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starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year

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Hey hey heyyy!!! Can you pretty please do a headcannon or blurb of the 141 boys and Ko Ko of them telling you they loved you for first time? tysm!!!😝

Sure thing!!🙃 I hope you enjoy this! Thanks for this request!

141 + König Telling The Reader They Love Them For The First Time

Warnings: mentions of night terrors, mentions of harassment/physical abuse, mentions of crying, fluff

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Simon Ghost Riley-

It was a quiet evening, and you and Simon had just finished dinner when you found yourselves laying in bed together. You'd been together for nine months, and Simon tried to spend all of his free time with you when he was home on from deployment.

Simon sat up briefly to get a drink of water, and the muscles in his shoulders protested his every move. He groaned and rolled them, hoping to ease some of the pain.

This didn't go unnoticed by you, however. Your eyes flicked over to him, and watched as he tried to fight through his discomfort. "Si? You alright?"

"Yeah, fine, love. Just must've slept on it wrong, is all." He waived away your concerns as he took a sip of water.

"Lies. Get on your stomach, now. Shirt off" You demanded, your tone leaving no room for him to question you.

He gave a small chuckle before adhering to your wishes. He laid out on his stomach in front of you on the bed. "Yes ma'am."

You straddled his backside and began to work your fingers into the flesh of his shoulders, smiling to yourself when you heard soft moans emitting from his lips.

"Just the shoulders?" You asked, rubbing at the spot where his shoulders met his neck.

He pulled you into him and pressed kisses along your shoulder, ending with one on your head. "Thank you for taking care of me."

He nodded his head, a groan escaping him. You wiggled your way slightly up his back and really dug your fingers into him, pushing with just enough force not to hurt him. You kept him under your touch for nearly 30 minutes before he moved to lay on his side.

"Of course, Simon. I'm always here for you, whatever you need, you know that." You kissed his hand before tucking your arms around his, holding yourself close to him.

The two of you laid like that for some time, and after a while, he felt your breathing start to deepen. He let himself listen to you, and smiled to himself.

It'd been a very, very long time since Simon had ever felt this relaxed, and he felt for possibly the first time in his life, optimistic about what the future held for him. As long as he had you by his side he'd be happy.

He inhaled deeply before he let those three words escape his lips for the first time. "I love you."

He let himself doze into a peaceful slumber, and unbeknownst to him, you'd heard his confession and fell asleep yourself with the biggest smile on your face, holding him just a bit closer that night.

König-

You and König had been together for some time, but this was the first night that he'd ever spent over your flat. You'd spent the night cooking together, as Konig had just taught you to make one of his favorite Austrian dishes.

Later that night, he two of you were tangled in the sheets together when you began to trace your fingers lightly over some of the scars littering his skin.

"Where'd you get this one?" You asked, your fingers dancing lightly over one of the marks on his abdomen.

Konig's eyes followed to where your fingers laid and let out a small chuckle. "That one, I got hit in the chest by a BB Gun when I was little."

You hummed in response, as you moved to the next one. "This one?"

His eyes darkened slightly, as he shifted his eyes away from the scar your attention was focused on. "That..one.. when I was first enrolled, I was a part of a hazing scheme. A bunch of the older batch of recruits threw rocks at me, and one hit me there, caused a pretty nasty gash."

Your heart shattered at his words, as you looked up to find him staring off in the distance, with a solemn expression on his face. You ran your finger back and forth on the mark before placing a soft kiss to the scarred flesh.

Konig's breath hitched in this throat at your gentle touch, and his eyes moved to your face, studying you intently. You continued to pepper kisses along every scar of his you could find, before pulling your face up to meet his eyes.

"Every one of these scars is beautiful, Ko, just like you. Those guys were jerks." You huffed, annoyed that anyone would've ever treated someone as gentle as your boyfriend in such a horrid way.

Konig's entire world stopped at your words. He'd been called a lot throughout his life, but beautiful was never one of them. Beautiful was something he thought of when he thought of you. To think that you were with him, and truly thought of him as someone who was attractive, had his heart melting. He knew in that moment, that you were the person he wanted to be with, always.

"Y/N." He whispered, catching your drifting attention. You looked up to him, the corners of your lips upturned slightly. "I love you."

You let out a small gasp, as this was the first time, he'd ever told you those words. You hadn't expected them to come from him any time soon.

"I love you too, Konig, always."

John Soap MacTavish-

You and Johnny were on a picnic date together, a few months into your relationship, when a random storm cell had passed through the area, causing the skies to open up on the two of you.

"Shit! I didn't think it was supposed to rain!" He yelled out, the rain being so loud he could barely hear himself think.

You let out a laugh as you stood from the blanket and began spinning, letting the rain fall on your face.

Johnny came up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist before placing a kiss on your lips.

You pulled away with a small giggle. "I've always wanted to be kissed in the rain."

He gave you a warm glance before returning his lips to yours, pulling you closer into his body.

"It's pishin it doon out here." He chuckled as he pulled away.

"Aye, that it is. I'm absolutely drookit (soaked)." You nodded your head, practically beaming. You hadn't had this much fun in a while.

Johnny's eyes lit up at your words, a goofy smile making its way to his lips. "You know Scottish slang?"

"May have taught myself some." You cheeks reddened at your admission.

He let out a hearty laugh as he picked you up and spun you around. "You are the perfect person for me, ya know that?"

You pressed your lips to his once more as the rain continued to pour down on the two of you. Johnny rested his forehead on yours, his wide smile still etched on his lips. "I love you, Y/N."

The serious tone of his voice had the red in your cheeks deepening in color, as you nuzzled your face in his neck. "I love you too, Johnny."

John Price-

That day, not only did you finally get your kiss in the rain, but the man you loved finally told you those three words you'd been dying to hear, since the day you laid eyes on him.

John had had a terrible day. Nothing was going his way, and his team had just failed their recent mission, letting a piece of valuable intel slip away into enemy's hands.

You were a medic for the team, and yours and John's relationship had been kept under wraps for the better part of 5 months now. You'd heard of what happened on their mission, and had excused yourself from your duties early, to go and find your lover trapped in the confines of his office, his head thrown into his hands.

He noticed your presence right away, his head flying up, a forced smile etched onto his lips. "Hey, love. Sorry I didn't come by earlier. It's uh, been a day."

"No worries hun, I figured. Brought you a little something to help lighten the mood." You gave him a warm smile before placing a burger you'd gotten from the cafeteria, with his favorite bottle of scotch on the tray.

His eyes lit up as he saw the scotch, his gaze immediately turning to you. "Where on earth did you find this?"

"Had a secret stash for days like this, no big deal." You pulled out two plastic cups, and poured some of the liquid in each.

He raised his glass to you as you handed it to him. "You have no idea how much I needed this, thank you."

You gave him a nod before taking a large gulp of the amber liquid, as John watched on in astonishment. It wasn't often he'd seen someone take a full swig of scotch and not make any face, as it had a tendency to be quite strong.

John smiled to himself before taking a swig himself, hissing as the liquid burned the back of his throat. You regarded him thoughtfully, before deciding to speak again. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"Just having you here is enough." John shook his head as he held your gaze. He patted his knee, inviting you over to him.

You climbed over on his lap, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips. "I'm happy you're back John. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He studied you with a small smile, the alcohol now intensifying the warm feeling pooling in his belly.

"I love you." His voice was barely above a whisper.

You practically glowed, as you absorbed his words, your elation clearly showing on your face as he let out a breathy laugh.

"I love you too, John."

Kyle-

You and Kyle had put together a movie night in for the last night before Kyle's 2 month long deployment. You had been together a little under three months, and couldn't be happier.

You were cuddled on the couch together, finishing some Rom Com you'd convinced Kyle to watch with you, when Kyle noticed you dozing off, and squeezed your arm gently. "Why don't we head to bed, yeah?"

You stretched, in an attempt to wake up yourself up and shook your head. "No, it's okay. We wanted to stay up."

Kyle gave a soft chuckled. "Love, its nearly midnight. Probably best we get some sleep."

You blinked at him a few times, your eyes filling with tears. "But...you leave in the morning."

Kyle's heart throbbed at your words, as he pressed a kiss to your temple and pulled you closer. "I know.. I promise it'll fly. I know that doesn't make it easier though."

You sniffled as you buried yourself in his chest, tightly grasping at his shirt. "Promise me you'll come back?"

Kyle lifted your head gently, as he stared into your eyes. "I promise you, Y/N."

The two of you knew that it wasn't a promise that he could make, but his words brought you solace nonetheless. You both sat huddled in each other's arms before his words had your ears perking up. "I love you."

You turned to him, your tears now falling freely down your cheeks. "I love you too, Kyle."

