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sashi-ya · 4 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑼𝑵ㅤㅤ january free requestsㅤ ㅤ trafalgar law x f! reader

🕊️ request: @leftladyluminary ⋆｡˚ Hello ( ^ω^ ) I was wondering if I could request a Law x fem!reader exploring a temple together that turns out to be a uh “procreation” temple the strongly affects those who enter? Please and thank you~ （╹◡╹）♡ 🕊️ tw: mdni. raw, rough sex. vaginal. nipple play. pregnancy ideas implied. cream pie. wc: 1650 🕊️ masterlist

Zou is a humid place, very muddy as well. Your boots are dirty, and your clothing soaking wet. Those “Eruption Rains” become pretty inconvenient throughout the day, but they are necessary.

“I shouldn’t have worn a white shirt…” you tell Law, crossing your arms over your breasts.

“I would say you shouldn’t have worn it without a bra, (Name)-ya” Law says, squeezing and twisting his hat to drain it from the excess of water.

You sit down on a rock. Was it really necessary to say such thing? At best he should be a little bit happy to see your body through semi see through fabrics. What Law has just said felt painful to you, to say the least.

“You are right, I’m sorry” you mumble, walking away to find a proper place to hide and change your clothes. You are sure the ones in your backpack are as wet as your current ones, but something darker will do to cover up.

When the rivers formed in what are usually trails on top of Zuneesha’s back are finally dried, you find a very interesting construction ahead. Curious, as always, you come closer to discover it is a shrine.

“What a beautiful place” you comment in awe. Law seems to be anywhere else. He is probably near, but not close to you.

Curious, you put a step inside the shrine. It isn’t necessarily different from the rest of the temples you have attended in this long journey of piracy. However, somehow in the aura feels unusual to you.

The scent of incense smells more flowery, sweet, maybe even a little bit spicy. The Vitreaux windows create incredible depictions of Orchids on the ground, as the sun filters its rains through them. And the altar has a very distinctive little statue that calls for your hand to touch.

“I wonder what’s this shrine about? What god is meant to be built for? In fact, do Minks have gods?” you ask yourself, making mental notes to ask Wanda once you are back from your expedition.

Your eyes scan the golden sculpture, it looks like two creatures tangled into each other. You would lie if you said you didn’t think of them having sex, and in fact you giggle for your “witty” thoughts.

There isn’t much to discover besides what you have just seen, but a little sign engraved in an old piece of wood.

“you shall keep your blood flowing; the warriors of the Sun must never disappear; they will fight for freedom and unity during this dark night”

You smile; and immediately after reading you remember Luffy. Even Law recognizes he is as shiny as the Sun itself. You don’t really think much of the true meaning of the sign, and soon after find Law looking at you from the very entrance.

“I turned around and you were gone, I didn’t know where you were” he asks, still soaking wet like a cat left out in the rain and looking a little bit mad at you for disappearing.

You could have picked a fight; you probably could have just brushed it off. But neither of those were your reaction, and unconsciously you lift your arms to stretch. The white shirt, still soaking wet, kept the transparency and with that the show off of your hard nipples presented to Law in its full beauty.

“I’m sorry, I was looking for a place to change” you tell him, with a rather sexy tone.

Law’s sun burnt cheeks turn red, golden eyes widening, pupils getting bigger. The little hints of black eyeliner smudge on his already dark tinted under eyes, the juicy pale lips of your captain slowly separating.

“You thought of changing on a shrine? Getting naked on a temple, (Name)-ya?” he asks, coming closer to you as he lets his yellow bag fall on the floor. Law walks like a snow leopard, slowly, menacing, sexily…

You swallow. That’s not his usual self, not at least with you. He looks like he is about to fight you, or even hurt you.

“L-Law, I wanted to put on a shirt over this one so that my breasts won-“ you shut up, as he strikes you and pins you against the altar.

You put your arms back to get a grip of something as you lose balance. Your hand reaches something cold and tiny and immediately after, his warm inked hand falls on top of yours.

Both, at the same time, touch the little statue behind and it feels like a new energy begins to run through your veins. It doesn’t take you long to finally succumb into a lustful, inappropriate kiss. His hands, all over your waist, lift the wet shirt that’s begun to get hot and too heavy on your skin.

“I have no idea what force is making me do this, but believe me I am not mad about it, (Name)-ya” Law whispers, in between panting and with his lips grazing yours.

“I have no idea either, but don’t you dare stop…”

The Surgeon of Death attacks your lips once again, this time while freeing you completely from your wet coverings… even if, something else in you was getting wetter by the moment.

Maybe it was the force of doing something so incorrect, so unholy on a sacred place… or maybe it was your love? Or even, both? Who knows, perhaps it was something else but the more you kiss, the more your bodies slide down until your back hits the red carpet covered floor.

Law’s tattooed hands squeeze and play with your breasts, almost like a beast ready to engulf his prey. “You wanted me to do this, don’t you?” he asks, reaching for one of your hard nipples, kissing the erected surface and then trapping it with his lips.

“Honestly, yes. I missed your touch…” you moan, realizing you are finally able to indulge in sex. It’s been long enough since you could touch each other, since you could be this intimate.

“I know, I’m sorry…” he whispers, planting a soft kiss on your chest.

You know there is nothing to forgive, and immediately after you notice his stitched arm holding the weight of his body on top of you.

“Law… can I be on top this time?” you ask, kissing the scar of his biceps.

His golden eyes shine brightly, apparently he loved the question and nods energetically, even if he felt embarrassed seconds after for doing so.

Soon, you take his place, undressing him faster and straddling your hips on his lap. He is hard, and the grey underwear completely soaked let nothing to the imagination. Deliciously tempting, you feel the impulse to your use your mouth before anything else, but the need of having him inside you is stronger… something invisible is making you desire his seed would fill your womb on and on and on.

You lift your ass from his lap, just a little for your hand to pass through your moved to the side panties and his hardness.

Law gasps when he understands you are not there to waist time on any other type of pleasure that his dick deep inside you.

“Now? but I don’t- I don’t have prot-“ he stutters, fighting in between the need of fucking you rough and reproduction health matters.

“You don’t really need it, I want you raw and rough in me…” you purr, guiding his sex towards your dripping entrance.

Your labia devours his tip, engulfing it with a warm slippery sensation. Law’s neck muscles tense, his head gets thrown back, a moan escapes his lips that resonates all over the shrine.

You do the same as you let yourself fall on top of him for his shaft to be finally entirely inside you. A whine so loud that mixes with his, and it becomes never ending as you start to hump on top of him.

Your hips move up and down, back, and forth and also in circles. Law’s fingers carve marks on the side of your hips and sometimes travel to the small of your back to press you against him with divine force. His hips, who up until now where immobile as pleasure struck him harder than he could ever expected, begin to move too.

“Nggh… let me fuck you faster…” he moans, using all of his strength coming from his core to impale you harder and synchronized to the rhythm of your jumps. The sound of wet sweaty skin slapping against the other become a sacred melody all around, while your nails carve marks as you grip from his heart tattooed pecs.

It doesn’t take you longer for your climaxes to arrive, and while your fingers intertwined with Law’s, your spasming walls milk him so violently… so needy, desperate for his release…

His frown intensifies, he even bites his lower lip but his eyes never shut as his pupils only fix into yours. As if his gaze was trying to anticipate something both knew, willingly to do whatever it takes to make his seed plant on you… deep, inside, of you.

“Fill me up…” “Keep it all inside…”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ...

“Wanda, may I ask you something?” you tap on her soft furry shoulder.

“Yes, honey. Tell me, what is it? Are you ok? You look very tired” the mink says, curious and perhaps a little worried about your state… truth Law wasn’t satisfied with just one round.

“So, I found a Shrine on the forest. It had a little statue; I didn’t get exactly what it was representing. But I remember reading a sign that said something about the warriors of the sun should prevail” you explain.

Wanda giggles. “Well, now I know why you are that tired… you went there with Trafalgar, didn’t you? it’s the procreation shrine, ruled by the sun lovers. That’s where we go to pray when we wanna bear children.. it said to be special forces that help us get pregnant”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“Oh…”

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moonlight-prose · 6 months

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✧ INHALE, EXHALE ✧

a/n: it's hard to believe that in ten days kinktober and october will be over. that's actually insane. the month has gone by so fucking fast. also i'm really shocked i've made it this far. i fully expected to give up on day ten, but here we are. entering the home stretch. writing this has made me realize i need to write more for anakin. so i hope y'all enjoy my first official anakin fic.

day twenty-one - breathplay + fingering | kinktober 2023

summary: "the act of inhaling a breath was intimate. a way for your body to grasp onto the strands of life that connected you to the planet you resided on. to keep you going until you took your final one"

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, breathplay, fingering, inappropriate use of the force, choking, anakin having a dark side, dirty talk.

The act of inhaling a breath was intimate. A way for your body to grasp onto the strands of life that connected you to the planet you resided on. To keep you going until you took your final one. The one that ended it all. The sensation of your chest rising and falling, your lungs filling with something so beautiful—so peaceful—often made you realize how incredible everything was.

No matter how much you wanted to search for beauty, it stood right before you. Offering itself to you on a silver platter; giving you no choice but to take and take until there was nothing left to give.

The act of taking away breath…was sinful.

Each breath you inhaled, now ripped from your grasp, stolen from your lungs with the promise of nothing. There would be no reprieve. No offer of more. Because your breath was gone and yet…you were more than willing to keep it that way. The act triggered something in your brain, right down to the darkness that resided in the very depths you avoided. It dragged the thoughts to the forefront—or perhaps he did—and presented themselves as if they were prey ready for the kill.

“So you do like this.” He said the words with a smirk, his body lax on the chair that stood next to your bed—legs spread wide and eyes dark with hunger. “I knew you’d be filthy.”

Dropping his hand, you gasped for air, the high of the oxygen hitting your lungs and nearly turning your brain fuzzy. Causing you to drop down onto the bed devoid of energy yet burning right down to your core. You couldn’t tell how long he’d been at it. How many times he’d cut off your air supply only to give it back with the wave of his hand. A true master of knowing how to make you squirm.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, legs stretching out as you sucked in air quickly. Knowing that the small break would only be permitted for so long. His hand on your thigh changed that thought. It had your eyes flying open, mouth parting in an already formed plea as he slid his fingers up higher. Tracing the skin with symbols. The language of the Jedi of Old. Long before you or him were ever born. You could recognize their shapes anywhere, having trained by his side, and you tried to make out what he was spelling.

What words he was lightly ingraining into your body like a mark that wouldn’t vanish.

“Anakin,” you breathed, body responding to his touch instantaneously.

“You can take it again.” He trailed his hand up higher, fingers brushing the curls above your mound—feeling the way your body jolted, hips trying to reach his touch. “You can take anything I give you.”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut when he finally slid a bit further and sunk two fingers into your slick. Parting you lewdly for his eyes to see. You were wet and warm. Practically weeping into his hand. But then something pushed forward, sliding along your body and tweaking your nipples roughly, dragging a punched out cry from your lips.

He smiled, flicking his wrist to touch you in a way only he enjoyed. The Force was not meant to be used so obscenely. But Anakin had always been one to bend the rules. Especially when it came to you.

“Look at you,” he marveled, circling your clit gently. “My beautiful mess.”

You gasped when his finger curled into you. “Anakin—”

“Take it,” he growled, the touch now returning to your neck. The skin was tender, but you leaned into it. Arched your back to give him better access. “Be good and let me hear you honey.”

“M-Maker.”

“Fucking beautiful.” He pressed another finger into you, eyes drinking in the way your mouth fell open, a whine of name echoing in the room. “You’re all mine aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck.”

Thrusting up into you, he focused on the rise and fall of your bare chest, throat extended and waiting for him to continue. A vision of perfection right before his eyes. Without another thought he dragged the Force back to where you wanted it; where he could watch your body give into the pleasure. It wrapped around your throat, pressing down gently at first until your eyes opened, meeting his.

You saw the depravity in them, the need that bled into the air around you. Demanding everything of you—all that you were willing to give.

“I asked you a question,” he said, curling his fingers and striking that spot that had a breathless sob hitting his ears.

“Yes!” you cried, thighs trembling.

He pressed down harder, your breath effectively being cut off—head hitting the pillow with a whine.

“Right answer.” He smiled, thumb sliding messily over your clit and dragging you even higher. “You’re my good fucking girl aren’t you baby?”

Nodding, you clutched at his arm, nails dragging against the clunky armor he wore. Not two hours ago was he out on the battlefield right by your side. Helping you lead an artillery against the Separatists. Yet now he had you holed up in his cabin, dragging release after release out of your body. Rendering you useless in tomorrow’s training.

“Do you want to cum?” He rubbed directly over the spongy spot on your walls, catching the way your eyes rolled back. “Yeah you do.”

The pleasure was too much. Your lungs screamed for air, but the bliss that spread from between your thighs only caused you to spiral higher. For a brief moment, he let up, allowing you to suck in a breath or two. Yet he never relented with his fingers. Three of them now buried deep in you, plunging in and out at a speed that had cries falling from your lips.

“I can feel it.” Your hips grinded down on the palm of his hand, the pleasure building with each movement. Yet you needed something to push you over the edge. The Force pressed around your throat, cutting off your air as he leaned in closer, lips brushed yours. “Cum for me. Give it to me.”

The tight coil in your body snapped. Flooding you with a white hot flame that rocketed up your spine. Digging your nails into his wrist, you could see him smiling proudly through your blurry gaze. Tears streaming down into your hair. Your lips curled up as he took his hand away, letting you breathe once more. Giving you a chance to come back down from the high you’d been suspended in.

“Beautiful.” He cupped your cheek, kissing you softly—a stark contrast to the way he just had you. Yet that’s what you adored about him, what made you pull him closer as your lips properly sealed over his.

Until he found his way into the bed with you, hands wrapping around your body. Breathing his very own life into your lungs.

#anakin skywalker x f!reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker #star wars smut #my writing #kinktober 2023

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fettuccinealfred0 · 3 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 7

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 9k

(CW: brief descriptions of past trauma/sexual assault)

Summary:

And there, tucked deep in the back of the drawer, sits the object you had secretly been hoping to find- the unassuming little leatherbound book that you had spotted that day you had broken into Astarion’s office. You slide the book out from the drawer, the expensive leather binding soft and cool against your skin.

