try and calm your frenzied heart, tasting the fresh sharp scent of pine and sweet bread on your tongue.

Your pulse begins to settle back into a less frantic rhythm, the weight of the quilt lain on top of you comforting and warm… until you look up and see a snowy white cat perched on top of the bedside table. You startle, wincing in pain as your feline guardian peers at you curiously with beautiful blue eyes.

It reminds you of—

“Hey,” comes a voice, gravelly with sleep and something akin to worry. He’s close, so close you wonder how you didn’t sense his presence before now, his eyes the familiar colour of arctic ice. Those eyes have never left your thoughts, it occurs to you now, reluctant to release you from their grasp.

You feel your muscles tense at the sight of him, the quilt’s fabric bunching in your fists as you grip the edges tighter. Your tac-suit is gone, you suddenly realize, and you’re lying naked in a bed that Bucky Barnes usually sleeps in.

“You’re probably still mad,” Bucky says, his voice so quiet you almost have to lean in to hear him despite your closeness. “But I just…”

He trails off and for a moment, he just stares at you like he can’t believe you’re here. Then, in the fire’s glow, you’re suddenly pressed into his chest by a pair of powerful arms, so gently as if he’s handling the most precious thing in the world.

You’re not mad, you think but don’t say. You never were. Not at him, anyway. You can’t tell him why; the only problem with this frustratingly beautiful man is that he only ever blames himself, even if he’s done nothing wrong.

Even when you’re the one who is broken and unworthy.

There is a reason for the distance you’ve steadily kept, but as you hear his astounded and shaky whispers of you’re alive, thank god you’re alive in your ear, you allow yourself a minute.

One minute in which you’re allowed to feel—the ache, the yearning, and the fragments of a heart you gave away a long time ago and never got back.

« Chapter 2 || Chapter 4 »

Taglist — @cjand10 @pbs-theundeadmaggot @nerdreader Please leave a comment or send me a DM if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this story. Note that if you ask and you are a blank blog, I will block you instead.

Notes — For what it’s worth, I really am sorry for what I’m putting these two through. Did you guys know that this idea was originally conceived as a five-chapter romantic comedy lmao?! Also, the fluff is coming in future chapters—I promise. Everyone just has to suffer a lot a bit first because evidently I’m a sadist, lmao.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #summer’s fics

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boa-h · 8 months

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【Geto Suguru】 Your Cat

Geto Suguru recalls you as that one kouhai of his who runs to the cafeteria the moment class ends. Countless times he’s witnessed you run past him at an inhuman speed just to reach the cafeteria. There are really not many people in Jujutsu Tech, he doesn’t know who you’re racing against, for even if you weren't the first on the lunch line, the food would still be there. Unlike Haibara or Nanami, he rarely gets to talk to you, not like he gets to talk to first years a lot in the first place. But now, his silly little kouhai stands before him, breathless. Your hair is a mess, and so are your clothes.

“I- I’m.. My cat—” You pant, struggling to speak.

“You do realize having pets in the dormitories is against the rules, right?” He told you, but still held out the cat for you to take back.

You quickly took the cat away from his arms, “Please don’t tell anyone! Please!” You bowed to him 90 degrees. “I promise I won’t accidentally let her out again,” you assured him, looking up with unwavering sincerity.

He chuckled and ruffled your hair, “Then it’ll be our little secret.” He pressed a finger onto his lips, signaling that he wouldn’t tell anyone, “but make sure you don’t let her out again, I won’t be here every day to catch her.”

“Of course, of course! Thank you so much, Geto senpai!” Your eyes were teary from gratitude. He’s such a kind man, you thought.

But over the next few months, your cat kept escaping out of the dorms, such as when you’re in class, on a mission, or in the shopping mall. And every time you go to seek her, she’s always with Suguru, they seem to be in a really good relationship for some odd reason.

“Ah, your cat.” He says every time he sees you running his way, your cat in his arms or next to him. Satoru is sometimes near as well, threatening to tell Yaga about the cat if you don’t buy him the limited daifuku from the dessert store downtown.

Time in Jujutsu Tech went on until the summer of 2007. It’s been a year since the failure of the Star Plasma Vessel mission, Geto Suguru has not been looking right, he even stopped hanging out with your cat recently. You’ve asked him multiple times if he was alright but the only answer you’ve gotten was “summer stress”. What a dumb excuse, Suguru.

He got skinnier, his eye bags and dark circles deepened, and he sometimes even stopped tying his hair up in school.

“I’m always here to talk if you need me.” You told him, concerned.

Geto stared at your face, emotions hidden in his dark eyes, for a moment you swear you saw tears.

He hugged you tight in his embrace, his scent engulfing you. “Thanks.” He rasped out. You both remained silent for a while, and you broke the silence.

“I’ll be going on a mission this afternoon. Let's go eat soba after I come back.” You smiled up at him, and he nodded with a small chuckle.

“I think we should…” He started, “Maybe, would you…” He trails off, not finishing his sentence.

“Hm?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“No, nothing, I’ll tell you when you come back.” He smiled gently, as soft as a summer’s breeze.

I was going to go back.

I was going to tell him that I liked him too.

I didn’t want to die.

I had so many things I hadn't done yet.

You finally cried out in pain when the cursed spirit tore off your arm. Beads of hot tears rolled off your cheeks and onto the hard earth. It was a miscalculation of the curse’s grade, you couldn’t win alone. Regret washed over your exhausted body, you should’ve told him before leaving.

Geto Suguru was the last thought on your mind before your body was torn into pieces. Blood splattered within the veil, and a noxious stench spread through the area. Your remains are returned to Jujutsu Tech and later on cremated.

It seems like nobody was able to walk out of the summer of 2007.

Geto Suguru defected, he left everything behind and started the persuasion of his own life and goals. Except for your cat, he brought her with him, the only thing from Jujutsu Tech he brought with him. He cut off every last one of his way out, he even murdered his own parents to reinforce that mindset in his brain. He cannot turn back anymore, even if it’s Gojo Satoru who tried to stop him. Your cat was his only source of comfort for a while.

The cat lived for another 10 years after his defection, and the day before Christmas Eve, she died. Suguru suddenly laughed as he cradled her lifeless body, “Is that so?” he mutters, speaking to the cat as well as to himself. He stroked the cat’s fur one last time before handing her to the two girls he took in, who once adored the cat as well.

“Bury her.” He waved them off, a hand on his forehead in exhaustion.

When he sat alone in that dark alley on Christmas Eve, blood oozed out of his missing arm. ‘Pure love’, huh? How long has it been since he’s last heard of that word? I think you used to say it a lot… His life flashed before his eyes, how tragic, comical, and uninteresting. His best friend stood right in front of him, and he chuckled at his grand funeral for himself. Maybe it’s not bad to die in a way like this, he thought.

Geto Suguru looked at his best friend one last time, but this time he saw a white beam coming towards him — you. His eyes widened as he saw you running towards him, tears streaming down your face.

You were looking for something, something important. What was it again?

Oh, right.

He looked down at his lap, a cat resting there, nuzzling her head on him, purring.

“Ah… your cat…” he mumbles with his last breath before closing his eyes.

He heard his best friend laugh and sob into his hands, and the sounds gradually grew further and further away.

“Geto senpai!”

He opened his eyes again.

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