"Well darn, now I truly have to make sure I come home. I've got to hear those words coming out of your lips at least a trillion more times before I die."

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A/N: thanks for reading!!!😊🩵

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kapapi-o · 4 months

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Daddy's Girl (Sukuna x FemChildReader [familial]) HCs

So reader is some little girl that curiously ate Sukuna's finger. This leads to the King of curses accidentally adopting you, --some dumb, fatherless kid. Lmao

Fluff cuz i want soft wholesome sukuna and no, i'm not projecting. Stop thinking that, no one will ever believe you 🔫🙃

Not proof-read but still good, if i say so myself ;>

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-When he first comes into your mind, he's shook for a moment then appalled the next.

-"Out of all the humans in this world, it's this weakling i've coveted."

-rolls his eyes and tries to rethunk how he'll ever come to his true form from a puny girl such as yourself.

-Dw tho, he thinks your funny. As in he thinks you're a dumbass when he watches you go about your daily life.

-Pops in from your cheek to tell you to watch where you're going when you almost walked into a lamp pole, or a bustling street of cars.

-Calls you "brat" and "dumb/foolish girl," followed by an unecessarily berating comment.

-Eventually, that sensitive part of you kicks in at times and his words get to you. You're just a kid after all. So now he's forced to do things he wouldn't usually do:

-"Stop crying, it's boring and the noise is unpleasant." He'd grumble in your head, noting to ease up on his words. For his sake, of course.

-There was a time when you had a nightmare of your father's passing. Your cries were so unpleasant that Sukuna had to make a visit into your little night terror.

-When you see him there, you run to him for a hug. Not thinking twice about wrapping your arms around him securely for comfort.

-Stiffens when he feels your little arms around him. He does notice that your crying stopped so he let's you. He just wants some quiet time, is all.

-When you finally calm, he tries to put your conciousness to rest. Only for you to end up falling asleep with his fingers held by your hand.

-Later calls you things like, "Little one" or "Child," in a stern manner. He's just doing that to belittle you so you always know you're place.

-You accidentally called him "Papa" once, and he's accidentally surprised, and accidentally didn't hate it.

-He did however hate when Gojo found out about you and took you in. Making sure to grumble about every little thing he does for you.

-When you're going about your little elementary day, he reminds you to pay attention.

-Helps you with homework. He says it's because he's proving he's superior to Gojo as a mentor, not because he cares about you.

-Could never find it in his cold, dead beat heart to hurt you. Quite the opposite actually, would rather carry you away securely in his arms as those who even thought of hurting you, burns away behind his back.

-He figures after he returns to his final form, he'll keep you. Only because he tolerates you, his little girl amusing nuisance. Nothing more.

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I'm baaack y'all :D

Winter break is around the corner and i finally have the brain to write again. I've actually never sat and watched the Jjk anime lol

Maybe in the break, I will.

-oh, and anyone has permission to make this into a full fledged fic 👀

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queenuchiha89 · 9 months

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Could you do like a Stu x Reader where Stu as ghostface sneaks into readers house and fucks her? (Awake or asleep)

Ask and you shall receive! Hope you enjoy! 🙃

*** NSFW ***

*** 18+ MINORS DNI ***

*** TW. DARK CONTENT ***

⚠️ WARNING: This story contains noncon, unprotected sex, forced cream pie, choking, knife play, and lewd language. Reader discretion is STRONGLY ADVISED!!! ⚠️

It was a cool spring night in the town of Woodsboro, and the majority of the town's population were peacefully asleep. All except Stu Macher of course. He had been stalking his target for weeks. Learning her schedule, her interests, hobies and routines. Studying her. Like so many nights before, Stu silently made his way into her house using the not so hidden spare key under a potted plant on her back porch. This night was not like the rest, however. His desire for her had reached it's breaking point and he could no longer resist the urge to take her.

After letting himself in, he makes his way up the stairs, down the hall, and quietly into Y/N's bedroom. He stood there for a moment, admiring her form as he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. He crept up behind her patiently waiting until he felt the time was just right before jumping on top of her and forcefully cupping his gloved hand over her mouth tightly to muffle her screams. Y/N's eyes grow wide as she's forced awake by none other than Ghostface. As she beings to struggle against him, Stu aggressively presses his knife to her throat. "Try to scream and I'll cut your fucking throat... Understand?" Y/N's weeping eyes looked up at his masked face and nodded swiftly in agreeance. He slowly began to run the tip of the blade down her side to the line of her panties and with one swift movement, cut them away from her body. He yanked the thin lace panties off her, and forcefully shoves them into her mouth, gagging her. She writhed under him, trying to fight him off to no avail.

Stu looks down at Y/N's eye wide with terror, as he pins her hands to the bed over her head and drags the blade over her erect nipples. "I bet, if I touch you right now... You're already wet..." He says to her, and a faint red blush creeps across Y/N's cheeks. Stu smirks behind his mask at the shame clearly showing on her reddened cheeks, and he drops the knife beside her on the bed. His gloved hand trailed down her body to her warm center, and slide two of his fingers inside of her. Y/N gasped from the sensation, as he slowly removed his fingers. "See... You are enjoying this... Aren't you?" He laughs as he shows her how slick his gloved fingers are simply to humiliate her. Stu could no longer resist, he had to have her. He removed his throbbing cock from under his black robe, and forcefully pushed himself inside her. His sizeable cock stretched out her walls and she felt the burn from him tearing her upon entry.

Y/N whimpered in pain as Stu began thrusting mercilessly into her, taking her viciously. He reached over, picking up the knife once more and dug the tip into her chest, a small bead of scarlet forming as he broke the skin. Her muffled cries and whimpers only fueled his need to fill her up, and he fucked into her harder, hungry for release. "fuck, I'm going to fill up that pretty little pussy, slut... Isn't that what you fantasize about anyway?" Stu says in a low and sadistic tone. Y/N shakes her head back and forth violently, lying about all the times she's fantasized about Ghostface breaking in and taking her just as he was now. As hard as she tried to fight it, she felt her body tense, as her walls gripped around his cock, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge of her own climax. "Don't fight it slut... Cum for me." He demanded, knife pushed tightly against her throat. Y/N had no choice as her body betrayed her, and she shook as she came, her tight walls pulsing around him. With a few final thrusts, Stu's cock twitched and shot rope after rope of his hot cum deep inside her womb.

As Stu got off of her, she had no time to react, and she watched as he disappeared into the darkness, leaving her there to her own thoughts and fears. As she got up to walk to the bathroom and wash herself off, she found a note laying in the hallway.

"if you're good... I may come back one day, and give you a good fuckin'"

She blushed as she tossed the note into the small trash can, and looked herself over in the mirror. Y/N wouldn't be making any reports anytime soon....

#stu macher x you #stu macher x reader #stu macher smut #stu macher #im not mentally stable #ghostface smut #ghostface #scream #request #asks open #comissions open #ask and ye shall recieve #horror #scream queens

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spidernuggets · 17 days

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I'm really sorry to even ask for such a thing 🤣 but I just find it hilarious how disgusted they would be, I feel like it may even cause the freeze response that some people get in panic or danger situations but may I request the titans-especially Jason's- reaction to their friend and fellow titan (y/n) getting really drunk or truth serumed or something and saying that she thinks the Joker is kinda hot y'know if it weren't for the clown gimmick and all the terrorism

nearly every version is at least a little bit pretty even the animated ones lol looking at you btas and it does not help that he's voiced by marky mark, like how am I in love with a drawing 🤣🙃

Jason's Reaction to Reader Calling the Joker Hot.

You and Jason were out in a club, celebrating a victorious night after locking up a shit load of criminals.

You were having the time of your life, along with one shot, two shots, three shots, four. Usually, you had a good alcohol intake. You and Jason were known to be able to take plenty of drinks before needing to hurl.

But tonight, you were biting off more than you could chew.

You were at the bar, asking the bartender for another drink.

"Another one, babe? You're worse than me," Jason laughs, ordering the same thing you did.

"Not worse," was all you were able to mutter.

"You know..." You began to laugh, covering your flushed face with your hands, taking a couple of breaths before laughing again.

"Know what, mama?" He asks, curious, taking yours and his drink from the bartender, keeping it safe until you're ready for it.

"Not gonna lie... uhhh," you tried to think, rubbing your temples with your index fingers. "You.. you know uhhh Joke man.. The.. The Joker." Jason hums in response. "Low.. lowkey. LOWkey, Jay... Joker issss...uhmm... You know if you would take off the clown makeup.. anddd.. If he wasn't a.. a uhm.. homicidal maniac.. he lowkey kinda.."

Jason's face scrunches up. He drinks both of your drinks, and you whine in disappointment. "Jay!! I was gunna..mm drink that," and you start to cry.