You shouldn’t open this, you think, as you carefully snap open the clasp on the book.

You aren’t entirely sure what you were expecting to find- perhaps some sort of ledger which describes Astarion’s shady dealings in excruciating detail or perhaps a simply written ‘this is what I am looking for and why.’

Instead, you are met with pages upon pages of Astarion’s beautiful, looping handwriting, overcome by a sense of guilt and dread and shame. You should not be reading this.

But your eyes are darting over the words on the first page before you can stop yourself.

Read on ao3 here.

Astarion was right- you did tend to get yourself into trouble when you were bored. And with him gone, you were completely consumed by that nagging feeling that he has still been lying to you.

You’ve been sitting at the chair in his study for the past half hour, just staring at that little locked drawer in the upper corner of his desk. You desperately want to open it but that little voice in the back of your head has been whispering that you shouldn’t- that it would be an invasion of Astarion’s privacy and would betray his trust.

The longer you sit, the quieter that little voice gets, until all that is left is the burning desire for answers.

You make a final deal with yourself- if you can pick the lock, you get to look at what’s inside. If you can’t, you leave this room and never snoop around in Astarion’s study again.

It’s a loaded deal. There are very few locks you’ve met in your life that you haven’t been able to pick with enough time and dedication. And sure enough, after you weasel your hairpin into the lock and wiggle it around a bit, you hear the telltale little click that allows you to carefully slide the drawer open.

The first thing you see is the drawing of Astarion’s scar that you had once found on his desk. After pulling out the paper, you trace along the lines and squiggles that you have long since memorized. It’s a poor substitute for the feel of Astarion’s cool skin underneath your fingertips- you don’t get to watch his whole body relax as you run your hands along the scarred tissue, taking care to chase away any knots and tension that might be present in his back.

Staring down at the sheet of paper, your chest aches with how badly you miss Astarion.

Gods, you were going insane. It had only been a few days, you needed to pull yourself together and stop fantasizing.

There’s a few other miscellaneous papers that you pull out next but they don’t tell you anything helpful. They mostly consist of brief notes and intel that only refer to whatever Astarion is searching for as ‘it.’

After moving all the papers to sit on the desk, your gaze catches a beautifully embroidered handkerchief that appears to be wrapped around something inside. Gently peeling away the edges of the silk, you reveal a little collection of rose petals. They’re dried and a bit shriveled and the vibrant red has faded to a rich burgundy but you would recognize those petals anywhere.

Had Astarion been saving these from the bouquets you had made for him?

After walking together in the gardens at night, you had been overcome by grief that Astarion wasn’t able to see them during the day. Without sunlight, he would never be able to fully appreciate the bright colors and the blooming flowers. In your mind, it had only seemed natural that if he could not go to the gardens during the day, you would bring the gardens to him.

At that time, months ago, it felt like a foolish way to feel close to Astarion while you were pining after him. It was a selfish way to bring that lovely smile to his face and know that you were the cause of it. So as you made Astarion bouquets, you had poured your heart and your love into every stem and flower you picked.

Admittedly, it had gotten a bit harder to bring him new flowers every week as fall continued to creep into winter and flowers became more and more scarce, but you made due with what you had. You were still determined to give him something pretty.

And Astarion always appreciated the bouquets. He always displayed them proudly in his study and always got a goofy little grin on his face when you brought him a new one.

You had never dreamed that your gesture meant this much to him. Your heart dances inside your chest.

The dried petals are just another reminder of how deeply the well of love that exists inside of Astarion runs, showing his innate need to keep you near to him at all times. He could be so secretly sentimental, as if he was afraid of scaring you away with the full force of his love.

And more than that, the petals are a reminder that this drawer was not for your eyes.

You feel a guilty pit in your stomach and chew on your lip- one of those bad habits that always managed to rear its head when you felt nervous or ashamed. You should just leave, should just close the door to Astarion’s study behind you and confess what you have done the moment he comes home…

But one more little peak wouldn’t hurt, right?

You just want a better look at the embroidery on the handkerchief. Astarion must have been the one who embroidered it and you simply wish to appreciate his talents. Surely, if you praise him enough about his masterful handiwork, his ego will be so inflated that he will completely forget to be mad at you for prying into his secrets.

Satisfied with your logic, you turn back to the drawer. You’re sure to be extra careful when you touch the thin cotton handkerchief so you don’t accidentally damage the delicate petals held inside.

Along one of the edges of the handkerchief, the beautiful white embroidery stands out against the sheer white cotton. There’s a collection of flowers whose stems are joined together by a lovely, sprawling ribbon in the corner. The flowers extend outward along the edges of the handkerchief and into the middle- it looks like there’s roses, some chrysanthemums, some little flower that looks like a daisy or an aster, and little clumps of tiny flowers. Oh…. Are those heliotropes?

Astarion had recreated the first bouquet you made him. The surge of emotion inside you nearly has you weeping.

When had Astarion even made this?

Perhaps it had been done in a moment of madness months ago, when he too had been overwhelmed by the depth of his longing for you. Perhaps he had sat down and let his emotions spill out through his fingers, interweaving them in the handkerchief alongside the thread.

Or maybe he had somehow managed to sneak away and work on this recently? But since you had confessed your love, the two of you had been so engrossed in one another that you hardly spent any time apart. And even before then, you had spent the majority of your days with Astarion- reading together in the library and offering him your blood and sleeping in his bed.

The only real time the two of you had been separated, apart from the past few days, was during the time after your fight, when Astarion had attempted to push you away. You picture Astarion, despondent, with messy hair and deep circles under his eyes, pricking his fingers as he continues to sew, as if in a daze. You don’t like that image.

So instead, you picture Astarion working on the handkerchief while you were sleeping beside him. He was probably leaning back against the headboard while he sewed, the blankets sliding low around his waist and his pale skin shimmering in the moonlight, sneaking glances over at you while you slept. You like that idea much better.

Now that you have seen and fully appreciated the craftsmanship of the handkerchief, you should be closing the desk drawer and locking it tight.

You don’t.

Spurred on by curiosity, you continue rifling through the drawer.

And there, tucked deep in the back, sits the object you had secretly been hoping to find- the unassuming little leatherbound book that you had spotted that day you had broken into Astarion’s office. You slide the book out from the drawer, the expensive leather binding soft and cool against your skin.

You shouldn’t open this, you think, as you carefully snap open the clasp on the book.

Instead, you are met with pages upon pages of Astarion’s beautiful, looping handwriting, overcome by a sense of guilt and dread and shame. You should not be reading this.

But your eyes are darting over the words on the first page before you can stop yourself.

I am unable to close my eyes in fear that Cazador might appear to me again. I hate that he still holds this power over me, even now.

He had control over my mind and my body and now he even owns my memories. I never know when one might return to me and leave me shaking and paralyzed by its stunning realness. There’s just so many to choose from- centuries of nothing but agony and pain and torture.

It happened again today.

I don’t know what caused it but suddenly, I was back in that place.

Gale found me huddled in the corner of the library. He said that I nearly ripped his head off when he tried to soothe me.

I don’t remember that happening...

All I know is that the idea of someone putting their hands on me makes me sick to my stomach.

Gale told me I need to start writing about the memories, that I need to get them out of my head and onto paper. He’s seen this same thing, he said, in soldiers and generals whose minds never return from the battlefield.

I can’t possibly imagine how war is worse than what I went through.

So these are Astarion’s innermost thoughts. You should respect that, should leave these words to belong solely to him. But there’s a dangerous thought wriggling in the back of your mind.

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted- a glimpse inside his mind? To finally know the truth without doubting every word that comes out of his pretty mouth?

And it’s that nagging, curious part of you which seizes control and forces you to continue reading the first entry.

At this point, I’m desperate enough to listen to Gale, of all people. So, here goes:

I can’t even see my scar, but I constantly feel its weight upon my back. Yesterday, when I finally returned back to my body, I felt my fingers tracing along the marks that I can reach over my shoulder in a trance, as if that foolish action would help me free myself from the prison of my mind.

Cazador carved the scar into me over the course of a night and I constantly find myself stuck in that memory.

That night was agony. Every cut he made was careful. Deliberate. If I screamed too much or if I moved too much, he would start over immediately. He would wait, watching my skin stitch itself back together before he set to work again. He butchered me, over and over and over again.

For practice, he had said. He had wanted his ‘poem’ to be perfect.

And after an endless night of the worst pain I had ever felt, Cazador finally brought out the precious silver blade that he called his ‘needle’ and he etched this scar into my skin forever.

You would think that at a certain threshold, your brain would tell your body to stop feeling pain or that the pain couldn’t possibly get worse. I never seemed able to find that limit. The pain always got worse.

There’s a final note written at the end of the page. The handwriting is small and almost shy.

Warm baths help.

Oh, Astarion.

From the little pieces of information he had revealed to you, you knew that his past was filled with pain and torment, but you had no idea it was this horrific.

The idea of being cut even once has an unpleasant shiver running down your spine. Astarion’s scar spans nearly the entirety of his back. How many cuts was that across his skin? How many hundred and thousands of times did this man, this Cazador, mutilate him?

And that was just over the course of one night.

You can’t even begin to fathom the cruelty Astarion had suffered, the pain he had withstood. You feel your mouth hanging open a bit in shock and horror.

How terrifying it must be to live in a state of perpetual fear, to never know when your mind might betray you and transport you back to your most miserable experiences.

And beneath all that, Astarion was still trying- he was still fighting to learn how to live again after his trauma. He was still writing himself little hopeful notes like ‘warm baths help,’ that would help his future self know how to find his way back from those memories a little easier the next time.

It’s so easy to imagine Astarion, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares at nothing in the distance. It makes tears prick at your eyes. It makes you want to hold his head against your chest so he can time his breathing with the beat of your heart as you run your fingers through his lovely white hair and reassure him that he is safe now.

And you are faced with another, far more worrying, question. How often do episodes like these happen? The entry is dated a couple years ago but you are certain they have happened during the time you have been married. It is the only explanation for Astarion’s horrible thrashing and screaming when he was injured and in a state of blood madness.

The animalistic wails that tore themselves from his throat will be imprinted in your own memory forever.

And some nights, Astarion would jolt himself awake in such a state that it woke you up next to him, as well. He would practically scramble out of the bed, eyes wide and glinting a blood-curdling red in the darkness of the bedroom. And for just a moment, when he looked at you in a panic, you could swear he didn’t recognize you.

You are struck immediately by the thought that you need to do something. There’s an intrinsic desire to take this pain away from Astarion.

Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be? A way to lessen your burdens by sharing them with the person you trust most.

But Astarion didn’t trust you. And a part of you is deeply hurt by the fact that he does not believe that you are capable of helping to carry the weight of his past. Did he view you as too weak, too naive?

Astarion should know that you had your own past- you know better than most the damage that an angry, manipulative man could do. It had not been an easy life being raised by your father.

And worse than the fact that you now have proof that Astarion doesn’t trust you, he had lied to you. You had asked him explicitly whether silver hurt him and he had deliberately deflected your question with some silly answer about how he preferred gold. A lie by omission is a lie, nonetheless. Silver does hurt him. Silver is what created his scars.

You aren’t sure if you keep reading out of spite or a desperate need to learn how to help Astarion.

The next entry is dated about a week later.

This house is a graveyard and I am doomed to be its crypt keeper.

Well… That’s bleak. And rather melodramatic. It’s so completely Astarion that it almost pulls you out of reading for a moment.

There are ghosts around every corner. At times, I could swear that I smell my mother’s perfume or hear my father’s booming laughter echoing in the halls.

Still, this house feels as barren and loveless as Cazador’s palace.

I was just a boy the last time I was here. An eager young thing, ready to set off and explore Baldur's Gate.

I always knew I would return here, but I never imagined it would be under these circumstances. I had dreams of becoming a magistrate, of making a name for myself, of finding love. And then, some day in the distant future, I would return home and my parents would welcome me with open arms. I would take over as patriarch of the family and allow my father to spend the rest of his days in peace.

But now, this place is too big. Too dark. Too cold.

Gone are the days of sunlight streaming through the windows. The gardens that my mother cherished so dearly have decayed into nothingness. A thick, suffocating layer of dust has settled over the entire manor.

Now this house is yet another miserable reminder of how much I have lost. It feels as if I am seeing someone who has died whenever I find traces of my old self. Even then, the memories I do have of my childhood are so mangled and fragmented that my past can only whisper to me and remind me that I am a stranger in my own home.

What has happened to me?

What have I become?

Cazador is always there in the back of my mind. Waiting and watching. There is no escape, no freedom- not really. Not when Cazador’s presence still follows me like a shadow.

I fear coming back here was the biggest mistake I could have made. I should have just stayed in Baldur’s Gate.

The aching and the sorrow in Astarion’s words has your stomach churning uncomfortably. It seems silly, but you can’t help but imagine the Astarion before- the young man who was so excited to go to the city and begin his life. He wanted love, even then. It fills you with a deep melancholy.

No part of you should be grateful that Astarion became a vampire- you should not celebrate that he suffered and was brutalized by that monster, Cazador.

And yet… if he had not been turned, you can’t help but wonder if your paths would have ever crossed at all.

It rattles you to your very core. Astarion had become a certainty in your life- there is no future that you could ever imagine that does not invovle him.

The more you read, the more you learn about the tortures that Cazador had inflicted on Astarion. You discover the punishments he suffered if he didn’t obey, like the time he attempted to escape and was buried in a casket underground for a full year. The way he writes about that time has you feeling claustrophobic, you’re practically clawing at your own throat, desperate for fresh air.

And you find out he had very little opportunity not to obey. For centuries, Astarion had no choice, no freedom, nowhere to run but his mind.

It’s horrific.

The life of a spawn has no real happiness. It doesn’t sound like much of a life, at all.

And through everything you read, you can tell Astarion is clearly struggling to deal with the aftermath of his trauma far more than he lets on. You follow his journey as he tries to find what events cause him to slip back into his memories and what rituals help pull him out of them.

An entry a couple months later makes you pause.

My body is my own. I choose what I do with it. I choose who touches me.

So why do some days feel as if I’m still in the haze of Cazador’s control? When I am trapped in a memory, why does my body still react involuntarily? Why do I feel as if I still have no power over myself?

I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I hardly even remember what I look like and the skin I’ve been left with is scarred and ruined. I can’t even look at my own hands without remembering what I have done with them.

I wish I could shed this body and start anew.

I’d still have to be beautiful, of course, because how else does anyone ever get anything done without batting their eyelashes and having others fall at their feet? Seems tedious.

Of course, even in his mind, even with just himself, Astarion has to deflect with petty vanity and a touch of humor.

You had not fully appreciated the horror of being unable to see your own reflection. No wonder Astarion didn’t like his portrait- he probably didn’t even recognize himself when he first saw it. It must still feel like a disembodied image, rather than a true likeness.

The next entry that catches your attention is a few pages later.

My bed is too soft.

Vampires don’t even need to sleep, so it’s ridiculous why that would even matter to me.

It was a nightmare today. I woke to phantom hands surrounding me, suffocating me.

Cazador demanded blood and us spawn were meant to bring him victims. By any means necessary. Cazador had said it should be easy for me, I already had such a pretty face. All I had to was make it seem real, make them believe it.

So I did.

I hunted for new victims in the dark of night. Taverns and brothels and gambling dens. I was never allowed to say no. Anything they wanted, they got.

I fear I have been treated as an object for so long, I have forgotten how it feels to be a person.

It feels as if your veins have been filled with ice. There had been hints or suggestions in other entries, but it was so much worse than you could possibly assume. There is only one thing which Astarion’s words could imply- he had been forced to use himself, to use his body and his sexuality as a means of luring people back for Cazador.

You hate how easily it explains so many of Astarion’s behaviors. No wonder he always fell back into that practiced, seductive tone when he felt he was losing control over a situation. It was what was comfortable, it was what he knew how to do, even if he was truly in agony.

How many times had he put on this performance for you? How many times had he placated you when he did not want to, simply because you were too insistent and he feared what would happen if he said no?

You had been the one to move his hand under your chemise that night. You had made assumptions based on his flirtatious nature and the hungry reverence with which he drank your blood. And now, you’re mortified that you might have put him in a situation where he felt he couldn’t refuse you in fear you might take away his easy access to your blood.

It feels horrible to know you might be the last in a long line of people who had taken advantage of Astarion. Your skin feels like it’s crawling.

You hadn’t known, you hadn’t known, you hadn’t known, you repeat to yourself but it does little to quell the bubble that’s building inside your chest.

You can’t breathe. Your mind races.

You think back to Astarion’s promise. It all makes sense- he was always so worried about you being able to say no. You had done the same, of course, always checking in with him and listening to him during sex. But you should have been more proactive. You should have given him more opportunity to decline your advances.

Astarion never writes too explicitly about those kinds of memories and you think it’s mostly as a means to protect himself from falling fully back into them. But past that point in the diary, there are enough entries on the subject to give you a rather… grisly picture of exactly what Astarion suffered through.

You read them all and weep with sympathy. You wish you could kill Cazador yourself.

And for a moment, you almost consider stopping and putting the diary away, but you catch an entry about how Astarion was turned and your interest is piqued.

Cazador always liked pretty things. I think that’s why he always liked torturing me the best.

I always wondered if that’s why he decided to turn me. Sometimes, I ask myself if that day was all orchestrated or if fate was simply laughing at me.

That night. The Gur. A useless, spiteful people.

Did those Gur that attacked me really take issue with my ruling that day or did Cazador simply pay them to ambush me in that alley? Did he tell them to beat me and taunt me or did they choose to do that on their own?

And when I was spitting up blood and could hardly move, they just… left me. And my stupid heart just kept beating and I wouldn’t die.

It felt like a miracle when Cazador found me, claiming that he could smell my blood. At the time, it felt as if he was my last hope.

It’s even worse that he made me beg for it. A torture to look back upon and know that I begged for the miserable life he granted me.

It was painful at first. My body warped and writhed with pain as death overtook me. For just a moment, it black and blissful and then I had to scrape and claw my way out of the earth. I was choking- drowning in an endless ocean of dirt.

And when I resurfaced, vomiting bile and dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was laughing. I could already feel the invisible string tying me to him. The eternal contract that he had neglected to mention.

Astarion had written the next part so hard that there were tears in the paper on some of his downstrokes.

Fuck him. Fuck him for turning me into this. Fuck everyone in the world for never caring enough to help me.

Fuck the gods, for I prayed to every one that existed and they all abandoned me.

How heartbreaking, you think- to believe yourself completely alone in the world. You can only hope that Astarion knows how adored he is now. There is you, of course, but you also see his friendships- with Gale, with Shadowheart, with Lae’zel, and Karlach, and Wyll. Any one of you would do anything in your power to keep Astarion safe and happy.

You had not expected that the story Astarion’s turning would be quite so excruciating. All the times you had talked about vampirism, Astarion had never mentioned how gruesome of a process it truly was.

It’s as if everything about his past is infinitely more unspeakable than you could have ever imagined.

There’s a pause of about two weeks before the next entry.

We found the second gem today. Luckily, that idiot Envar Gortash had been so terribly loud about showing off his new collectible. His house was far too easy to break into and he was annoying, so I don’t think anyone really minded when he turned up dead. The elite of Baldur’s Gate viewed him as a lowly wannabe who unsuccessfully attempted to infiltrate their ranks and the rabble viewed him as a class traitor. In the end, no one wanted to claim him.

But I hate that I must spend my precious time looking for these gems. Am I truly free if I’m just working as Raphael’s errand boy?

So that’s what Astarion is looking for? Gems for somebody else? It seems so completely out of character.

And now, with this entry, you have found the answers you were searching for. You should be shutting this diary. But why this Raphael character was forcing Astarion to look for these gems had unraveled a new mystery you need to solve. And that can only be done by continuing to read.

Raphael was lucky to find me at a time where I would have agreed to do just about anything to rid myself of Cazador. When he approached me, who was I to say no? It’s not as if my life could have gotten any worse.

And that one night, someone had approached me in dark brothel and lead me back to a room. It was easy, it was routine- I knew what they wanted.

Only, in the room, Raphael was there, asking me if I’d like to kill Cazador. He reassured me that the walls weren’t listening and told me that I could answer honestly. I didn’t believe him at first. Obviously. It felt just like the kind of convoluted trap that Cazador would set so he could have a reason to punish me. Or, even more likely, I’d still be tortured for not falling for it.

But Raphael gave me something that night- a little pouch of strange herbs that he slipped into my hand as I was leaving the room. ‘A sign of good faith’ he had whispered to me before I was passed along to the next customer, still searching for a victim to bring back to Cazador.

And later, when Cazador had asked what had taken me so long that night, for the first time in 200 years, I didn’t feel compelled to give him an answer. For the first time, I was able to lie to him.

And oh, how terribly I had missed lying.

I bided my time, then, waiting patiently for Raphael to bump into me again. Within a fortnight, he was sliding up beside me in a tavern, leading me away into some dark corner to talk.

He explained to me that he was a devil- the son of the demon Mephistopheles and born to a human woman. It was easy to believe that explanation. Vampires are real, after all, so why not devils?

Raphael had it on good authority that Cazador was preparing some sort of ritual using an artefact that Raphael wanted All he needed was someone with inside knowledge of the Szarr palace and detailed information about Cazador’s whereabouts.

In return, Cazador would be dead.

I expected he’d want something more from me, of course. Help is not offered freely- that is not how this world works. You are only good to people so long as you serve some purpose to them.

The question was why Raphael needed me. Why was he willing to go through the effort of killing a vampire lord just for my help? And why now? Why after 200 years of torture and misery was someone finally answering my desperate pleas.

He had purred my name so beautifully- Astarion Ancunín- with a wonderful emphasis on my last name.

My title, my birthright allows me to move in ways which are not available to him.

I gave him my conditions then:

I get to one the one to kill Cazador (and oh, how I intended to draw that out)

I get to drink Cazador’s blood before he dies and become a true vampire. No longer would I be cursed to live as a lowly, disgusting spawn. I would finally rise to the power that was owed to me after all my suffering.

Raphael had set his own conditions, too. And it really doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea to promise your soul to a devil when you’re an immortal vampire who is practically impossible to kill. His second condition was more of an inconvenience than anything- I wasn’t allowed to make any spawn.

In hindsight, I probably should have anticipated a bit more trickery from a devil, but I was so overcome by the idea of killing Cazador. And it really had been a long time since I studied law…

Honestly, I always just assumed the details would figure themselves out. Turns out, they don’t. Devastating.

And in the end, it had all been a misunderstanding. The ritual Cazador was preparing to perform had nothing to do with the Crown of Karsus that Raphael so desperately desired. When I had arrived with Raphael, Cazador had nearly laughed us out of the palace. The ‘crown’ that Raphael believed that Cazador possessed was nothing more than a single, useless green gem.

Raphael was enraged, but I was still the one who killed Cazador. Devils are bound to their contracts just as much as the person signing. And so I feasted on the way the dagger plunged into Cazador’s chest. I channeled all of my pain, all of my suffering into every thrust of my blade. There would be no doubt that he was dead- I would make sure of that.

And afterward, newly infused with the blood of my former vampiric master, I expected that I would be able to walk free as a true vampire. But my contract was iron-clad. I had signed that I would help Raphael find the Crown of Karsus, not the single gem that Cazador owned.

I would not be freed until I had helped Raphael retrieve all three gems.

And it wasn’t until after Cazador was already dead, when I was left to search for information on the remaining gems by myself, that I came across all the spawn caged in the bowels of the palace.

There were hundreds of them. Thousands.

When I told Raphael, he didn’t even have the decency to act shocked. He had known Cazador was amassing power, preparing to perform some sort of ritual. Raphael had originally assumed it was related to the Crown of Karsus- which would allow the owner of the Crown to unify and rule over the hells. But after we found that Cazador only had the one gem, Raphael knew instantly what ritual Cazador had actually wanted to perform.

Cazador has aspired to become the Vampire Ascendant.

All those victims that the other spawn and I had lured back to Cazador were turned into spawn, themselves. They, too, had been marked with scars like the one upon my back.

Cazador was preparing to sacrifice 7,007 vampire spawn to Mephistopheles in exchange for unprecedented power. And he had been growing dangerously close to the required number of souls.

And I was denied the opportunity to seize this ritual for myself because Raphael was a step ahead of me the whole time. Even after Cazador was dead, I couldn’t go about completing it on my own because that damned contract prevented me from creating the remaining spawn needed.

If only I had known before…

I could have walked in the sun. I could have tasted food and enjoyed wine again. I could have finally been safe. No one could have ever hurt me again.

And now, I am still stuck in an eternal contract. I am still not truly free. Even after I find this final gem for Raphael, he will still own my soul in death.

I resent ever giving Raphael power over me. He doesn’t deserve it.

It feels surreal. All the answers you have been desperately searching for were laid out before you in Astarion’s lovely cursive.

You’re stunned. Astarion believed he had a way to free himself and he got stuck in another bad contract almost immediately. It seemed to be a horrible, vicious cycle. You could completely understand the depth of Astarion’s lust for power. There is a false sense of safety when people are more scared of you than you are of them.

You continue reading through the next several months’ worth of entries. They are all short, scattered fragments of even more horrible memories that make your heart ache.

You slow down again when you recognize a date. The day of your wedding. Astarion had written about you.

I am to be married tonight.

My fiancée is less than pleased, to say the least.

There’s so much I wish to tell her that I will not ever admit aloud. She doesn’t need to know that her father was selling her off like cattle. She doesn’t need to know the disgusting, horrific things that decrepit old man was saying about her or planning to do to her when they were married.

It triggered something in me to hear them talking- it was so similar to the way people used to talk about me.

I don’t know why my brain proposed marriage as a solution. Perhaps I abhor beautiful things going unappreciated. Or perhaps I saw a part of myself in her. Perhaps I saved her the way I always hoped someone would save me. And at the time, marriage seemed the easiest way to do that- it would placate her father, who seemed desperate to sell her off, it would allow her to escape a fate married to a goblin of a man who would treat her horribly, and it would give me something wonderful of my own to look forward to.

I had a whole plan for wooing her that night and she ruined it and for that, I should have killed her. I have certainly killed people for far less. The logical answer is that I am growing weak and sentimental and that is unacceptable.

I do not cry for the plights of the sorrowful. Nobody cried for me.

There’s more in there about you. Pages and pages immortalizing all the little interactions the two of you had shared, things you had said or done that made Astarion smile, his feelings about you along the way. It all feels tainted now. You have betrayed him, continually. You have read his diary. You had essentially forced yourself on him. You had not done more to show him how loved he truly is if he still believes himself so alone in the world.

You can hardly bring yourself to read through the entries during the time after the fight where he had pushed you away. There are jagged tears where pages had been ripped out in a rage. It pains you to think of the vile, self-loathing thoughts that Astarion had written. You can only hope those words burned away in a fire, never to plague his mind again.

And even more recently, his entries are full of love and silly, flowery language about how pretty your hair looks in the moonlight or how it’s as if the gods made you just to ruin him. It almost seems like he’s writing out lines that he wishes to practice before he says to you.

And more than that, he writes about the burgeoning intimacy between the two of you.

The crushing guilt you had been feeling lessens a bit when, through Astarion’s own words, you are reminded that he was the one reaching out to you for physical comfort more often than not. He was the one who always wanted to hold your hand or wrap you in his arm or gently graze his fingers along your cheek. In his own words, it was a grounding force- a way to remind himself that you were here, and you were real.

I was wrong. Sex is wonderful. Apparently, it just depends on the person.

I’m not sure what makes it so different with her.

Love, you think to yourself. Trust. That’s the difference. Trust which you have broken.

All I know is that I’ve never craved another’s touch the way I crave hers. My mind has never felt clearer.

I can never let her see me for who I used to be- a pathetic, weak spawn.

But not with her, never that with her. She sees me as I am now. And it’s so wonderful to pretend for a while that my past doesn’t exist. I spent so long trying to escape my life that it feels entirely novel to exist solely in the present and to long for a future again.

And I had forgotten how I missed being touched. So many years without a hug or a gentle caress and now, I feel as though I need to make up for lost time.

If I can drown in her touch, perhaps I’ll be able to emerge a new man, unbound by my past.