"Nope, nope, nope. We're going back to the tower. You're definitely over your drink limit." He says, for once, being responsible.

"Why!! I'm not even feelin' sick yet," you pouted.

He scoffed, putting your arm over his shoulder as he supported you up, walking to the exit. "You basically just said the Joker was hot. That IS feeling sick."

"Ooooh, maybe you just jealous, Jason Wason," you puckered your lips close to his ear. "Is okay..mmm.. You're hotter, aha," you giggled, throwing your head back while laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, say that to me when you're sober, babe."

POV, you're jason:

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also, soz i only did jason 😪😪 idrk how to write for anyone else 💀💀

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elfy-elf-imagines · 1 year

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Epiphany | Legolas Greenleaf

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Comfort and Fluff

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: War was devastating, you'd known that. And in the aftermath of your first battle, Legolas is there to help you through it.

▹ Notes: I'm back to post my annual oneshot. Will I continue the tradition of disappearing for another year?? Who knows. 🙂🙃

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Death has always been more of a concept than a reality to you.

Your closest brush with death had been when your grandfather passed away. Yet even as you stood at his wake, tight lipped and dressed in black, you hadn’t felt a thing. He’d been nothing more than an idea in your mind, a singular notch in your family's tree; someone you’d met once or twice when you were too young to cement it to memory. All around you, people wept as they mourned his loss; speech after speech honoring the life he’d lived. You’re mom offered for you to speak as well, but what could you say? Everything you knew had been secondhand. It was easier to disassociate the life that had been lost.

But that was then.

That had been before you'd been thrown into war and ruin.

Now everything was different, and you hardly recognized your own reflection most days.

It was dizzying, the battlefield you stood in. All was still and quiet as the soldiers gathered their dead. Yet in your mind, phantom images flitted across your eyes, the screams that nearly left you deaf reverberating off the grounds. Listlessly, too stunned to celebrate your survival, you wandered the grounds. Death stung your nostrils, gore and blood staining the grass; these fields would never be quite the same.

All around you, real people lie dead on the floor. They had families that would mourn and friends that would weep for them. It was a realization no amount of training would have prepared you for.

You should’ve run back to the keep and avoided the dead bodies that lifelessly stared into the sky. Vaguely, you were aware that the Fellowship was preparing to ride to meet Saruman and strike him from his silver tower. As a member, you should be with them, but you couldn’t keep from drowning in your own guilt.

Swimming in a sea of dead, what did you do to deserve survival?

It was a thread of thought that was unproductive, yet you couldn’t keep from following it all the same.

As it would, mother nature set the scene for your disparaging rabbit hole. Rain fell from the sky, trying to wash away the horrors of the night. It was useless, the earth would remember, and all flowers would be grown from death.

Your legs went out from under you, knees sinking into the wet ground, soaked in blood and now rain. Blood and gore, you were caked in it, the crimson staining your hands for eternity. The dark terror you constantly staved away since falling into Middle Earth slowly froze your veins. All the things you’d done to fight it back - deep breathing, counting to ten, and stupid, ditzy humor - finally failed you.

The reality of the world around you finally set in.

Eyes wide and brimmed with tears, you stared up at the sky. Unblinking, even as rain fell directly in your eyes, you searched for answers in the clouds but found no answers to satiate the existential dread you couldn’t bury any longer. Sleep deprivation weighed heavily on you, but the adrenaline from the battle kept you wide awake. In the clouds, you searched for an epiphany. Desperate for a glimpse of relief, anything to make sense of the things you’ll see in all future nightmares to come.

But there was nothing in the clouds, nothing in the sun, and nothing in the sky. There were no answers to your impossible questions. So there you stayed in the fields, frozen by a crisis.

You feared you'd be frozen there forever, turned to ice by the cold of your blood. How fragile life was, and how easily it could be snatched away. Would you be next, another body filling another battlefield?

“Y/N?” His voice was quiet but strong enough to be heard over the chaos in your mind. You didn’t turn, not at first, even as you heard the patter of his footsteps approaching. He did it on purpose, you knew, so light on his feet, he didn’t even imprint on snow. But he wanted you to know he was approaching. It caused a flicker of light to fill your eyes before sorrow doused it.

The smell of pine dampened the sting of death; dread was replaced by memories of unsure touches, quiet words, and a bold kiss before the fight that should’ve killed you both. Only then did you turn your eyes from the sky that seemed too blue for this day.

Legolas stood behind you, not nearly as grimy as you surely were. Blood and dirt clung to his clothes, mud smeared on the contours of his face, but his eyes shone as bright as the sky above you. He didn’t speak, though the tilt of his head betrayed the questions and concerns he dared to not speak.

You should be celebrating, you'd both lived to see another day. The budding love between you two wouldn’t be severed by the sharp knife of war, but it was hard to feel joy around so much despair.

Legolas knelt before you, unbothered by the mud soaking through his pants. He reached towards you, taking one of your hands in his. A stark contrast to your cold body, his hands were warm and soft despite the callouses from decades of fighting.

“How do you deal with all this death?” Your eyes portrayed the desperation you felt. Lost at sea, you found an anchor in Legolas’ soothing presence. He grounded your mind to your body as it threatened to slip into the ether. Still, the questions clawed at your mind. “I can’t--" you shook your head. "I don’t understand how to.”

He paused, deeply inhaling as he pondered your words. “I would like to tell you it gets easier with time, and perhaps in a way it does, the sting not as crippling as the first. Yet I would be remiss to placate you with such words. You do not stop feeling grief in the face of so much death, but simply learn how to move through it.”

As if afraid to ruin the moment if you're too loud, you quietly sighed, visibly deflating at his words. You would learn to move past this grief, as you had when you mourned the life on Earth you’d lost. Somewhere deep in your mind you’d already known that, but hearing Legolas verbalize it only cemented the idea.

Your eyes flickered to his lips, remembering the way they’d felt on yours, adrenaline and terror making it desperate and rushed. It had left you dazed and addled like a madman afterward. Not even the impending army was enough to crush the light feeling his touch elicited. You wanted to feel his lips again, without death and an army of orcs looming over your heads.

To feel his lips against yours, with all the time in the world to memorize every curve of his face and inch of his body. But even the relief of evading death wasn’t enough to make you so bold. Uncertainty stayed your hand; doubt that painted the kiss as more meaningful to you than him. That his action was rash and ill-thought, born from the adrenaline of battle.

Yet the look in his eyes made it harder and harder to convince yourself of that.

Legolas glanced down at his other hand, which was closed in a fist, and opened it. Slightly damaged by his tight grip but otherwise untouched, was a wild daisy. It was smaller than daisies found in a garden, with three blooms in various sizes that clung to the stem. So pristine and untarnished, it couldn’t have been found on the fields of Helm’s Deep, at least not recently.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, an intensity in his eyes that made your mind turn to static.

“I found a cluster of them shortly before we arrived yesterday. I hoped to give them to you then, but never had the chance.” With a quiet voice, his words were only for you to hear. There was a shy grin on his face, not at all bearing the same insecurities you did.

A grin spread onto your face, a tinge of blush coloring your cheeks. The remnants of dread and terror melted away from the radiance of his smile and the intensity in his eyes.

“I’ve never had someone give me flowers before.” Your voice was as breathless as you’d felt. A simple gesture you’d never been on the receiving end of; it helped you feel grounded in your trepidation.

“Then allow me the honor of showering you with them for the rest of eternity.”

His words were bold, his grip on your hand tightening as if to further convey his sincerity. Rendered speechless, you couldn’t have spoken even if you wanted. Legolas had always seemed so shy and reserved in matters of love, but perhaps war brought out the boldness of people. Relief made you as light as a feather, an excitement within you that made you giddy and restless. He cared for you, just as you did him.

A stupid, dumb grin found its way to your face and you nodded, enthusiastically enough it made your headache worse. But no amount of physical pain could dull the glimmer in your eyes.

Legolas returned your smile, brighter than the sun in the sky. There’d never be another gloomy day, not with Legolas by your side. He was bright enough to spark light in the darkest of days, the only sun you’d acknowledge from then on.

He reached his hand toward you, gently setting the flowers behind your ears. His fingers lingered on your face, trailing down your cheeks, up your temples, and back down to cradle your jaw. Tingles were left in the wake of his touch, as your heart threatened to stop, but the electricity his touch rendered kept it beating.

The moments you’d both spent in that position were lost to you, time nothing more than an illusion. Mouth dry with anticipation, your eyes flickered down towards his lips again, subconsciously licking your lips in an attempt to moisten them. His eyes lowered to yours as well, both of you locked in a stalemate.