“What in the world are you doing in here?” Astarion’s voice calls out, pulling your attention from the book.

Fuck.

This was going to be even worse than you anticipated because now, it is not you who is approaching Astarion with the truth of your wrongdoing. Instead, he has caught you in the act.

He saunters into the room, a bright smile on his face. “You sent me on a wild goose chase around the manor looking for you. And here I was, hoping to find you naked in our bed upon my return, little flower.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, because you can’t perceive anything else other than your overwhelming shame at having read his diary. You look up at Astarion from your place in his chair, your neck protesting the motion, sore from your hours of staring down at the leatherbound book. You can already feel the guilty tears sticking to your lashes and blurring your vision.

Astarion sees your distress almost immediately and his eyes are darting around the room to find the cause, his hand snaking down to one of the daggers on his belt. His voice is sharp and urgent when he asks, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Oh. He had been so eager to see you, he hadn’t even bothered to change out his armor. And there’s not a speck of blood on him. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

He was home, he was safe.

“No, Astarion, I-” the words escape you. How could you even begin to explain what you had done to him? How you had violated him? It’s all too much and not enough.

You watch Astarion’s gaze fall to your lap. The pieces click into place in his brain as he sees the open drawer and the book in your hands and his eyes harden, all blood red and dangerous. He looks like a predator, ready to pounce and kill.

He crosses the room to you in quick strides, ripping the journal from your hands.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have,” you rush to explain, desperate for him to hear you through his fog of anger. You need to spin this, you think, make it seem like this is a good thing. “But don’t you see? I finally understand, now.”

“NO!” Astarion yells. His voice is booming and he’s practically vibrating with rage. He’s never been this angry before. Not at you.

“You had no right. That was-” Astarion’s voice cracks, his breath coming out in angry pants. “That was mine. That was the one thing I had. The one thing I could keep just for myself, and you took that one bit of comfort away from me. What, because you’re nosy? Because I didn’t tell you every painful detail of my miserable existence? Newsflash, darling, but we’ve only known each other a couple months. You hardly know me!”

The way he hisses the word darling at you makes it sound like an insult.

“I do, Astarion, I know you,” you’re crying and trying to reach out to him, but he keeps moving further and further away from you, like a wounded animal.

“Obviously not or you would have known how important it was not to read this!” He shouts back, throwing the journal into the drawer and slamming it shut. You hate to think about those lovely rose petals inside, which were surely damaged and cracked in the commotion.

“If you would have just told me what-” you start, trying to justify your actions to him in the hopes that if he sees reason, he will forgive you.

“How did that excuse violating my trust?” Astarion cuts you off.

He’s right, but you can’t help growing frustrated that he’s not listening to you, not trying to hear your side.

“You never tell me anything, Astarion!” You shout back at him, finally standing up so he isn’t towering over you quite so menacingly. You square your shoulders and challenge him, “You promised me honesty and yet you still brush me away with vague, insincere answers. You are still lying to me by omission.”

“I was trying,” He implores. “I would have told you everything, in time.”

But based on his last entry in the journal you read, you know this is absolutely not true. He would have kept you in the dark forever because some misguided part of him believes that he is protecting you in some way.

“No, you would not have!” you argue back.

“We’ll never know! You took that choice away from me.”

Damn him. For all your talk of being angry at Astarion for making your choices for you, you had just done the same to him. You are angry at yourself and the only way you know how to deal with that is by continuing to lash out at Astarion.

“I have known you at your worst, Astarion, and I love you, still. And now, you have seen me at my worst, too.”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Darling, you couldn’t even dream of me at my worst.”

The two of you stare at one another, chests heaving, neither one of you willing to back down. Astarion is radiating anger, and you are swimming in a deep pool of regret and despair.

“I have loved you and you have repaid that love with betrayal.” Astarion finally snarls, fangs glinting in a purposeful reminder that he is a beast of prey, first and foremost. You know he’s deflecting and trying to hide behind a shield of power because he feels vulnerable.

But your heart catches on that one word.

“Loved?” You ask.

Past tense.

It threatens to shatter your already aching heart, to scatter the pieces so far and wide that you have no hope of ever piecing it back together.

“How could I love you now?” Astarion shakes his head, his lovely white curls dancing in the candlelight. The disgust and betrayal twist his pretty face into something hideous. “How could you love me now that you know what I am?”

What scares you most is that you do not know if he hates you or himself more.

You don’t know how to reassure him that his diary has not changed anything- that all it has done is given you a more complete picture of the man you love. But you are hurt, and you are angry and that is a dangerous combination that leads you to speak without thinking.

“And you’re unwilling to find it in your heart to ever forgive me?” you ask. “I know I have hurt you and I am sorry. But how many times have I forgiven you, Astarion? You threatened to kill me, you kept me locked in my room for days, you forced me to marry you, you lied to me constantly, you called me horrible names and pushed me away right after I had been vulnerable with you. I forgave you for everything! I loved you in spite of everything you did to me! I’d love you matter what!”

“I never asked you to do that!” Astarion’s brow furrows in frustration. “You can’t demand that I forgive you simply because you’ve chosen to forgive me.”

You hate him because he’s right.

You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “Gods, you’re such a hypocrite. You act like you’re better than everyone, like you know what’s best for everyone, but you hate yourself. I won’t let you do this again. I won’t let you push me away as some form of self-punishment.”

“That’s not what this is,” Astarion says, and his voice is deep and cold. “This is me being rightfully angry that you have violated my trust.”

“I know,” you say, bringing your hands up to brush away the tears that have started rolling down your cheeks. “I am truly sorry. But how much did you really trust me anyway, Astarion? You were hiding so much from me.”

“I was trying to keep you safe!” He shouts back defensively. He takes a deep breath, bringing his hand up to pinch his nose and attempting to calm himself down. “I think it’s best that you leave, at least for a little while. I think we need some time apart so we can both cool off and we don’t just keep arguing in a circle. I have a country home in the South. You’ll like it. I’ll have Shadowheart pack your things, the two of you will leave in the afternoon.”

Astarion nods, his decision made. He doesn’t even wait for you to say anything before he’s turning on his heel to leave.

“No, that’s not what I want,” you say, catching his arm so he must turn and look into your imploring eyes, “We need to work this out, Astarion. You don’t get to keep making my decisions for me!”

Because he was the one who decided you would be married. He was the one who pushed you away and decided your relationship was over the first time. And now, apparently, he was deciding again.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I am your husband, and you will do what I say!”

And in that moment, all your fears about marriage have been realized. You had grown so comfortable with Astarion that you had become complacent. You had forgotten the control he could wield over you as your husband. You had foolishly trusted that he understood your innate desire to make your choices yourself.

And even after all this, after you had just read about the years he yearned for freedom and the ability to choose as he suffered under Cazador, he still had the audacity to give you orders. He still chose to use his legal authority over you as a punishment.

“Very well, husband,” you spit the word out at him and his body flinches at the jab. “I see I am forced to obey you.”

You take off your wedding ring and slam it onto a table before you leave the room.

—----------

As you sit in the carriage, stewing in your anger, you realize that up until now, Astarion had conveniently neglected to mention the cottage he apparently owned.

On your wedding night, when you had gone to confront him because he had not yet come to consummate your marriage, he had assured you that you were free to carry on with your life however you would like. You had told him that you had nowhere else to go. The cottage was not even mentioned. He had trapped you in his manor.

And yes, you know that he wanted you to stay with him because he was lonely, and he was drawn to you. But by not mentioning the cottage, he had not given you the opportunity to choose to stay with him. It was yet another example of how he kept making your decisions for you.

You and Shadowheart were loaded into the carriage that afternoon, just as Astarion had ordered. The past few days had been sunny, and the lovely snow was starting to melt away. You stare out the window as the carriage bumbles and rolls along the road. It’s funny to think that the last time you had been in a carriage was with your father on the way to Astarion’s ball.

So much has changed since then. There’s so much you wish you could tell your past self.

“Will you stop sighing? It’s getting annoying,” Shadowheart interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, I’m sorry my melancholy has brought down your mood. You do seem to get such joy from being complacent in my imprisonment,” you hiss back at her, not even bothering to tear your gaze away from the window.

“Imprisonment?” Shadowheart snorts out a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re going to spend a fortnight in a lovely house by the sea. You’ll get some fresh air and some warm weather and some time to clear your head.”

Damn her and her good points.

“He had no right to order me around,” you say instead.

Shadowheart hums in acknowledgement. “Agreed. And I told him such. But he does have a right to be angry with you. And you seem to be forgetting that and rushing right to the ‘he needs to forgive me’ part.”

“That may be true. But he shouldn’t have sent me away against my wishes!” You say, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. Whose side was she on here?

“Look,” Shadowheart says, her eyes softening a bit. “Astarion is just giving himself space to sort through his thoughts. He does it all the time. He’s a loner at heart. He’s not used to being around someone all the time.”

“But I don’t want him to be alone!” you exclaim. “I want to make him feel better, even if I am the one who caused him pain.”

“That’s quite the dilemma,” Shadowheart agrees. She looks like she’s about to say something more when-

Bang.

There’s a bump in the road. A nasty one, that causes your head to smash painfully against the window you had just been looking out of.

“What was that?” you ask, rubbing at the sore spot on your forehead, but Shadowheart is drawing a knife, gesturing for you to keep silent.

There’s a horrible, uncomfortable silence that makes you scared to even breathe. You can hear muffled voices and the sound of weapons clanging against each other outside the carriage door. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. You almost have hope that you will make it out of this unscathed.

And then, the carriage door is wrenched open. A man roughly grabs your arm, pulling you out. You kick and claw and bite with everything you have, but it’s not enough.

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

Notes:

Oh no! Another cliffhanger! Sorry (not).

Ugh, this chapter was a SLOG to write. I tend to structure my outlines around dialogue and as you have all read, this chapter has very little dialogue. But since the beginning, this arc has always been where I've wanted to take this story. Hopefully none of this plot is coming too far out of left field, I really tried to drop breadcrumbs along the way. I know diaries can be a bit of an easy way out when it comes to solving a mystery in a story, but I genuinely don't see Astarion offering up any of this information willingly and I just love the idea that he has a healthy outlet for sorting through all his trauma. And I also wanted it to come across that tav/the reader isn't perfect, either. She's just as capable of making mistakes as Astarion and they're both challenging each other to do better.

Hugest thank you to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3 for listening to my insanity and helping me to think through potential plot holes (hopefully we got most of them)!

And thank you to everyone for reading and sharing your comments and love! I cannot even begin to explain how much I appreciate you all- I genuinely get so excited to post every week and see your reactions.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary @divineknightmare

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

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tonkatsubowl · 7 months

Text

a slice of life. — i

dan heng x fem!reader x blade

✱ modern au. college au.

➽ part two. | part three. | part four. | part five. | ...

a love triangle with a sprinkle of rivalry while dealing with the stress of college. the best sort of thing one should be dealing with. so... your life gets a little more wild.

"alright, listen up everyone!"

professor serval slammed her fist against the wooden surface of the stand as she caught the class' attention. she was probably the best professor anyone could have asked for, especially if you majored in fine arts or something. she was, however, your professor. she mainly offered pre-requisite classes, which was why she holds one of the most students here in her class, and is often defined as one of the best (favored, in other words by other students) professors.

gepard was a criminal arts major, and unfortunately for him, he's stuck in his class for his pre-requisite... for whatever reason. and he's often being embarrassed by his older sister, who often would make public announcements in regards to him. he was also one of your first friends here too, given that you were a transfer student here in university of the nameless. that was the reason why he escorted you into this class to begin with; opening the door for you as you entered, gaining the attention of many.

"this is y/n yang," serval said as she motioned to you, "she is a transfer student over from stellaron university. please treat her kindly, or i'll be in your closet tonight with my guitar... and that is a threat." serval squints at her class before smiling towards your direction, extending an arm towards the large class. "have a seat anywhere you'd like!"

a comical sweat drop rolls down your cheek as you stared at this rather... full-looking classroom. you were unable to find a seat, and your friend gepard was already sitting next to a few people... you looked around, observing the area for a moment...

you see a man with long black hair that covered the left portion of his eyes, who didn't seem to care about the lecture. you could see that you had his attention for a moment, but he was now occupied leaning back against his seat with boredom in his eyes...doing absolutely nothing. he was beautiful, but that was about it. his body language showed that he wasn't to be messed with, and you could tell. he seemed familiar, though... and you couldn't pin why.

further from him, a girl with pink, short hair had waved at you. you recognized her from this morning where she greeted you with enthusiasm. you remembered she introduced herself as "march" when you had asked for directions earlier. she escorted you around, showed you the commissary, the lounge, library... until she was pulled away to rush to her first class. she might be your first friend here too honestly, besides gepard... but unfortunately march was already being seated next to a few people, so you couldn't sit next to her.

serval could see you were awkwardly standing in place, unsure where to really sit. your eyes darted around, searching for a spot as you stood there awkwardly with all the eyes of the class fixated onto you. that was when she pointed towards dan heng's direction, who sat alone in his corner, listening to music as he took notes off of the presentation of serval's prior lecture.

"ah, you can sit next to dan heng over there," she motioned towards him, who wasn't really paying any attention, "sorry, my class can get pretty full, so i apologize miss yang..." the woman sheepishly smiled as you wandered to dan heng, "it's alright," you respond to your new professor as you sit next to the introvert.

dan heng watched as you came over, somewhat ignoring your presence as he looks back to the professor. he twirled his pen in his hand, looking out to the window next to him as he remained silent.

"alright, back to what i was saying..."

... and serval would return to her lecture as you placed your belongings down, shooting a faint smile to dan heng. you didn't say anything, given he was visibly wearing earbuds. it would be rude to say anything to him especially when nobody really wanted to be spoken to if they were listening to music, but hopefully enough the smile should suffice that you said hello to him.

you turn your attention to serval, listening to her (irrelevant and off topic) lectures. while trying to listen, your phone's familiar notification sound pings, catching your attention. your eyes soften, familiarizing with the text saying 'dad' being shown on your notification display.

right, your father was an animator. around this time, he's awake and he's getting prepared to leave for work for the day... and it was always sweet of him to check up on you on your first day of class.

➽ dad: how's your first day of university going so far, y/n?

➽ y/n: um, it's alright... i kind of miss kafka and everyone else.