You couldn't recall who was the cause of it, but the dam was broken, the river water rushing free. Your faces were getting closer by the second. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, his lips feathering across yours. Wide-eyed like a doe, you waited with bated breath.

Legolas shot forward, his other hand finding a place on your face as your arms wound around his neck. In an instant his lips were attached to yours, so intertwined, it was hard to remember where you ended and he began.

Just as you expected, this kiss was much gentler and softer, not sharpened by the fear of death. It was full of relief, screaming over and over again ‘thank god you're alive.’ It sent shivers up and down your spine, body numb to anything that wasn’t his touch.

Legolas pulled back, only an inch or so away from your lips, his nose tickled your face.

“Stay with me, after the quest is complete and we can all do as we please, stay with me.”

It was an easy answer, the simplest thing you’d encountered on this quest. Your hands retracted from his neck to hold his face. He leaned into your touch, like a contented cat.

“Wherever you go I’ll follow.”

If you’d been told the essence of a star had been captured and placed in Legolas as its vessel, you wouldn’t have doubted it for a moment. It sent butterflies through your stomach but also blossomed hope and something worth fighting for. A thousand orcs seemed daunting when only fighting to survive, but those same numbers fade to nothing when you look at him.

War wasn’t fair, and all too often people who didn’t deserve it died. It was ruthless and terrifying and not at all as glorious as you once believed.

But for Legolas… for Legolas, you’d fight the armies of Mordor alone for the promise of staying by his side.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#legolas imagine #legolas x reader #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #legolas #legolas oneshot #legolas greenleaf #tolkien #lotr #middle earth imagines #lotr movies #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings #legolas fluff #mirkwood elves #lotr fanfic #lotr elves

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deadlyeyez · 11 months

Note

Hi!

I'm new to your Watcher!Wally work (the whole blog in general) so I have a few questions, if you don't mind. 🤗🙃🤔

👋Do you mind typing up something short, like a character layout sheet or brief bio, to act like a sort of crash course on your watchful darling au?

👋Do all Viewers come in red or can they come in other hues of red? ... May I be a red-pink with a slight cat's eye(liner), pls? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

👋Wally vamp????

👋Does Wally have any decadent/cozy robes or cute belts to boot?

👋W!Wally fun facts/concepts, pls?

👋Wally with ✨~Braids~✨? 🥺🙇‍♀️

You don't have to answer any of this, I'm just trying to grasp this au properly (albeit gently). Thank you so, so much for reading, keep up the amazing work! 🫂🤗❤️🍎

why hello! many many questions, viewer. i’ll try to answer all of them!

🫙 — i’m working on a small rundown of the AU, but i’ve been focusing on drawing for the most part. however, there will be one eventually, haha!

🫙 — all viewers come in red, (the same color as the light on a recording camera!)

🫙 — wally is not a vampire, although he has had to do some… vampiric things in order to survive after he ran away.

🫙 — wally has many robes! the one sewn by barnaby is simply his favorite.

🫙 — i can certainly give you some fun facts!!

wally purrs when asleep or content, much like a cat.

wally walks on his toes and walks toe heel, like a dancer.

wally is actually wonderful at singing, but he sings rarely and knows very few songs.

he can hypnotize people when threatened. this is a direct result of the viewers.

he has night terrors regularly.

he worships the viewers and is completely devoted to them. (his idol was made by himself, days before the incident with Home.)

his favorite color is actually a greyish purple.

he likes cherries instead of apples.

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willshipanything-blog · 11 months

Text

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 9

New chapter has arrived! Little shorter (3.5k), but the upside of splitting up this one and next is that both are gonna have a little smut! Let's pretend that was intentional 🙃✨

As always, MINORS DNI and check tags on AO3.

Fic on AO3 here

Complete chapter index is here

(Also, I know this gif is Moon Knight. But Al is gonna be sat in a similar position 👀, and Y/N is gonna making some pretty mouthy accusations... 🤭

Chapter 9- Demons

You woke from a surprisingly dreamless sleep. Free from nightmares you were sure might haunt your repose, given last night’s conversation with Al; all the past miseries that had been dredged up, and the present ones you’d created with your indelicate, unintentionally spiteful words. But the night had ended on a sweet note, marked by liberal apologies and candid reassurances- from you and Al in equal measure. And his warm, enveloping hold had seen you off to a gentle sleep. He’d not woken either, so you assumed he wasn’t plagued with nightmares either, no worrying night terrors like you’d witnessed before.

This morning, the room was as peaceful as your slumber had been, a muted pink tincture reawakening the bedroom in a fresh, soft glow. You gently propped yourself on an elbow, looking at Al still asleep beside you in bed. His hand, splayed out a little from his body as if he’d been wordlessly reaching for you in sleep. The slow, steady rise and fall of his bare chest. A soft snore from slightly parted lips, more of a purr than his usual playful growl.

Looking at Al reminded you of a conversation you’d had with Max, that very first day in the woods. How Max had looked just like his mom, whereas Al hadn’t been blessed with those same features. Al obviously detested looking in any way like his father and (despite your best efforts to dissuade such thinking), his self-loathing seemed omnipresent- how much of that, you wondered, was fueled by the reflection he saw in the mirror? Did he glimpse two monsters staring back at him, twin sets of those intense cerulean eyes, both tempting and treacherous?

It wasn’t simply the abuse that made Al’s animosity so deep-rooted (a hatred geared towards both himself and his father). No, the situation was made much worse, deepened like an ocean trench, when the similarities extended far beyond just the visual, encompassing acts of physical violence too. Al’s sins had followed a parallel path to his father, two matching sets of footprints that had descended the basement stairs to inflict pain and incite fear. Two generations of evil.

But did the phrase ‘like father, like son’ apply, when Al’s crimes so heavily outweighed his predecessor's? Of course, you wouldn’t forget the Grabber’s reign of terror, those young lives lost forever at his hand- but you couldn’t help but think of the causation of such evil. The things that had been wreaked on Al in his own childhood- that had to have some awful and profound effect on a person. The Grabber had grown and bloomed from his past, his father’s actions the root and stem of it all. Even if Al had embraced the violence and the bloodshed, he’d been unwittingly molded and twisted into it. You’d helped to untwist him, shaping him back into something good, but the marks of the monster would always be visible, like a hairline crack in a piece of porcelain.

You scanned Al’s face as he slept, each feature you knew so intimately. Each wrinkled crevice at his temples; the exact curve of his jaw, lined with a morning stubble, the straight slope of his nose above that wide, perfect mouth hiding a wide, imperfect smile. You looked wistfully at the face in front of you, weighted by years of hurt, burdened by torments that had been inflicted on him, and those in turn that he’d inflicted on others- in infinitely greater measure. A private thought: which hurt more? As you mapped those lines and features that so closely resembled the evil that came before Al, you realized something. To you, the external similarities were immaterial. You hadn’t known Al’s father. To you, Al wasn’t similar- Al was his own man, and trying to be a better one every day.

“Whatcha thinking about, dove?” Al had woke as you were brushing his soft hair, fingers curled between the ashy tips at his shoulders. You continued stroking his locks as you met his beguiling blue eyes. His question was light, playful- but you answered with an earnest intensity that he was sure to see in the blazing glint of your eyes, hear in the clarity of your voice.

“I’m thinking that you’re a good person, Al. I want- I need you to know that.” Even as you said the words, you wondered silently who they were for; for Al, to divert him from that perilous path of self-loathing, or to remind yourself of the good he was capable of, despite the awful things he’d done. Hopefully your pointed words could hit both targets.

Al let loose a wearied sigh, suggesting you’d missed that first target, that Al was still adamant he was the sole cause of all the hurt in this house, despite the things the house had born witness to decades prior to the Grabber’s emergence.

“Little dove- you can’t blame anybody but me f-” He was hushed by the soft graze of your fingertips on his lips. This wasn’t a time for arguments, not after so much of it the previous night, so your hand moved to his cheek, your nails scratching gentle, assuaging strokes along his jawline as you spoke.

“I know Al. I understand the things you’ve done. But I know the things that have been done to you, too,” you insisted, eyes never straying from his despite the plaintive plea in those crushing blue eyes. “But those things can shape us, can’t they?”

“What, ‘cause he is so like me, he’s shaped me, you mean?” Al grimaced as he spat out the acknowledgment of his father. You could only offer a mute expression in response, raised eyebrows and lips pursed as if to retort: ‘didn’t he?’. Not that you needed to say that out loud. It was an understanding, a silent comprehension between the two of you- of course his father had shaped Al’s existence. The parallels between them were irrefutable. For Al to outright deny it would be laughable if it weren't such a devastating topic.

Of course, shifting blame could never negate Al’s crimes. But the origin of the Grabber, that second monster who had stalked and terrorized this house, was not Al’s handiwork alone. It had been created in Al’s mind, but helped along by the emotions, the torment and the rage that had been unable to die out with his father. Forged from every whip of the belt. Each punch, slap and cruel taunt. Each ceaseless memory carving a new contour that would sculpt that deviled mask.

“Our entire existence shapes us,” you began, delicately constructing your answer. You’d thrown enough virulent barbs at Al last night. Such unkind words, even if Al agreed they were true. But the pain they had caused hadn’t lessened in your mind, and you assumed they hadn’t for Al, either. Soothing, kind words were needed this morning. “The bad, yes- but the good too. Look at Max- he’s made us both better, happier. You know I make you better. And you’ve changed me too- I really am happy here, Al.”

Still, the understanding that passed between your silent stares didn’t ease the anguish in Al’s expression, and it hung between you like a dead, rotten thing. Focusing on the past would only serve to drag him closer to that fatal precipice of self-reproach. You changed tact. Not the badness of the past, but the goodness of the present. Throwing open the curtains of the here and now to banish those dead, shadowy specters.

“But I don’t make you better,” Al huffed. “Even if you’re happy, dove- dontcha think you’re a worse person for staying?”

In the moment or two you took to process what had been said, Al had sat up and swung his legs out of bed, sitting with his back to you. Perhaps ashamed by the words he’d spoken, although those words weren’t exactly a lie. You weren’t upset by the blunt question he’d posed (and if you had been, it would only even out the caustic accusations you’d thrown his way last night). You did feel awful, truly, for the things that had happened, each life that had been extinguished or irreparably damaged by the evil that had festered in this house. But you’d never been remorseful enough to leave, nor had you gone to the police when given the opportunity.

You’d been a good girl your entire life. But for Al, you would willingly slip into an antithetical role. Maybe Naughty Girl wasn’t just an act for you to occupy during the game. You smiled inwardly at this thought, actually smiled at the dark, wretched part of you that had been surrected in these past months. Smiled, despite the sliver of morality you’d had to shed in order to stay with Al in this blissful sin. The scales swapping out the good for the bad in equal measure until balance was restored, your soul just a little blacker than before. It was a zero sum game- but you were always happy to play those.

Your smile coiled into something new at that kind of thought, and you wondered whether your eyes took on a darker hue as you reached for Al, snaking your arms around him like two coils of rope, pressing your front against his broad back. A whisper against the skin on his neck, teeth close enough to skim the arterial vessels thrumming beneath the surface, ever quickening as Al’s breaths became more erratic.

“Actually Al, I think it was a good trade,” you murmured on a low, almost sultry breath. “I don’t mind being a little worse, if it makes you a little better.” Soft and reassuring, but completely lascivious and morally wrong. Both parts of you that could co-exist together, an uneasy treaty of good and bad signed across your heart.

You splayed a hand wide on his bare chest, your palm warming the spot above his heart. The tangle of scars on his skin, each ridge of sinewy muscle (marred and fractured but still whole) was encompassed by your touch. An enduring marker on his skin that his journey to betterment was no grandiose, empty gesture. He’d put himself on the chopping block, quite literally, in order to kill the Grabber, seek atonement at your hands. It was proof that he wanted to be better, and it was enough for you, whatever the cost to your own soul’s innocence.

Al seemed to understand this meaning implicitly, that wordless bond between the two of you like an invisible telephone wire with a direct line to each other’s innermost thoughts. His hand enveloped yours, holding it above his heart for a moment before raising it to his mouth, where he brushed your knuckles with a delicate, warm kiss. His head swiveled to the side, his eyes shining with something other than sorrow now- it was adoration, and need. You were perfect in his eyes, even if you were no angel anymore.

Your voice took on a playful lilt, the intonation rising and falling as you spoke. Not unlike Al’s performances he’d acted out a thousand times.

“Al?”

“Yeah, dove?” he rasped.

“I’m thinking about something else entirely now.” Your hands, which had both found their way back to his chest, began their descent.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Al cooed knowingly, but let out a choked breath as your fingers glided over the soft plane of his stomach, his gut curling inward from the sensation, the anticipation. You released a dark chuckle into Al’s neck at the movement, to which he countered with a clawing grip to one of your thighs by his side, his other hands grasping a thick tendril of your hair and twirling it seductively around his fingers. Your hands reached his hard cock, palming it slowly through his pajama trousers, letting free a low rumble of rolling thunder from Al’s throat.

“Don’t be such a tease, little demon.”

That was more like it. No good girl. No angel. Just the devil and his demon. You obeyed, peeling back the too-many layers between your hands and his hot skin. It was already hard, tip already wet with precum as you used it to begin long, languid strokes along his length. Four crescent red-moon indents were sure to mark your thigh, the way Al’s grasp tightened on your skin as you continued rubbing his cock with fervor, your own aroused breath fanning the shell of his ear as you picked up pace.

“Ahh- that’s it little thing- t-there’s my good girl.” Al stammered between breaths. But he was wrong- no good girls this morning.

“Hmm, maybe I should call you ‘little thing’ Al.”

He bristled beneath you, and you retreated your hand as the air in the room stilled. You’d goaded him with that indignity, knowing he’d react that way, wanting him to. Needing a taste of the smoldering darkness you knew he’d readily provide. Malevolent intent emanated from his body, and he shot you a dark glance sidewards as he clicked his tongue in your direction. A soft, sinister chuckle before he spoke, low and guttural.

“Oh, we both know that’s a lie.” In the flicker of an eye, he’d gripped your arm and used his bestial strength to haul you from the bed. You let loose a shriek as you tumbled onto the shag rug, kneecaps colliding heavily with the floor. Without a chance to straighten yourself, you were brought before him, dragged roughly between his thick thighs, his stiff cock waiting. He curled a hand around the nape of your neck, the other tracing a slow, undulating line along the ridges of your neck, his finger buckling your knees more than any switchblade ever could as he brushed the hollow of your throat. He leaned forward to speak. Close enough for you to see the storm brewing in the ocean of his eyes.

“Now, I’m sure you’re gonna eat those fucking words, huh dove?”

He removed his hand from the front of your neck (the one behind still holding firm) while he allowed you to choose your next move in this game. You bit your bottom lip, considering whether to push him further or submit completely. You surrendered, giving an obedient nod and parting your lips slightly at his command. Approval given, he pushed his length past your lips without hesitation, without time for you to even take a full breath. No retreat either; he’d fisted your hair at the back, giving himself complete control of your movements.

And with the loss of control, you gave yourself over unconditionally. Ready to drown in the void, a vacuum where only the pair of you existed. It was instinctual; mouth wide, tongue flat to lick its way along Al’s shaft as he rutted into your mouth with a merciless pace. Loosening your jaw to accommodate him, hands braced on his study thighs to hold steady against the driving thrusts. The obscene sounds of his cock invading your mouth, in harmony with your breathless whimpers and occasional gagging as it hit the very back of your throat.

Each dirty word he spoke as you sucked, each time he roared your name in carnal bliss, gave a fresh burst of arousal between your own legs, only making you more eager to serve. Al hadn’t spoken like this, so dominating and forceful, in weeks. But even that dark, gravelly tone, one that sounded so laced with deadly intent, thrilled you right to your core. Just as effective as his body in drawing you further into the delirium of the act. The cumulation of it all, the sounds of Al’s euphoric moans, the sensations shooting through your body like bolts of white-hot lightning, was all-consuming. Your pleasure wasn’t the objective, but god, was it close.

Absolutely at his mercy, but happy to be used- you were his to use, after all. Just as he was yours. You felt him near his peak, and decided a little control of your own was in order. Knowing he’d come undone at your piercing gaze, you peered up at him through heavy lashes with him still in your mouth. Right on cue, Al came undone as your eyes tore into his. Hot spurts of his seed hit the back of your throat in quick bursts, and you swallowed unquestioningly. He withdrew, and you sucked in a deep breath while half-discerning being picked up, Al placing you in his lap.

Soft hands pawed at you, wiping the drool from your chin, the tear stains from your cheeks as gentle kisses trailed each angle of your jaw. Soft words, gentle praises at how good you were (at such odds with the profanities he’d spoken only moments ago), brought you back to the surface, back from the black hole you’d both allowed to envelop you. More cognizant now, you pressed a kiss to Al’s lips, the simple, demure gesture just as electrifying as any profane act either of you might perform in bed.

“You know Al, I actually don’t feel much worse.” you cooed.

“Oh dove, I couldn’t ask for better.”