➽ dad: i know. i'm sorry for the move, too.

➽ y/n: don't apologize, dad. i know work is work which was why we moved, but i'm still happy to be here.

➽ dad: it's still a new environment, so i hope you aren't too anxious. speaking of new environment, did you make any new friends yet?

➽ y/n: um, i think? some girl named march and a guy name gepard.

➽ dad: i see. well, i hope today goes well for you. i gotta get to work, now. love you. be safe. call me if you need anything.

➽ y/n: okay. love you

you then placed your phone down, letting it sit idly by as you tried to lay attention to class once again. however, your eyes linger to dan heng out of boredom, and to the display on his phone... that was when you found something that you recognized from the corner of your eye—the album cover of an artist you always listened to. truthfully, it was rare to find someone who was listening to your favorite artist, hoyo-mix*, and it was like seeing a unicorn in thin air—a rare sight to behold.

you didn't say anything at first... but you felt a little awkward and shy. you wanted to reach out to tap his shoulder to say something, but you decided not to...

...until he caught you staring.

dan heng pulled his earbuds out of his ears, before looking at you with a slight confused look, and seemingly judgemental.

"what? do you want to look at my notes?" he asked, pushing his notebook towards you a bit.

"ah- no, no," you shook your head, pointing at your phone, "i couldn't help but notice, um. you listen to hoyo-mix too?"

dan heng blinked, looking down at his phone. "yeah. i do. i'm assuming you do as well?"

you nod, a bit timidly. "yeah, actually. i didn't realize i'd find someone who listened to the same artist as me. i thought i was the only one."

dan heng handed you his (bluetooth) earbud, "would you like to listen? i'm listening to wildfire right now."

that was when your eyes lit up as you took his earbud with a soft nod. "mm!" placing the earbud in the correct ear, you'd fall silent, immediately vibing to the familiar melody of wildfire. you sat back, unfocused on the lecture that was prominently irrelevant (considering serval was now venting about her drama with another professor named cocolia).

...and before you knew it, class was over. the bell had rung, dismissing all the students.

"alright! don't forget, homework is due next week!" professor serval exclaimed as she placed her paperwork to the side, returning to her seat to finish up any professor-things on her computer.

as you got ready to get up to go to your next class, you hand the earbud back to dan heng, smiling faintly. "thank you." you say with a nod, watching as dan heng got up, putting up his laptop away into his bag and putting his notebook up. he nodded as a response to your gratitude, but as he turned his back to you, you stopped him, "w-wait."

dan heng blinked, turning around to face you.

"what's... what's your name?" you asked, knowing serval already gave you his name, "i'm y/n."

"...dan heng." he responded. "i have calculus next, so i'll be seeing you around... but, uh, what class do you have next? do you need an escort? given that you are new here."

"oh! um," you dug around for your phone, pulling out your schedule, "i have chemistry with... professor herta."

"i see. it's next to my class, so i'll take you there, if that's fine with you."

you shake your head, "i don't mind at all. let's go!"

with a smile, you follow dan heng out of the door.

the university you went to was well-known for its success for students who majored in computer science and law, as well as the aesthetically pleasing exterior and interior design of a medieval-style campus. it was splendid and it was beautiful, and due to your father's close connection with the headmaster—pom-pom—you were able to successfully transfer into the school itself. you had never met pom-pom before, but you hear rumors that pom-pom was a short man who was always hidden in his office...

...but you also hear that his assistant, himeko, was always doing the work for him. rumors are rumors, after all.

as you visually explored through the campus as dan heng took you to your next class, you didn't quite see what was in front of you... so a loud thud! had echoed through the halls. "ack-!"

you stagger back, bowing your head as an apology as you sputtered out, "ah, i'm sorry! are you okay?" shutting your eyes tight, you were frozen in place.

you didn't realize dan heng held you by the shoulder with his hand, seemingly protective... or just preventing you from falling more?

as you slowly raise your head and open your eyes, you find the same man with long, black hair with parts of his left eye covered... he was looking down at you intimidatingly, almost sending you shivers down your spine.

"it was an accident, blade." you could hear dan heng's voice sour up. the two of them would stare at each other for a moment, the atmosphere growing tense until the man who was meant to escort you shattered the silence.

"c'mon, let's go, y/n."

"...hmph. better watch where you're going next time." you could hear blade's voice as he walked away, his mysterious red eyes fixated at you as he exited the fray, hands into his pockets.

dan heng sighed, "sorry about that. are you alright?"

you nod slowly, turning your head to the side to witness the mysterious character known as blade disappear into the distance.

"he's an asshole. don't worry about him." dan heng murmured.

"a-alright. do you two have beef or something?" you asked, dusting yourself off before following after your escort again.

"something like that. i just ignore him when i see him." he sighed, "anyways, we're here. if you need anything, or you need directions,"

he held out his phone to you as the two of you came to a complete stop to large double doors, as though the two of you were standing behind the gates to a world of medieval fantasy itself,

"you can text me. here's my number. don't get lost."

* broke the fourth wall lol

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #dan heng #hsr dan heng #honkai star rail blade #hsr blade #blade x reader #honkai star rail dan heng #dan heng x reader

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teez-the-time · 3 months

Note

dear may, i had to stop reading your san warrior fic a few times because my eyes are just filled with tears. 😭💕

excuse my wordings as i am not a writer but more so of a reader instead but your whole writing was done in such a wonderful way that i was left speechless and of course, in tears once again.

sannie written as such hopeless romantic and absolutely brave warrior is so accurately depicted that i truly believe he definitely can be one in his past life! 🙈

i guess as i am typing this, i just want to thank you so much for this brilliant piece of art that you decided to share with us here. 💖

hope this is just the first of many from you! 🥹

- ✨anon

MY. HEART. STOP.

No but, ever since I posted "Choi San, Wolf Warrior" I've received so many heartwarming messages and reviews that I literally had to sit down. You really have no idea how much a little support means to someone who never expected any kind of reaction from others. While I planned to continue posting my stories even if no one saw them, these kind of messages encourage me to keep exploring my potential.

I was SUPER nervous when I posted the story. For a moment, I even thought of deleting it and never having it see the light of day. I'm glad I didn't. I also contemplated making a second part, but ultimately decided to leave it as it is and not wear off the magic. Nevertheless, seeing that you like it so much...I present you a little story of Y/N and San before the big events of the story.

Lastly, dear anon: I obviously don't know you, but thank you for that beautiful message. Keep supporting ATINY authors with your sweet words, since many will appreciate them.

XOXO -May

Pairing: Warrior! San x Chief's daughter! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, action, romance

Warnings: some cursing and metions of sex, but nothing explicit, Y/N and San are both whipped pt. 2.

Wc: 1.8k

Taglist: @darkdayelixer

You could barely see the ground in front of you as you walked through one of the furthest parts of the village in the middle of the night. It was way past the usual time you would have been home asleep, but one of your friends had come to you begging for your help. Apparently, San had come back with the other young men of the village from a successful hunt and was celebrating with some of your friends.

The problem?

Choi San, the fearless warrior, had lost to alcohol and now refused to stop drinking despite being pretty drunk. Seeing that no one was able to make him desist on his attempt to become a rum barrel, your friends resorted to an infallible plan: getting you to take him home.

That’s why you now found yourself walking on a dark path, alone, cursing his name to all the gods above.

May god curse that lightweight idiot, you thought to yourself.

You heard the laughter before you saw anyone. Partially hidden by a dense patch of trees and bushes, the young people of your village used the clearing as a meeting spot for this type of gathering. Consumed by your duties as the chief’s daughter, you had to excuse yourself from attending the party with your friends.

Well, I guess not anymore.

Your friends were scattered around the place. The majority stood in groups in different parts of a small clearing, others sat down on stools. A small group sat on the floor, listening to one of the boys play a guitar. At last, you saw San sitting with some mutual friends around a small wooden table. He couldn’t see you, as his back faced you (but you could recognize his blushed ears anywhere), and nobody seemed to have noticed your presence so far. You walked towards him, trying to be as silent as possible in case someone saw you. It’s not like you didn’t like this type of gathering, but it was pretty late and you had to get San back to his house and then go back to yours. You couldn’t stay for much.

As you approached the group, you could hear San talking, and from your friends’ expressions, he was talking nonsense.

“I am telling you,” he was insistent, but the slur of his words wasn’t very convincing, “no one can compare. Fucking impossible. I witness it with my two eyes every single day. The standards are so high it’s fucking ridiculous”.

You wondered what the hell he was talking about, but as you got closer, you caught your friend Wooyoung’s eyes. He showed you his mischievous smile before turning back to his drunk friend.

“Sanie, but what the hell are you talking about?” he asked San, who made an exasperated gesture.

“Are you dumb or deaf, Jung Wooyoung?” San sloppily motioned for his friends to listen carefully. “I’ll repeat it one more time ‘cause apparently y’all have been hit in the head enough times to become stupid. Y/N is the most perfect human being to ever exist”.

Your eyes widened, and the people that had noticed you started laughing. San didn’t like that. “What the fuck are you laughing at? Listen to me. Liiiisten. Wait, I got dizzy. Okay, I’m good again. So, listen to me”.

“Y/N is literally sooooo perfect sometimes it gets ridiculous. Like, she is so beautiful it doesn’t make sense. None at all. And it’s all the time. Not once in her life has she ever been ugly. No, wait. One time, when we were eleven, she slipped on sheep shit and got covered in it. She smelt horrible and cried like a baby. But now that I think about it, she looked so cute even though she was embarrassed. Goddammit!”

He covered his face, as he couldn’t bear the flutter of his heart. San dragged his hands through his cheeks and continued talking. “And that’s, like, just from the outside. From the inside, she is sooooo smart. Way too smart for her good actually. Hongjoong hyung, you are clever, but you look dumb compared to her. Sometimes, I feel like I’m too stupid to be with her.” He interrupted his speech with a gasp of horror. “Oh my god! What if she leaves me for someone more intelligent?”

His friend, Seonghwa, swatted his arm. “Yah, Sanie! Don’t even think about that!”

San downed the whole mug of beer he had been holding despite everyone’s protests. “But I’m right! She’s so much fucking better than me. She’s beautiful, smart, kind, responsible, and everyone loves her! Hell, I think my parents like her more than me. I mean, I don’t know, but I don’t blame them. Oh, and there’s nothing she can’t do. I’m not joking. She knows medicine, she helps her dad, and she even cooks. Her kimchi, hyung!”. He let out a hiccup and a sniff. “Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Y/N. Yes! She’s even good at sex-”

That was your cue to stop his drunk rambles. “Woah, woah. Time for me to stop this party for you, sir.”

San didn’t pay you attention and kept rambling. “Oh no, I promised her that I wouldn’t talk about her like that. Forget the last part. I didn’t say shit about sex. It’s just…it’s just…I haven’t seen her since we left and I miss her sooooo much”. He stopped, his eyes widening. “Gods, I think I even heard her voice just now”.

If your friends weren’t laughing at San’s drunken antics before, they certainly were now. You put your hand on his shoulder. “Sanie, I’m here. It’s time to go home”.

San looked at you as if he had seen a ghost. “Oh my gods! I’m starting to hallucinate”.

In any other circumstance, you would’ve been rolling on the floor with laughter, but you were getting more and more frustrated with him. “San. You are drunk. Time to come home”.

“No!” he refused, holding the empty mug to his chest and pouting, “I won’t follow a fake Y/N. Get out, you impostor!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Sanie, I’m not a fake. It’s me Y/N. I came here to take you home”.

San narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Hmm, I still don’t believe you. Tell me something only the real Y/N would know!”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the first time he had pulled something similar. You sighed and answered his demand. “Your name is San and your family name is Choi”.

With that simple answer, his entire face lit up. He grinned from ear to ear and grabbed your hand. “You are my Y/N! Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

You had to fight the urge to knock his teeth out, as it would be too bothersome to explain to his parents how his son lost them. “Yes, I am Y/N. Come with me”.

You didn’t have to repeat yourself. Without letting go of your hand, he grabbed the few things he had brought with him and stood up from his seat. His smile was unwavering. “Let’s go home, darling. It’s way too late for you to be out!”

Drunk San was more ridiculous than normal San, so you made no effort to point his logic out. You just slung his arm over your shoulders to help him walk and said goodbye to your friends (who weren’t also totally hammered and didn’t make some colourful suggestions about home activities).

Even if you were annoyed by how drunk San was, you had to admit he was pretty funny when he was in this state. It wasn’t usual for him to drink this much, or at all, which was something you would have to inquire later. But, for now, you enjoyed the nonsense he was humming and muttering. The warmth of his body comforted you in the middle of the night chill.

“My love,” he called out to you. Lately, he seemed more comfortable calling you that in more public settings. “My love, Y/N. I have to admit something”.

“What is it, Sanie?” you inquired.

“I am drunk,” he said dead-seriously, “like super drunk. I don’t know why I drank so much. I am sorry”.

You held back a laugh, hearing how upset he sounded by the end of the sentence. “It’s okay, Sanie. You don’t have to apologise. I’m not mad.”

“Are you sure?” he asked and you repeated your answer. “You’re literally the best ever. I was gonna say best friend, but you aren’t my best friend anymore”.

“Oh?” you played along, knowing there was something he wanted to say, “then who is your best friend now? Wooyoungie? Yeosangie?”

San shook his head energetically. “Nop. They can’t compare to you. You are my best friend, but, like, you aren’t my friend. I don’t like any words for you. You…you are…my love. My Y/N”.

In the middle of that night, on the road you both took together to go home, you choked at San’s confession. You were always impressed at how he wore his heart on his sleeve, never afraid of judgment or rejection. You, on the other hand, were more reluctant to let others in, your guard having been broken by only a few; one of which you carried on your shoulders at this very moment.

“Me too…” you said barely above a whisper, “I can’t find a word for you, my love…”

For a few moments, neither of you said a word, letting the silence speak for yourselves. You could feel he was regaining sobriety, although a throbbing headache would be waiting for him in the morning. His house stood at the end of the road, and yours wasn't too far away. It was time to say your goodbyes for the night, but you were already planning on stopping by again to leave him some medicine.

"Y'know, we're already twenty," San stated the obvious once again, "we only have to wait two more years".