You both huffed a breath of amusement. As before, you looked intensely at Al with riveted eyes. Still the same as before: those deep azure eyes, that winsome smile, the single hint of a dimple, all familiar features you knew so well. Al- the man you loved. No-one else occupied the strong body that held you safely, no other demons invaded the mind that felt so connected with yours. Just Al, who was an infinitely better person than you might ever have hoped for all those months ago. While Al would never love the person he saw in the mirror, you still held out hope that one day he might see a fraction of himself the way you did.

Al knew he hadn’t processed his feelings in any sort of healthy way his entire life. A childhood of hiding them, being himself only in the most covert of circumstances. Then years of holding back everything, unable to handle the amalgamation of loss and longing and loneliness, so cutting himself off completely. And then he’d finally snapped, letting loose the Grabber who knew only rage and violence and fear, enacting them precisely as he took out his anger on the world.

His dove had come along, and suddenly Al was feeling things like never before. An unfathomable range of emotions that she had stirred within him. Confusion had laced his veins when he’d begun to feel compassion, then regret, then- against every odd- love. He’d been sapped of the ice-cold demeanor that had served him well as the Grabber, and it had been replaced with a warmth he hardly knew himself capable of. A warmth he’d not shared for more than two decades.

And now here he was, sharing his innermost feelings, the past he had avoided facing at all costs. It had helped. It had actually helped. He’d torn himself apart opening up, but things hadn’t crumbled to dust around him. She had accepted the past, understood it, but not used it as an excuse- and he revered her for that.

He had worried she’d see him in so many different variations, each more abhorrent than the last. Ashamed to look at that weak little boy who couldn’t protect his family until it was too late, the damage too deeply imbued inside him like an infected, gangrenous wound. Disgusted that he was a carbon copy of his father, who had suffered pain and in turn inflicted it because he couldn’t claw his way out of that cycle. Terrified of that second self that lurked beneath his skin, the Grabber threatening to cut his way to the surface at any given moment.

But no. She saw him as Al. She loved Al, loved him. Despite those other faces that morphed into a grotesque mosaic when he looked at his reflection on his darker days. Those monstrous echoes of his past that she cut through effortlessly, teaching him to try and do the same, to see himself in a better light. No saint, not really even a person worthy of true redemption- but a better person at least. That could count for something, right?

He was being open and honest with her now, and it felt so freeing. There was so little she didn’t know about him now. Except, perhaps, those secrets. Those secrets held deep in his heart, deep in the basement of his soul. Secrets that, Al feared, would eradicate any trace of love within his little dove’s heart forever.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the grabber x you #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #albert shaw x you #black phone fanfic #the black phone

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faerywhimsy · 7 months

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Vamptember Day 12 - "Love never dies a natural death"

Today I'm back to my nonsense about my beloved Bianca Solderini.

Here is a chronology of our girl Bianca: Marius' briefly human companion after Santino abducts Amadeo, burning down the Palazzo and leaving Marius a blackened shadow of his former self. Marius brings Bianca into the blood. They occasionally argue to the point where Marius cloud gifts her to a place she can't return to him again, before he feels really bad about it and brings her back again—

While there's an argument to be made that—just as The Vampire Armand was Armand's burn book—Blood and Gold was Marius' maudlin self pity after seeing Armand in Queen of the Damned, I'm still sore about that.

Bianca accepts his temper is just a part of Marius and stands loyal by him for centuries. But they come to a permanent separation after Bianca overhears the way Marius throws her aside for the possibility of being with Pandora again. Like, does Bianca comfort him on the night Pandora rejects, bringing Marius to her cold grave. "It is early for you, but I must go and I can't leave you this way." <3

Less than a page later, as soon as Marius is himself again, my girl, like a boss, informs him in no uncertain terms that she's finally put up with enough and is leaving.

"I heard the things you said to her. And I'm leaving you."

This is around the mid-17th century.

So it's not impossible Bianca goes immediately from Marius in Dresden to Armand in Paris in that brief, possible interaction in TVA before Armand comes across Louis for the first time. Likely she's licking her wounds and building her courage. But then Armand scares her away.

This actually does make a great deal of sense from Bianca's PoV. Marius had regularly been utilising the Telamasca to keep tabs not just on Pandora, but also on Amadeo (now of course Armand). Through Marius, Bianca understands Armand has spent the last hundred years making himself coven master to the Children of Darkness. At his worst, he has completely eschewed any softer feelings or the lessons Marius left him with over only killing the evil doer. In fact, the more innocent the mortal, the more pleasure Armand seems to take in the killing.

Secondhand knowledge is confirmed by reality at the dawn of the 20th century: Armand has changed from the Amadeo she loved into a man Bianca has no ability to recognise.

And then... We don't see Bianca chronologically in canon until Lestat finds her and Allesandra in Paris in Prince Lestat.

It's the century between that visitation at the turn of the 20th century and the end of it that captivates me. Bianca isn't at all present or mentioned by the time we have Queen of the Damned in 1988. Other characters that she's later seen with in Prince Lestat are present for Akasha's Burnings.

And so my investigation begins.

Maybe Bianca had not forgiven Marius by the time Pandora and Santino (🙃) were searching for Marius at the beginning of Akasha's reign of terror. And that's why Bianca did not come to his aid. (It's not like Armand pulled himself away from Daniel either.)

That explanation suffices, or else more simply: The first burning passed over Bianca and her still relatively new fledgling. They were grateful and saw no need to involve themselves in happenings that were by majority occurring on the other side of the world. It's just... they were not so lucky when it came to the second Burning.

"But I'll tell you that, why I am suffering," Bianca said, drawing near but talking in a normal and not a confidential voice, her arm slipping around me [Lestat]. "I lost one I loved in the attack in Paris, a young one, one I'd made and lived with for decades. But this was the Voice at work, not the one he'd brought out of the earth to do his bidding."

This moment where Bianca is just... comfortable enough to slip her arm around Lestat? It's so incredibly maddening to me because the two of them have never before had an interaction on the page before Paris.

How does this moment between Lestat and Bianca come about? There are two obvious options that immediately come to mind for an explanation, then, of the affection evident between Bianca and Lestat (outside of the love every vampire in this universe has for Lestat).

1) more happened between Armand and Bianca directly in the years between 1998 (TVA) and 2013 (PL) when Lestat and Armand were on better terms (??)

2) Armand told Lestat of his beloved Bianca Solderini before Lestat went into the ground

Picture this: Lestat is weakened from Louis' and Claudia's attack on him. He asks and is refused healing blood from Armand. Fair enough. Maybe Armand makes a throwaway line, "I wouldn't give my healing blood to even my beloved Bianca Solderini if she had treated me as you have!"

It's entirely possible Armand would have mentioned her here, after all. Remember he thinks he sighted Bianca in Paris earlier in the decade.

And so Lestat, hurting and humbled, wanders back towards New Orleans. But it just so happens that Bianca has also found herself in this part of the world at the same time. She has come across the occasional immortal on her travels up till now but, with them, a quick scan of the mind always shows little more than whether or not there is an intention to harm.

Lestat's mind is different in two ways: He is clearly far from his best but, also, there are familiar figures in this immortal's mind. Marius, and Armand.

They stare at each other in shock, hardly able to parse that they have two such influential figures on each of their lives in common - yet they have never before met. Bianca immediately offers him aid, and Lestat's mind throws up the memory of the words Armand threw at him.

She doesn't completely recoil. Bianca's used to Marius' temper. She knows how unkind men can be and does not jump to assume either Lestat or Armand must be the right. She's just tired, so tired of being alone. So she asks Lestat to give her stories of Armand and, in exchange, she will offer him a little of her blood that is almost as powerful as Armand's.

Lestat accepts this deal, and Bianca hears about Armand from someone other than Marius for the first time in almost 400 years. She ends up in tears with it. Lestat cannot stand the idea of yet another blood drinker flying into a rage over what is only truth to him. He knows he will not survive it, even with the small amount of blood she has granted him.

That will be just enough to get him safely the rest of the way back to New Orleans.

And so, while Bianca mourns, Lestat takes his leave from her, apologising, thanking her for her kindness, but asking her not to follow him.

She doesn't. Bianca wishes Lestat well and thinks on him often while he sleeps.

Because he is the last blood drinker she holds company with for several decades. By the 1950s, she finds herself in California, at which point the mind of a human girl captivates her. She is strong, this girl, recently sent away from her family to give birth to a baby she was forced to then give up for adoption.

But this girl refuses to fall down to depression despite the current isolation from her family, her younger brother, her old friends. She's getting her diploma in night classes, and Bianca finds herself quietly stalking her, curious at her thoughts and her resilience.

She's not as subtle as she thinks she is, and the girl confronts her one night, telling her that if she's going to be appearing out of nowhere every night, the very least she can do is buy her a soda.