You didn't dare to say anything. You both arrived at his door, and San removed his arm from your shoulders, but he didn't let go of you. Instead, he placed a hand on the small of your back and pulled you closer to him. His other hand found nest on your cheek. From that distance, you could see speckles of moonlight in his eyes, who looked at you with intensity.

"Gods, I can't wait for those two years," he whispered before capturing your lips with his. You reciprocated the kiss, tangling your hands on the hair of his nape. It tasted like alcohol but, somehow, San made it sweeter.

It was perfect, just like him.

You broke away for air, but it wasn't enough for San. He pecked your lips twice more before removing himself from you. You helped him open the door to his home, as he still struggled with basic coordination. He turned around to look at you for one last time, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"I love you~," he grinned and waved at you excitedly as he closed the door slowly. San's figure disappeared from your sight, but you heard a couple of stumbles and curses from the inside.

You smiled to yourself.

I can't wait either.

#ateez #teez-the-time #ateez fanfic #atiny #choi san #san #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez x reader #san x reader #san fluff #san smut #san angst #ateez fluff

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madhatterbri · 7 months

Text

You Again | J.N.

Summary: James Norrington saves a girl from his past.

Author's Note: Happy birthday Magic Kingdom. Your present is a James Norrington fanfic cause I have daddy issues. ❤️🧎‍♀️

Warning: Mentions of gallows and having a rope around your neck but no one dies.

"Your father was a pirate. He deserved to hang from the gallows,"

Those words stuck with you ever since a boy you once called a friend uttered them to you. You were twelve years old when you saw your father hang. His limp body blew in the wind after fighting so hard to live. Your friend glared at you before leaving you behind with his family.

Fearing retaliation, your mother left with you and your siblings as stow aways. The next few years proved to be a hard time in your life. As a woman, men looked down on you. You fought to be noticed and even became captain of a ship. Yet you still wondered about the boy you once called a friend.

His name was James. A boy that always had your back. James would never let anyone hurt you. Boys would tease you for your poorer status but not him. The comment about your father was unlike him but it hurt enough for you to never speak to him again. Not that you had a choice.

Now you were about to meet the same fate as your father. A crowd was forming around the gallows. People were throwing food and other things at you as two guards led you through the crowd. Shaky legs took you up the stairs and in front of the hanging rope.

These last moments were the same your father felt. Your stomach sank. You sacrificed yourself to let your crew escape. Maybe they will tell your story to future pirates. One day you knew another woman would be captain.

A man read the charges that were stuck to you loudly. The crowd had several opinions about you and they weren't afraid to speak them. As you looked through the crowd familiar faces appeared. Large hats covered their faces but you could recognize then anywhere.

The rope was suddenly wrapped around your neck. If they were going to do something they needed to do it now. The men asked if you had any words. You spat on their face. The man raised his arm to slap you yet stopped.

"Why delay such a fitting end for a pirate whore?" He asked. He walked to the lever that would drop you. The impact would break your neck and you would gasp for air. Just as your father did.

As he pulled the lever, the rope around your neck was cut. Chaos broke as your crew attacked the guards. The floor below you gave way.

You fell to the ground with a loud thud. The pain shot up your leg. A loud scream could be heard in the crowd. People wondered if you died under the gallows. The past few days starting to weigh on you. Any hope of escape was dashed as you laid on your back. Tears ran down the corners of your eyes.

A man suddenly stood above you. His black hair tied back. A few loose strands blowing in the wind. His eyebrows furrowed together to show concern. Dark brown eyes remained on yours. He had a mustache and beard, a sharp contrast to the guards. He was dirty like her from head to toe. Yet he somehow looked so familiar.

"James?" You asked weakly.

#fanfiction #imagine #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the carribean x reader #james norrington #james norrington x reader

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huramuna · 6 months

Text

the calico bastard - chapter 3.

aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) previous part | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny, depictions & descriptions of death

wordcount: 3.4k

a/n: alys rivers doesn’t exist in this universe, alysanne takes her place somewhat. a/n 2: this is my first fic, i got the courage to post it -- please be nice n' leave a like if this interests you!

art by me of alysanne • an edit by me of alysanne as a child • aesthetic board

wuthering heights - kate bush • leave me for dead - GAYLE

Alysanne didn’t get much sleep that night, not after what she’d seen— the future and the present.

She paced around her small room until the light trickled from the horizon. Aemond’s harrowing screams echoed in her ears, her chest heaving and falling.

There had only been one time before she had such a violent vision.

It was eight years before— Alysanne was only ten years of age, just an unloved bastard girl of Harrenhal.

Except, she had one who loved her. The only one.

“Pick me up, pick me up!” Alysanne cried gleefully, “Breakthbonthes, pick me up!” she held her arms up, her words whistling through the gap in her baby teeth— she’d yet to lose those last few teeth right at the front, causing an admittedly quite silly lisp.

Ser Harwin Strong— her brother, or half-brother as it may be, had returned to Harrenhal after a long time away.

Her father, too, had returned— but Alysanne could care less, they were indifferent to one another.

But Harwin— Harwin was hers, her brother, the only person to ever treat her like a person, like she wasn’t lesser.

She ran on bare feet out to the gates, jumping and waving her arms as she saw the procession arrive. The little girl would recognize the curly mop and mountainous build of her brother anywhere.

“Ah, my little lilac!” Harwin boomed from atop his horse, spurring the stallion into the gates, “By the Seven, Alysanne, you’ve grown.”

“The maesther says I’m too schmall for my age,” she grumbled, kicking up dirt.

“Ahh, and what does he know, anyhow?” Harwin grinned, dismounting his horse and leaving the reins to the stablehand. “The poor sod can hardly see past those caterpillars of eyebrows atop his head, eh?”

Alysanne giggled, putting her arms up once more, “Please pick me up— wanna be thall… t-tall,” she tried to correct, spitting a bit through her gapped teeth.

Harwin chuckled— it was a rich, soothing sound. His whole body seemed to erupt with the joy he brought as he laughed, like a deep and generous clap of thunder before the skies opened up.

Alysanne felt her heart rattle around in her chest at the noise.

“Let me get this heavy armor off, lilac,” he hummed, “C’mon, tell me about what you’ve been up to.”

Alysanne skipped and hopped alongside Harwin as they walked through the courtyard, where he left his armor at the smith to be polished. She babbled on about the books she read, the birds she saw, and any innocuous thing she could conjure up.

Each thing, no matter how small, boring, or insignificant it may be, Harwin would respond, whether in agreement, asking a question, anything at all— anything to make Alysanne feel special.

“Alright— c’mere, little lilac,” Harwin finally acquiesced, kneeling down slightly.

Alysanne squealed in delight as he ran into his arms— only to be met with darkness.

A cold, withering darkness. Usually, being encapsulated by Harwin was warm— warm and bright, like the sunniest summer day.

But she felt cold— cold like the North was, colder than anything she felt before, like after a flame had been extinguished.

Then, her vision went red— red, orange, yellow, crackling fire— warm, warm, too warm. Hot, hot— it was smoldering, she was screaming, feeling the skin melt from her bones and char into ash— and she wasn’t the only one screaming.

She heard the cries of men— two very familiar to her—

Harwin, Harwin— open the door, open the door, brother, please! She screamed and clawed at the door until it melted before her into glowing lava, sizzling at her feet— and behind it, Harwin— his hand on the knob, no, fused to the knob.

His hand wasn’t attached, snapped off like a charred piece of firewood, his body strewn across the floor. His face peeled from the muscle and sinew, popping and blistering against the heat. His mouth, now just a hole, was twisted into an everlasting scream—

And then she was back. Back to the warmth and brightness of Harwin’s arms. He was shaking her softly, jostling her shoulder as a small crowd was gathered.

“Alysanne,” he murmured frantically, “Alysanne, wake up, my girl.”

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with tears— they rolled down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a whimpering sob came out.

“Shh, don’t speak, it's okay,” he cooed, turning her away from the prying eyes of the crowd, “I’ve got you.”

Ser Harwin Strong and his father, Lord Lyonel Strong, perished that same night in a fire— a supposed accident.

But Alysanne— she had known. She saw it, and had said nothing. She hears Harwin’s ghost muttering to her at times, his warm and gentle voice now saddened by ash and smoke.

She contemplated her life for days, months and years after— she had lost the only family she had— and she could’ve stopped it.

Since then, she relented from touching people or being touched. She never wanted to have that power— she didn’t want to see their deaths, hear their screams and have their ghosts linger in her head for the rest of her life.

Now, after seeing Aemond’s supposed death, she felt a responsibility to change it— not for herself, not for Aemond— but for Harwin. For what she could’ve done, should’ve done.

She wiped an errant tear from her cheek as she dressed for the day. She forwent the corset— damn the thing— and dressed in another kirtle, a paisley color.

Her hands moved deftly as she tied her curly hair up into two braids— nothing like Flora and Beth had done— but it did the job nonetheless.

The rest of the keep wasn’t awake yet— or so she had thought. She walked out in the courtyard barefoot, as usual, and found it odd as she heard another pair of feet crunching gravel near her.

Turning around, she came face to face with Aemond. He looked… exhausted.

His brow perked, “What are you doing up this early?” he asked as he kept walking, a nod of his head in indication that he wished for her to follow.

She let out a sniff, “I’m always awake,” she grumbled, “I need to tend to Banshee.” she trotted alongside Aemond, her short legs having to work double time to keep up with his long legged strides.

“‘Banshee’? I know that Harrenhal has its fair share of ghosts, but I haven’t heard the wail of a banshee yet— and even so, how does one tend to a Banshee?” he prodded, putting on a pair of leather gloves as they walked.

“… Banshee isn’t a ghost,” Alysanne said, a slight tinge of annoyance lacing her voice, “Banshee is my horse.”

They stopped at the stable, which now housed more horses than usual on account of the soldier’s occupation. Alysanne slunk to the last paddock, which was in truth, not in good shape. It had its fair share of bite marks and hoof prints.

Aemond watched as the strange little bastard lady stood on her tippy toes, clicking her tongue and holding out her hand over the top of the stall door.

A rumbling snort was heard before an absolutely monstrous horse head dipped over the door. It had a gray spotted snout and a neatly trimmed forelock and mane.

Alysanne hummed as she undid the lock and led out Banshee. He was a ginormous draught horse, built purely of muscle and power. He had a light gray coat with black dapples— as well as some long feathering near his hooves. He was easily taller than Aemond by a foot.

The gelding let out a snort as he looked at Aemond, then turned his focus back to Alysanne, nuzzling the top of her head, earning a small giggle from her.

Aemond Targaryen, rider of the largest dragon in the world, was slightly aghast at the size of this horse. He exhaled, “That has to be the biggest fucking horse I’ve ever seen,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. He looked back and forth between Alysanne and Banshee, “How do you even get on his back?”

Alysanne looked at Aemond, slightly bewildered, “You ride Vhagar— how do you get on her back?” she countered as she led Banshee out into the courtyard.

Aemond, fascinated by Alysanne and her monster horse, followed, “Well— a fair bit of climbing, and she has some rope rigging around her saddle.”

Alysanne pat Banshee on his neck— at least, as far as she could reach. “Well, think of Banshee as a small Vhagar,” she hummed, “It isn’t graceful, but a fair bit of climbing,” she mimicked his tone, “does the job.”

The prince was slightly amused by this. “Well then— go on,” he pressed, “Let’s see how the bastard fares getting atop her horse.”

Alysanne let out something of a growl or a grumble in annoyance, clicking her tongue after. Banshee lowered himself slightly, to a point where she could snag onto his mane and scramble up his neck, sliding down onto his back. It was hardly graceful, and was comparable to how a bat scrambles upon walls before taking flight.

“No saddle? Reins?” he questioned further.

Alysanne cocked her head, “No?” she snorted, as if it was the silliest question she’d ever heard.

The prince pinched his brow in what seemed to be frustration, “How silly of me— you don’t even wear shoes, of course you’d ride your beast without the proper tack.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything further. She murmured something to Banshee, who let out a whinny and began his walk— it was slow and bumpy, but Alysanne kept her composure.

“Be here when I return, girl,” Aemond said before they got out of earshot, “I’ll have need of you.”

Her brow furrowed. Need of her? For what? And where was he going?

Alysanne and Banshee’s leisurely walk turned into a relaxed trot as they exited the gates of Harrenhal. They were half a mile away from the ancient castle before a thunderous roar was heard, and the rising sun was eclipsed by the gargantuan green beast known as Vhagar.

Alysanne scratched Banshee as he got a bit fidgety as the dragon flew low in the sky, just above the treeline. “S’okay, my sweet boy,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck as far as she could reach, “You won’t die by a dragon— I’ve seen it.”

As Vhagar began to disappear from sight, something clicked in Alysanne’s head. The dragon was riding towards the God’s Eye— which meant Aemond was as well.

It… it felt like too soon— no, the battle couldn’t be today— but she had seen Harwin’s death just hours before it happened…

She spurred Banshee into a full on gallop, pressing low to his back to hold on, “Please, please,” she whimpered, tears already forming in her eyes.

As they approached the shore of the God’s Eye, she looked around, scanning the sky for any sign of the bloodwyrm— or even Vhagar.

She slid off of Banshee’s back, letting him graze as she walked the pebbled beach of the lake. She paced back and forth until it was high noon, the sun rising in the sky to its apex.

A few more hours passed until late afternoon, the sun beginning its descent back towards the earth. A temporary eclipse of Vhagar returning had Alysanne giving a small breath of relief— until the giant dragon turned, lowering down to find a spot to land.

Banshee strayed near the woodline, as far from the dragon as possible— Alysanne shared his unease, a deep pit settling in her gut.

She ground her teeth as she approached the landing dragon, the powerful flaps of her wings actually causing Alysanne to fall over— which apparently earned a laugh from Aemond— a laugh? When had she heard him actually laugh?

Watching as he gracefully slid from Vhagar’s saddle, not before unstrapping himself (earning Alysanne a breath), she got back to her feet, dusting off her dress.

“I thought I spotted that elephant horse of yours,” he called out, walking towards her.

She shrunk back, “What do you want?”

As he got closer, his expression became more visible. He seemed… lighter. More elated. His hair was swept back from the wind and his mouth was crinkled in a small grin— not that of a predator like usual, but like that of someone who was… joyous?