The first time Bianca reaches for her hand, the girl pulls it away, before realising she doesn't need to worry anymore about what others might think of her holding another woman's hand. Bianca asks her where she would like to go in the world if she could go anywhere. Her eyes light up at the idea of being able to leave California behind her.

And this is the fledgling Bianca mentions in passing. The reason Bianca does not appear in Queen of the Damned is explained: Bbecause her fledgling refused to go back to California, and Bianca wouldn't make her. Lestat gave her the highlights after it was all over. He even visited the two of them on one of his visits to France.

The hug Bianca gives to Lestat in that moment of Prince Lestat, then, gets to be a quiet moment of recognition between them. Bianca is glad to know Lestat is okay because she can't help but think of their first meeting, and this time it is Bianca who's the one that's utterly bereft, while Lestat is as fit and healthy as Bianca was on their first meeting.

Their roles have quite reversed.

@vamptember

#nik re-reads TVC #head canons of the past that never were #blood and gold #lestat de lioncourt #marius de romanus #bianca solderini #armand #the vampire armand #prince lestat #vamptember #vamptember 2023

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 2 years

Text

I'll Show You Mine | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. Long time, no see. I hate my job. 🙃

If you like this fic, please reblog so others can find my stuff 🥰

"Drift off on the floor,

I drag you to shore.

Sweating through the sheets,

Yours gonna drown in your sleep, for sure.

…

All the bad dreams that you hide,

Show me yours, I’ll show you mine"

With the sound of Bucky’s tortured screams, your nightly routine commenced. Just like you’d done the previous night and many nights before that, you jumped out of bed and ran down the hall in the direction of Bucky’s agonized cries. His door wasn’t far from yours, and ever since Wanda moved out of the compound, Bucky was the only other resident on your floor. You were the only one there to check on him when things got rough in the middle of the night, but even if others lived on the same hall, he'd always rather hear your voice behind his door.

A few light knocks paired with a gentle "Bucky?" signaled to him that you’d arrived at his locked door and prompted him to pull it open. He popped his head out like he always did, his face tear-stained and pale with fright. His scarred chest rose and fell rapidly as the adrenaline of his latest nightmare coursed through him, and his hands shook ever so slightly. “Hey, Buck. You doing okay?” Of course, both of you knew the answer was no, but Bucky wasn’t ready to be honest quite yet. “Yeah-I’m good,” he lied through his teeth, “thanks, doll”.

He'd told you almost all of the dark, twisted memories that resided deep below his brooding surface. But he never wanted to broach the subject of the night terrors that lurked in the darkness, choosing instead to pretend they didn’t exist. And you knew better than to push. He’d told you so much about his horrifying past and subsequent struggle with his mental health, but he never dared speak about the nightmares. If Bucky needed more time before he could talk to someone about the demons that came calling each night, you’d wait. He deserved patience and kindness, and that’s what you vowed to give him- no matter how badly you ached to help him.

“Okay. Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?” To no one’s surprise, Bucky didn’t take you up on your offer- he never did. But you always extended it to him anyway, never wanting him to forget that he could come to you with anything and everything. Accepting help didn’t come easy to him, but if he ever grew comfortable enough to ask for it, you’d be there.

“Okay. You know where to find me…” you took hold of his clammy hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “goodnight, Buck”. Bucky watched you slowly make your way back to your room, kicking himself all the while. He hated waking you, hated that you felt like you had to check on him every night. The kind gesture meant more to him than you’d ever know, but still made him feel like a burden. He wished he could be honest with you- with himself. He wanted nothing more than to ask you to stay with him for a while, to make him feel safe, but he wouldn’t dare.

Back in your room, you worried about Bucky- like you always did. The two of you loved spending time together, so much so that you were often the butt of the team’s jokes- but no amount of stupid comments could separate you from one another. You were always there for him, just as he was for you. He was the kind, warm, safe person you’d always believed to only exist in movies, and you’d spend every moment with him if he’d let you- but he wouldn’t. He never approved of sleepovers. Part of you thought it was his old-fashioned 40’s thinking keeping him from staying the night, but you quickly learned otherwise.

He didn’t want you around to witness what happened to him in his sleep. The screaming was embarrassing enough; no part of him wanted you to actually have a front row seat for the rest of the experience. It was a rule he put in place to save himself the humiliation and you the horror of what he went through on a nightly basis.

Every evening he’d join you in your room or you’d visit his, the two of you relaxing on the floor on top of a pallet of blankets and pillows. It was a cozy, comfortable way for the two of you to watch movies or talk about life without actually sharing a bed. No matter how badly you wanted Bucky to climb under your covers and make your sheets smell like him, he never accepted your invitation. He knew just how easy it would be for the two of you to fall asleep that way, and he wouldn’t allow it.

Every time he found himself getting sleepy while in your room, he excused himself- even if that meant dragging his barely conscious body from the floor to his bedroom at 3am. But when the two of you spent time in his room, it was different. He could never bring himself to actually say the words and kick you out, so you’d wait for him to get tired. And when he let loose his first yawn of the night, you’d excuse yourself, citing your own made-up exhaustion.

As you collapsed back into bed and tried to get comfortable, you heard Bucky moving around his room. It was the same series of sounds each night: Bucky walking around for a few minutes, clearly doing some sort of task, before his door opened and shut. His footsteps would echo down the hall as he walked past your room, only to disappear for a few minutes and subsequently re-emerge. His door would close, and the lock would click into place, punctuating his mysterious routine. Knowing that Bucky was safely back in his room, you finally let yourself fall asleep, knowing to expect a repeat the very next night.

Things were different when Bucky was away on a mission. Without him, the floor you shared was quiet- and you almost found yourself missing the sound of his screams. The nightmares never took a pause or gave Bucky a break, not even when he desperately needed the rest, and you knew he was halfway across the world somewhere, screaming himself awake. When he was at the compound, you could check in on him, offer him your help- but he didn’t have that luxury when on a mission. You imagined him holed up somewhere dingy and dark, forcing himself to stay awake to avoid the horrors that lie dormant in his subconscious- but it never worked. He’d inevitably fall asleep, throwing himself into yet another heinous nightmare.

And when Bucky returned from his most recent mission, you saw the evidence of his exhaustion written all over his face. His crystalline blue eyes were red and bloodshot, underlined by deep purple circles. “Hey, sweetheart”, he wrapped you in a hug and held you close, taking a deep inhale. The relief that flooded his body upon his each and every return to you was unlike anything he’d ever felt. “Hey, Buck. How you feelin’?” your voice muffled against the fabric of Bucky’s shirt as he refused to let go of you just yet- but you didn’t mind.

When his tired eyes finally found yours once again, his lips pulled into an automatic smile. “I’m fine. Made it back in one piece-” You narrowed your eyes at him until he conceded that, yes, he was sore and utterly exhausted. “Then go take a hot shower, Sarge. I’m gonna grab you something to eat and we’ll meet in your room”, you gave him a gentle shove in the direction of his bedroom, “that’s an order”.

When he finally washed the dried blood from his skin and devoured six of your famous grilled cheeses, he had to fight to stay awake. “Just go to sleep, Buck. We can talk tomorrow, okay?” your fingers traced lazily through his hair, twisting the short, wet strands into little spikes. Bucky knew what you were doing. He’d let it slip a few months back that he loved when you played with his hair, and it became painfully obviously that the feeling could put him right to sleep. Ever since then, you’d used it against him countless times.

“Heyyyy- not cool. Don’t- don’t do that…” Bucky almost slurred, the sleep already evident in his voice. “I haven’t seen you in…in a long time. Wanna, uh…Wanna stay awake and talk to you…missed you” His efforts to evade rest just for you melted your heart completely, but he needed his sleep. “I missed you too, Buck. But I’ll still be here in the morning. We can talk then, I promise”. When Bucky no longer had the energy to argue, he agreed to your terms. He allowed you to help him from the floor and into his bed, his body too exhausted move on its own. “I’ll see you tomorrow…glad you’re home”, you pulled the sheet over him and topped it with his bed spread before sneaking out of the room, wishing you could stay.

Like clockwork, Bucky’s screams pierced through the still night. Your body responded automatically, leaping out of bed and running in his direction before you were even fully awake. “Buck?” you called gently as you knocked on his door, “you okay?” He pulled open the door and smiled weakly at you, his skin shiny with sweat. He barely had enough energy to stand upright, let alone manufacture a ‘just fine’ façade- but he tried he damnedest. “Hey…yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Thanks…” his shaky hand reached for yours, betraying just how not okay he really was. He gripped your hand for dear life, his pulse still pounding beneath his clammy skin.

“If you’re not okay, you can tell me. You know that right?” You locked eyes with him, driving home your point, “I’m always here for you. We can talk- or we can just sit in the quiet if that’s what you need. I can play with your hair…” The offer brought an instant smile to Bucky’s face, and the thought of you staying with him immediately granted him comfort- but he just couldn’t accept. “That’s okay, doll. Really. I appreciate it, but I just…” His shiny, vibranium hand raked through his sweat-dampened hair, “I’m okay”.

After a long squeeze of his hand, you departed his doorway. And as you sunk back into your empty bed, you wondered if Bucky was ever going to admit that he needed you. The sounds of him milling about his bedroom echoed down the hall like always, but a new sound caught you by surprise. “Shit”. The sharp whisper came from Bucky’s weary voice, and you found alarm rising in your chest. His bedroom door opened and then closed with a thud, followed by his heavy footsteps heading in your direction- and then he stopped.

His metallic hand clinked against your bedroom door, and the very thought of Bucky actually asking for comfort practically forced you out of bed. “Buck!” you threw open the door, the gust of air blowing your hair in every direction. Regardless of his exhaustion, Bucky couldn’t help but smile as you struggled to tame your wild strands. “Hey, can I- can I ask you a favor?” He gave a small smile at your almost automatic “duh”, but the smile quickly faded. He wasn’t sure what to say or how to ask for such a seemingly strange courtesy. “So, I forgot to do laundry before I left for my mission…”

“Um, okay. Well, I don’t think you’re gonna fit into my clothes, Buck, but you could try”. Your dumb joke eased Bucky’s anxiety a bit, but he still avoided making eye contact. “We have the same size bed, right? I was just wondering if I could, uh, borrow a set of sheets?” The request struck you in a strange way. You knew for a fact that there were sheets on Bucky’s bed when you left, seeing as you’d tucked him in before slipping out the door. “Oh, um, yeah. Sure thing- one sec…” You grabbed a set of sheets and pillowcases from the linen closet and plopped them into Bucky’s arms, “you can borrow anything of mine- I was serious about the clothes”. The wink that punctuated your joke sent a flood of warmth to Bucky’s cheeks.

“I’ll have these back to you by tomorrow-” he tried to promise, but you wouldn’t hear of it. “Buck, it’s no rush. They’re just sheets- sleep on ‘em for a few nights, I don’t care. Just get some rest, okay?” He managed to drag his eyes up from the floor for a brief moment before thanking you for the sheets and returning to his bedroom.

You fell asleep that night worrying about Bucky. Nighttime was always challenging for him and something was clearly wrong, but he simply wouldn’t open up. Asking for help in the form of a spare set of sheets was a monumental feat for him, as he preferred to spend the late-night hours suffering in silence. You had half a mind to march down to his door and knock until he agreed to bare his soul to you, but prying was never the answer with him. You’d learned almost immediately that he locked his innermost thoughts inside a vault, only opening it when the time was right.

The next morning, a light knock woke you just as the sun began to peak through your window. “Wandaaaaaa,” you groaned into your pillow, “I don’t wanna do sunrise yoga”. But you nearly jumped out of bed when you heard Bucky’s voice outside your door. “Hey- can we talk?” he cleared his throat, “actually, it’s way too early, sorry. We can do this later-” But before he could walk away, your bedroom door flew open. Bucky stood before you with the sheets you’d loaned him in hand, resting in a perfectly clean and folded stack. His outstretched arms offered them to you as he muttered a quiet “thank you”, clearly regretful that he’d woken you so early.

“Come in, Buck. Let’s talk- it’s never a bad time,” you welcomed him into your room and placed the stack of sheets on your dresser, choosing to put them away after Bucky said what he needed to say. The two of you plopped down on the floor like you’d done hundreds of times before, but the causal nature that usually rested between you was nowhere to be found. Bucky was nervous and clearly embarrassed, his cheeks prematurely taking on a pink hue. “Hey, come on, it's just me”, you took his metal hand in yours, “you can tell me anything”.

Another long, quiet moment passed before Bucky opened the floodgates, allowing the truth to spill freely. “It’s the nightmares...” he finally said, “I know you know that I wake up screaming every night without fail. But I’m also always covered in a cold sweat. I’m serious, it’s- it’s gross. And so after you come check on me each night, I have to change my sheets. I have to strip my bed and take the sheets to the laundry, and then I go back to my room and put a new set on before I go back to sleep. But like I said last night, I forgot to do laundry before I left…so after my nightmare last night, I didn’t have any clean sheets. That’s why I needed to borrow some from you”.

With all of his defenses down, Bucky waited anxiously for your reaction. He felt utterly exposed, so vulnerable and open, as he granted you a peak inside the tumultuous events of his each and every night. But you didn’t answer. The silence made Bucky uncomfortable as the two of you sat there staring at each other. He couldn’t take the way the quiet rang in his ears, forcing him to continue speaking. “I’ve told you everything else, but all the stuff about the nightmares is just…it’s a whole other beast, you know? Telling you about the things Hydra did to me and what they made me do, that’s different. The dreams are…I can’t tell you about the dreams”.

“Why, Buck?” You claimed his free hand, holding both with the utmost care. Bucky’s eyes fell down to his hands and watched the way you traced the lines on his palms, both warm and cold. Part of him didn’t want to open up any more than he already had, but you were his favorite person, his closest confidante, the one he could go to with anything and everything. With a deep breath, he continued.

“They’re just- they replay all of the very worst things I did- the darkest, the most evil acts that I committed during my time as the Winter Soldier... the things I've never told you about. I don’t want you knowing about that stuff- I care what you think about me. I care how you see me. Your opinion matters the most to me- out of anyone. You’re so good. And if you know about the things I did- the things that haunt me at night- you won’t see me the same way.”

“Hey- yes, I will”, your hands abandoned his and took his face instead, forcing him to look you in the eye. “Nothing you could tell me would ever change what I think of you or how I feel about you- none of that stuff was your fault. You had no control-”

“It doesn’t matter. I still did it,” he shrugged. His shoulders slumped forward, and he stared down at the floor, but the words wouldn’t stop flowing. He’d opened the floodgates and set everything free, no matter how badly he wished he could just shut up.

“And it’s embarrassing. I’m a fully grown- over grown- adult, I shouldn’t let bad dreams affect me like this. The screaming and the sweating and- I wake up shaking with tears in my eyes- it’s pathetic. I don’t want this to be who I am…”

After another long moment of silence, you finally spoke up, “I have them, too.” Bucky’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, an air of disbelief coloring his expression. “Buck, I have nightmares, too. About missions, about the things I’ve seen…the things I’ve done”. You dug the nail of your thumb into one of your cuticles, the nervous habit of yours Bucky had come to recognize. His cold hand curled around yours, preventing you from picking yourself apart. He couldn’t believe he’d been so oblivious, so unaware of the fact that you were suffering the entire time he’d known you. Overwhelming guilt washed over him as he realized that he’d never even asked, but a small sliver of him was just happy to not be the odd man out.

“I mean, obviously mine aren’t about the same things, but I have them. Nightmares about things I did- or didn’t do. They haunt me. We all have them- all of us. We've all seen some shit. Tony started having them after New York- he even called his suit in his sleep once and it attacked Pepper. Nat has them about the red room. Sam dreams about what happened to Riley. And Wanda sees Pietro dying in Sokovia. You’re not the only one, Buck. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Bucky stared at you in awe. He’d never felt so seen or understood- so accepted- by anyone. His warm hand reached out and cupped your cheek, letting his thumb ghost over your cheekbone. He wasn’t sure what to say- wasn’t sure if he could even speak. “But um... Wanda said that talking to someone about it can really help. Every time she wakes up from a nightmare, she tells Vision everything she saw- hasn’t had a nightmare in months”. You paused, wondering if you should even suggest the idea that had been lurking in the back of your mind for the last few weeks.

“Maybe we should trade? It could help both of us. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” The air in your lungs remained trapped as you waited for Bucky’s answer. The large majority of him wanted to keep those deep, dark secrets from his Hydra days safely locked inside his mind for fear of scaring you. He truly believed you when you said you’d never see him differently, but he was nervous all the same.

He gave you a sheepish nod and motioned for you to begin- but just as you opened your mouth to tell him about the twisted dream you’d had just a few hours ago, he stopped you. “Is this- are you sure? You can tell me everything, I want you to tell me. But you don’t have to hear mine…”

His anxiety made itself apparent in the way his metal fingers clinked against his dog tags. “Hey- it’s okay. I want to hear yours. I want to help you. You don’t have to worry, okay? We’ll just trade back and forth until you want to stop. Would it make you feel a little better if I go first?” You gently pulled Bucky’s hand from his tags and encircled it with yours, ceasing his anxious habit. He nodded again, admitting that he didn’t want to start things off.

“Okay, then I’ll go first. All you have to do is listen.”

——————

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