It was a difference of night and day— his pained anguish the night before, and his almost boyish demeanor now.

It confused Alysanne— she hadn’t accounted for this, such a strong change in emotion from him. It settled the pit in her stomach ever so slightly.

“What do I want?” he repeated with a questioning tone, “Nothing— I merely wished to see if your beast had bucked you off yet.” he stopped a few feet away from her, not getting too close. His arms were behind his back in their usual resting position. It seemed as if he was respecting her boundaries.

“Banshee wouldn’t— not to me, atleast,” she picked up a smooth stone from below her idly, rolling it around in her palm, “He’s a killer, you know.”

“A killer, hm?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “Stomped in a few men’s heads over the years— ones that tried to ride him, besides me.”

Aemond’s lip curled slightly, “Seems he’s bonded with you as his sole rider, then. Dragons are much the same. They get to choose who they bond with— test their mettle, and find them worthy.”

Alysanne looked towards him as they conversed— they began walking around the shore near each other and she hadn’t even noticed. He still kept his distance, to which she was grateful. “Vhagar finds you worthy,” she commented, “It must be an honor.”

Aemond picked up a rock as well, weighing it in his palm, “It is. It’s the highest honor of any Targaryen’s life— to be chosen by a dragon.”

She stopped at the lapping waves, dipping her feet in the water. With a swift movement of her hand, she sent the stone skidding across the surface. Once, twice, thrice.

A few moments later, Aemond did the same. Once, twice, thrice.

Alysanne gave a lopsided smile at that as she straightened back up. She felt at ease— like a leaf on a cooling breeze. Not only at ease, she felt brave.

Slowly, she lifted her head, taking in the features of Aemond’s face before landing on his eye— which looked right back at her.

She felt a rattling in her chest— like a caged bird flapping and ricocheting against her bones. A strange heat came to her cheeks. “We make up one pair of violet eyes, you and I,” she murmured suddenly, “One lilac between each of us…” she stared at his remaining eye, to which he stared back at her one, paired with the rich, earthy brown of her other eye.

His brow furrowed momentarily, “An interesting observation,” he picked up another rock and skipped it across the waves, “You remind me of someone, you know. My sister— Helaena, her grace, the queen,” he whispered, his voice taking on a softer note, “I feel like you two would have much to talk about.”

“I’ve heard she is fond of insects,” Alysanne answered, walking from the shore to the grass, where she began picking plants from the soil, seemingly with purpose, “I quite like a good moth myself. They liken themselves to have false eyes on their wings, so they do not have to stare down predators.”

Aemond didn’t comment— he just watched her pick plants.

“Herbs,” she said, as if feeling his questioning stare on her back, “For my medicines.”

“I didn’t know you were a maester as well as a bastard,” he said– more likely than not with a smug grin on his face.

“I may be odd in appearance, but you must be blind in both eyes if you think I resemble a smelly, mean old man.” she quipped back.

He didn’t say anything more, just setting his jaw in a hard line. This earned Alysanne a satisfied smile– the bird had silenced the dragon.

In her joyful reverie, she went to pick a bundle of chamomile– but her hand plunged into a bush of stinging nettle. She let out a yelp like an injured animal, pulling her hand back and looking over it.

Apparently, her yelp had caused some concern from Aemond, who rushed over– he broke the boundary they had set, and even more, he reached out to her hand. “Let me see,” he grumbled.

“No, no–,” her cry was cut off as they touched, and her vision went black once more.

It was storming. Thunder rumbled the ancient stronghold– but they were not in Harrenhal. She couldn’t quite fixate where they were, until she heard the tumultuous crashing of waves against chiseled stone. Storm’s End– the seat of power for House Baratheon.

Why was she here– why… Aemond was here as well. He was stanced as usual, his hands behind his back.

Another boy was there, as well– brown, shaggy hair and brown eyes. Harwin? He looked like Harwin– he was turning away from Aemond, walking out.

“Wait,” Aemond called out, “My lord Strong,”

Strong? There were no more Strong Lords– and not a young boy like this. Who… was he? When was this?

“Did you really think you could fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne; at no cost?”

“I will not fight you– I came as a messenger, not a warrior,” the young boy spoke. Alysanne could see his body language– he was… afraid.

Aemond smirked, “A fight would be little challenge. No,” he said, putting his hand up to his eyepatch, taking off the leather and revealing his sapphire eye underneath, “I want you to put out your eye. It is payment for mine. One will serve,” the prince drew back his coat, throwing a dagger to the floor towards the boy, “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

The boy shivered, falling into himself inwardly for just a moment– then he took a breath, puffing out his chest, “No.” he declared, staring Aemond down.

“So you are craven, as well as a traitor.” Aemond hummed for a moment, the sound of Lord Baratheon’s cries to stop drowned out from blood pumping in his ears– hers as well.

Alysanne felt his contempt, felt his rage– bubbling, boiling right under the surface, just like the Fourteen Flames of Valyria. The madness in him was palpable, threatening to break his bones and turn him into a beast hewn of scale and wrath and tear this ‘Lord Strong’ apart brick by brick.

She shivered; he truly was fire made flesh, an echo of a warrior long past– a god of War in his own right.

“Give me your eye! Or I will take it, bastard!” Aemond exploded, advancing on the little Lord Strong like a predator–

Then they were in the sky, Aemond chanting taunts atop Vhagar– words that Alysanne didn’t inherently understand, but she felt it– in her bones, rattling around her chest and stomach.

It was a chase– a game of cat and mouse– or dragon and dragon as it may be. But Alysanne knew it was nothing of fairness. What was fair in a dragon of War, named after the Goddess of War, chasing a hatchling just large enough to carry a young boy?

What was fair in that?

What was fair?

In her fairness, in her twisted justice– Vhagar’s massive jaws snapped the smaller dragon into pieces, along with Lord Strong, the remains of his existence scattered into the sea.

The rage of Aemond quelled– quelled into a dull ache. It was replaced by a new feeling, mayhaps one Aemond hadn’t felt before.

Guilt. Remorse.

Kinslayer. Accursed.

What had he done?

Her eyes opened– she wasn’t crying like usual, when she saw death. Usually it was impending death, something that perhaps she had a chance to change– but this… was the past, wasn’t it? Something she never could change, something that had already been lived and gone and was a done deal, sealed with the bow of death. She didn’t feel panicked, no– she felt hollow.

Aemond was holding her up again, cradling her like a delicate flower. He cleared his throat as he stared down at her. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.

“Kinslayer.” she murmured in response, her voice broken.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #the calico bastard

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 year

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 - Aemond Targaryen

FINE. FINE. Fuck sake, fine. Jeezus christ, y'all are like rabid dogs😂 Alright, this is the only time I'll give in to peer pressure lmao. I tried to make this just as fucked up as the last one so here ya go. Please mind the warnings.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), NONCON, Dark!Aemond, incest, painful loss of virginity, sadism, humiliation, breeding kink, violence, slapping, choking, bad bad Aemond

word count | 3.2K🤙🏻

part one | part three

Pain; the first feeling you felt when you woke up. And wind, strong wind. The smell of rain...and dragon.

Your vision was hazy, the left side completely black, void, empty. You could barely see your surroundings. You could sense the clouds passing by, flying through them. You could see a large wingspan on a dragon, so it certainly wasn't yours. What was going on?

Then you heard him, his laugh, and it all came flooding back to you so hard a migraine shot through your skull. You groaned, attempting to reach your hand to your head, only to find it restrained. You tried to speak, but you were quickly shushed. "It's okay, niece, we're almost home." Home...Dragonstone? But before you could ask, you blacked out once again.

Aemond couldn't wait to get you all to himself. After your lovely performance at Storm's End, he decided he couldn't restrain himself any longer. Ever since seeing how you grew up into a fine lady, he decided he had to have you.

Before he would've killed you without hesitation, you were just a bastard after all, would be of little consequence. But he always wanted that moment to be special, in battle perhaps? He thought over and over how he'd do it. He would take both your eyes first, cutting off your head and presenting it to his family on a silver platter, and making your eyes into gifts for his mother. But now, he had much greater plans for you. All that was left was for you to finally wake up.

Aemond perked up immediately after hearing you stir in your sleep, the size of his bed making you look almost as small as a child. Though you, you had no recollection of how you managed to be where you were. It wasn't your bed, your room, it didn't even look like anywhere in Dragonstone. The smell was entirely different as well, you couldn't smell the sea anymore. That pain in your skull was still there, it hadn't dimmed since when you felt it. You wondered if it would ever go away.

The room was warm, a lit fireplace coating the area with orange and yellow hues, only accentuating the already golden walls. Then you finally recognized it, that faint metallic smell mixed with wine and musk. You were in King's Landing.

You tried to sit up in the bed you were in, only for a sharp piercing pain to shoot through your entire body and force you to lay still. The throbbing in your head was almost unbearable, you could hear the thumping in your ears, so loud you almost didn't notice the sound of a chair moving closer to you.

Tears came to your eye as soon as you saw your uncle sitting across from you, a smug smirk on his face as he looked over your weak form. "The worst of it only lasts for about three days. The pain started to dull after that."

You frowned, your throat tightening and trying to keep in a sob threatening to escape. "I did what you wanted, uncle. I gave you an eye. I paid my debt, so why am I here?"

Aemond chuckled darkly. "Yes. Yes, you did. But you owed that debt ever since you took your blade to my eye all those years ago, that was just between us. We're at war now, who would I be if I just allowed a traitor to try and take my brother's throne? You're lucky my brother, the King, didn't execute you as soon as I brought you here. It's what you would've deserved."

You felt an all consuming anger fill you, if you had the strength you would have taken your uncle's remaining eye. "I'm not the one who's a traitor. Prince Aegon is the one who usurped the throne. My mother, the Queen, will have each and every one of your family's heads for this treachery."

"Hmm." He smiled. "We shall see. Until then, you remain our hostage. Let's see how much your mother cares about you more than the throne."

A week. It had been a week of playing hostage for the Greens, no sign of your mother coming to rescue you. No sign of hope. You really should've just left Storm's End as soon as you saw that Aemond was there too, now you were at his mercy. You were treated as though he had brought a stray home, only able to keep it if he was the one to take care of it. It was dehumanizing, you just hoped your dragon was treated better than you.

You could never get a read on Aemond, not even when he was a child. You felt like you were chained to a rabid animal, not knowing if or when he was going to lash out. You felt his anger just beneath the surface of his otherwise calm and collected exterior, only seeing glimpses of what you could be exposed to whenever you talked back to him disrespectfully, his eye lighting up with malice and eagerness that he never expressed but it always chilled you to the bone to see it. It was the same look he gave you when you allowed him to take your eye, a dangerous playfulness that you would never want to explore.

One silver lining was that your uncle was right, the pain from your lost eye dimmed slightly. There were now times in your day when you felt like you wouldn't throw up from the pain anymore. You had your own living quarters, albeit with a many number of locks and bars on the door so you wouldn't escape, like you even could in your state.

It was always a roulette game whenever it came to if Aemond would visit you or not. If not the servants, he would be the one to bring you food. Sometimes he'd just show up unannounced and you were left wondering if it was finally time to die at his hands. You were constantly on edge, almost wishing you could go ahead and die already. Put an end to your suffering and your mother's hesitance on what she should do about you. You just wanted some pin to drop, you hated waiting and wondering what would happen, hated being afraid.

If you appreciated irony in awful situations, you would've thought the gods finally answered your prayers. It was night and you were restless, looking out at King's Landing on your balcony. You longed for your home, you missed your brothers, you missed your mother, you missed riding your dragon. You could faintly hear the calls of your dragon all the way from the Dragonpit, sad mewls that told you he felt the same.

"My brother says if your dragon doesn't quiet down he'll cut off his head and serve it to you."

You scowled as you heard Aemond's voice from behind you, the wind flowing through the tower not able to ever give you chills the way his voice managed to. "Then he'd be a dragon slayer as well as a usurper." You snarked, your knuckles turning pale as you gripped the balcony ledge tightly.

Your body froze as you suddenly felt warmth from behind you, trying to not let a shudder run through you as you felt Aemond's breath on your neck. "You surely are disrespectful for someone who's supposed to be our hostage." He voiced lowly, his tone making you dig your nails into your palms.

"I believe I have every right to be disrespectful to the cunts who kidnapped me." You smirked briefly as you thought how Daemon would be proud of you for saying that, but that smirk quickly got wiped off your face as your uncle turned you around harshly to force you to face him.

"Do you have a death wish, girl?" He seethed, one of his hands coming to gently grip your throat.

"Yes, kill me, uncle. That's what you've always wanted, right? My eye wasn't enough for you, was it? So, do it. Throw me off this tower, feed me to Vhagar, whatever you want. Just let me go. Let the war wage on so my family can kill yours." You spat in his face, just below his remaining eye.

He slowly wiped away the spit, his lips upturned in a sneer, staring down at you like he was actually considering it. You were almost shocked he didn't kill you right then and there, but what did was when he swiftly leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You instantly pushed him away and landed a punch to his jaw, causing him to stumble back with a dark smirk. "No, I wouldn't kill you. Not yet, not until I've had my fun with you."

You didn't understand his meaning, thinking you must've knocked the sense out of hum, until he grabbed you roughly by your wrists, dragging you inside and throwing you on your bed. You tried to scurry away, but he grabbed your leg and yanked you back to him. "No, Aemond, stop-!" You shouted angrily, trying to kick at him, but he was too strong to get away from.

He chuckled, only amused by your resistance. "I've waited so long, I've been patient. Well, I'm finally exhausted of this game, dear niece. I'm going to fuck you, maybe you'll learn to respect me, respect all of us after I'm done with you."

Your eyes widened, your fight or flight instinct kicking in. You tried to flee, but that didn't work, so now you had to fight.

Aemond let out a pained grunt as you kicked him as hard as you could in his stomach, allowing a gap long enough to run to your doors, only to find them locked. "Help!" You screeched as you pound your fists on the wood, hoping and praying that someone would hear you. You screamed as Aemond grabbed you, dragging you back to your bed.

"Okay, that's enough of that." He spoke emotionlessly. You kept trying to fight him, only stopping when you suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through your skull. He had slapped you, on your left side where your wound was still healing. It made everything turn dark for a brief moment, the ringing in your ears so loud you couldn't hear anything.

The world around you was blurry, the ringing subsiding enough that you could hear the fabric of your nightgown ripping down the center, exposing you to your uncle's view. You watched helplessly as he started to shed his clothing eagerly, his eye memorizing every curve and detail on your body. You started to cry as his cock sprung out of the confines of his trousers, the size only scaring you into thinking that it was going to split you in half. "Aemond...uncle, please." You begged, closing your legs as tightly as you could and covering your chest with your arms.

Aemond only smiled, easily kicking your legs apart and situating himself between them.

"Please, don't. I've never been with anyone, please."

"Oh, I know it, sweet niece. That's why I want to do this now, while you're still pure. Aegon has made his jokes about being the one to take your maidenhead, but I just couldn't have that. You're mine to claim, only mine." You gagged as he thrust his fingers into your mouth, trying to turn your head away. "Spit. Do it, or do you want your first time to be as painful as possible?" You finally relented, coating his fingers with your saliva, watching him bring it down to lube up his cock and your cunt, letting out a whimper as he lined himself up with your entrance.

You let out a loud sob as Aemond pushed into you, filling you to the hilt. The stretch was so painful, you felt like you were going to die. You couldn't imagine why anyone would enjoy something like this. "It hurts, Aemond." You whimpered, trying to push him off you but he wouldn't budge, his cock stayed firmly settled inside you and you wondered if the pain would ever go away.

Aemond let out a groan as your walls clenched around him, watching with an amused smirk as you so desperately tried to expel the painful intrusion. "So tight. You feel better than I could've possibly imagined, sweet niece." You cried out once again as Aemond started to move, pulling back out just to ram himself back in again. You whined out his name, but that only seemed to spur him on further. "This will go a lot easier if you just give in." He took your arms and pinned them into the bed on either side of your head, showing no semblance of mercy as he started to thrust into you.

"Uncle, stop-!" You sobbed, trying to thrash about and fight him as much as you could, feeling your tears fall on one side of your face as the ache in your core reverberated throughout your whole body, a migraine in your head making no sign that it would go away soon.

You flinched as you felt Aemond's warm, wet tongue lick up the side of your face, capturing your tears with a satisfied him. "Are those tears of pleasure or pain, sweetling?" He chuckled sadistically.

"Fuck you!" You screamed, headbutting him and immediately coming to regret it as more pain shot through your head, your vision going blotchy and dark again. Then you kept feeling shocks of pain, again and again as Aemond slapped you, until you felt hot thick liquid travel down the left side of your face. Your bandages were removed and you could feel Aemond's breath on your throbbing wound. You cried loudly as you felt his fingers run around your empty socket, the pain unbearable.

"Why must you make this so difficult for yourself, hm?" Aemond then brought his fingers to your mouth, forcing you to taste the coppery substance as he fucked into you harder, the sounds of your cries and his moans filling the room. "Gods, your cunt feels so heavenly. I never should've waited this long, wouldn't you agree?" He asked, knowing he'd never get an answer.

You were so out of it, the pain subsided slightly only for you to wish you could only feel the pain as you started to cry out from pleasure. You didn't want to feel good, you didn't want to give your uncle the satisfaction, but your body was betraying you. You no longer felt the pain of the stretch in your cunt, you now only felt how Aemond's cockhead kept hitting a place inside you that made your toes curl and your back arch.

Soon enough, the room started to be filled with the sounds of your intimate union. Wet, slapping sounds coming from where Aemond's cock met your cunt, your slick starting to coat your inner thighs and his pelvis. "So wet, dear niece? I always knew you were a whore just like your traitorous mother. Fucks, feels so good." He moaned, leaning down to kiss up your jaw, trailing over every bit of skin until he reached your wound. "Perhaps, if you survive this whole ordeal, we can get you a jewel to replace your eye? Whatever you desire; although, I would prefer to see you with a sapphire."

Just the thought of being forced to match your uncle made you cringe. You never wanted to be anything like him, but it was already too late for that.

The lewd sounds that your body was making, along with Aemond's deep groans made shocks of pleasure shoot through you, much more agreeable than the pain you had only been feeling up to this point. It frightened you how it just kept building and building, like you would explode if it never stopped. But you didn't want it to end, you wanted to chase that feeling to see where it led. You threw your head back against the mattress as Aemond started to lick and nip at your nipples, hardening from the pleasure of his cock. "Finally enjoying yourself, sweet niece?" He growled, biting the skin at the juncture of your neck roughly, causing you to wince but it oddly enough made the pleasure that much more intense.

"Please..." You begged, but you didn't know for what. You wanted him to stop, but you needed him to keep going. "Oh, gods." You moaned, writhing beneath him as he started to play with your clit, soon feeling an overwhelming euphoria wash over you, making you completely forget about the pain.

"Come on, princess. Let go for me." Aemond urged, pinching your clit and thrusting into you as hard as he could until you were spasming beneath him, your legs shaking and high pitched whines escaping your lips. "That's it, that's it." He cooed, kissing all over your face until you came down from your high. "See? All you had to do was relax, don't you feel so much better?" He smiled softly.

Your tears of embarrassment and shame kept rolling down your face as Aemond continued to chase his own high, sitting up on his knees and digging his fingers into your love handles for purchase. If you weren't so pissed off, you would have thought he looked angelic with his silvery hair sticking to his face and his body shining with sweat, but you knew better. He was no angel. He was a dragon, and dragons always took what they wanted with no care or concern for others. You were just another one of his conquests.

He kept using and using you, violently chasing his own peak of pleasure until you were whining with overstimulation. "Fuck, I'm gonna come soon. You want my cum, bastard?" He growled. "Want me to sire you a bastard as well?" He chuckled darkly as you shook your head weakly. "If you think this is the only time I'll be fucking this sweet cunt, you'd be sorely mistaken, niece. I'm going to keep you in this bed, all day and all night. You're going to be swollen with my child eventually, that or you're barren. But we can't have that, can we? Your whore mother might be okay with having bastards, damaging the Targaryen name, but I'm not. I'll have my mother agree to marry us. Maybe that will stop this tedious war on both sides."

You did not like the sound of that. No matter how out of it you were, you'd never agree to marry your sadistic uncle. But he talked like it wasn't up for discussion. "Stop, please." You whined, limp in his arms and unable to fight anymore.

Aemond growled, leaning down to wrap one of his hands around your throat, squeezing until your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you could feel your hammering pulse against his skin. "Mine. All mine." He groaned as his cock twitched inside you, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated and erratic until he suddenly stilled. An uncharacteristic whimpery moan escaped his lips as his seed filled you, his face contorting in an expression of pure bliss that made your insides clench despite yourself.

You finally felt like you could catch your breath as Aemond pulled out, flopping down beside you elegantly, a content smirk on his lips as he glanced at your numb, tearstained face. "Don't warry, niece, it only gets better from here. I suggest you learn to accept it, because I am never—never letting you go."

tumblr is being fucky, let me know if the text looks weird please

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine

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paradoxcase · 19 days

Text

Chapter 27 of Nona the Ninth

Looks like the Nook app had a character encoding issue, haha. Going into the ebook file, it looks like it was supposed to be Takṣa, which seems to be the name of a person who's important to Hinduism in some way. I'm guessing the rest of those names that I don't recognize are probably also random Earth references

That's pretty interesting, and makes a lot of sense, and follows on from Pash talking about being in BOE from a young age. And I guess maybe also explains why We Suffer tolerates Pash and gives her important assignments in spite of the fact that they seem to clash a bit, personality-wise

Man, so many people have come back that I hope G1deon does come back at some point, both for Pyrrha's sake, and also, I'd like to actually learn what kind of person he was. I know that G-- there is probably just her saying [g], but it makes me think of the way he is referred to in the John sections, like she is saying his original name? But even if she knows what that is, I don't think there's any reason for Nona to not hear it here

Manifesting cosmic spider Alecto

She just, like - she's not having a tantrum or anything right now, she just sticks a sword into her leg because it's inconvenient to carry it and she's only worried about damaging her shirt

Also, I don't think it is ever clarified in this chapter what she actually needs the sword for? Was she planning on fighting the Heralds?

I'm not sure exactly when she had this communication? She doesn't talk about it at all, the only time she really mentions Number Seven is when she said good night to it that one time, and she doesn't mention ever having had like, a conversation with it. I also don't think she knows it's possessing Judith at this point or she would probably have addressed Judith in the truck, I would guess. Number Seven also claims that she asked it for help, but I can't find anywhere in the story where she did that or mentions having done that

This has to refer to John, right? I don't think there are any other relevant male characters left in this story, except Palamedes, who is definitely not who's being referred to here. But John hasn't been present at all in any of the Nona-narrated sections of this story and is probably on the other side of the galaxy right now, so I'm not sure how he could be fleeing from Number Seven here

Again, I'm not sure when this happened, unless it's referring to something that happened 10,000 years ago? Or how a planet can somehow give "blood for blood", or what exactly it was supposed to help with, or how

Yeah, I think she knows what it means. She's standing up here begging Number Seven to not eat the planet and not kill all the people she cares about, so yeah, I think she does

So this was what Judith was talking about earlier:

And:

Alecto is a "green thing" I guess because Earth has plantlife? But if you see it from space, it looks more blue than green. I guess she is green-and-breathing because she has a physical body? I'm not sure who Number Seven saw in the waves, here. The people fighting it were G1deon, Mercy, Augustine, Ianthe, and briefly Nonius and co. Is it talking about how it noticed Ianthe arriving in the shuttle via the River and remembered that she was one of the people who had fought it earlier?

Here on truck, I'm not sure if Number Seven is talking about Nona expending Harrow's body or something else when it says "you eat yourself". And so far, we are to understand that the resurrection beasts do eat living planets and aren't interested in the dead ones, so I'm not sure what it means by "unliving marrow", either

I mean it did work on one resurrection beast

I don't know what the significance of this is

More references to whatever this tower is. Is this some new thing that John made to fight resurrection beasts now that he's down to just one Lyctor?

Maybe Judith is going to be ok, but she's not up to date on recent events, haha

#the locked tomb #nona the ninth

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tmntxthings · 1 year

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Hello! I seriously love your writing, man! It hits the spot. I especially love how forceful you make 12 Raph (he's canonically a forceful character anyway). Do you think maybe you could write a yandere 2012 Raphael?? 👉👈 I'm perfectly fine with a gender neutral reader!!

Nightly Watch

author’s note: i definitely think i can write some yandere raph c: you didn’t specify hc’s or oneshot so I went with oneshot ;3 I hope you enjoy <333 thanks for requesting

warnings: yandere raphael, yandere tendencies, emotional manipulation, violence, angst, cursing, domestic abuse, stalking, dark au, unedited

—————————————————————————

Raph came to know you after he and his brothers had saved you from the kraang. April wasn’t the only one they were after it seemed. Unlike April though, the rest of your family was safe, so once you were rescued, they didn’t really see you again. Well… his brothers didn’t. Raph couldn’t seem to get you out of his thoughts.

He told himself he’d just check in, make sure you were alright this one time. April had been recaptured plenty of times.. maybe that was the case for you too. Raph remembered where you lived. He remembered where he had dropped you off, your window was on the third floor. Maybe he was so attached because you had trusted him enough to carry you all the way there. You were human and couldn’t keep up with mutant ninja turtles who were on the run from the kraang prison. You hadn’t chosen Leo or any of his others brothers. That meant more to him than you could ever know.

Whatever the reason he remembered everything clearly. So when he saw your figure moving around in your bedroom he held his breath. You were as beautiful as he remembered. His heart couldn’t help but skip a beat, he hadn’t left your window til the sun started to rise. And that hadn’t been the only time either, he came back to check on you anytime he could, after patrols or on the nights where they weren’t even supposed to go out on the surface. He’d sneak out for you, for your protection.

He imagined you in April’s place plenty of times. If you didn’t have anywhere else to go, if your family was taken by the kraang, you could stay with him, in the lair. He’d give you the full tour, make sure his room was more presentable in hopes to keep you there. He’d totally offer up his own bed to you. Raph sighed, unable to stop himself from wishing all of it to be true even if it did mean your family would be in trouble. Raph would make sure you were happy, he could care for you better than anyone.

Nights turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Months of him getting more attached outside of your bedroom window. You were safe with him protecting you every night. Well he had thought he was doing a great job until one night he swooped down from the rooftop only to see you crying. You were wiping away your tears furiously, as if the last thing you wanted to do was cry. Then he saw it, the mark on your face that was turning a darker shade of pink, blossoming into red.

He didn’t like the color on you. Not in these circumstances. His vision flooded, images of someone hitting you. It had Raphael seeing only that color, red. The window came up with little resistance as he barged into your room, he had little regard for keeping quiet. “Who fucking touched you?” He snarled. You jumped off of your bed in surprise, the tears subsiding as you recognized him. Raph liked to think you thought of him just as often as he did you, but when you said, “M-mikey?!” He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and tried his best not to yell. “Wrong. Just tell me who and I’ll be outta here.” He griped.

“It’s none of your concern.” You said, backing away from him like he was a wild animal about to snap. “I’m not gonna hurt you. But whoever did that,” he pointed towards your cheek, “deserves a good beating.” Maybe even more than that.. You looked at him, exasperated. “Look I appreciate all you did saving me from the kraang, but I can take care of myself.” You took a moment, then your eyes sharpened, “Why are you even here? And how—“

Raphael stalked forward causing you to shut up and fumble backwards, your eyes darting around. “What’re you gonna do, fight me?” He mused, finding that thought entertaining despite his terrible mood. “Just leave me alone. Please.” You said losing a bit of your cool composure as you came to a realization. He had been outside of your window, watching you. “I’ll go, just answer my question first.” His hand went up, you flinched as he grazed your wound gently. It seemed you regained your senses, batting his hand away, he let it fall to his side. “Raph.” You took another stab at his name and he gave himself away completely, eyes widening.

“Please, just go. You can’t do anything about this.” You pleaded, going for a softer approach since he wouldn’t listen to your earlier demands. “But I can, I can protect you Y/n, just let me. I’ll find out regardless if you tell me now or later.” He liked saying your name. He liked hearing you say his. He’d have paid more attention to that if your dad hadn’t slammed the door open. “The fuck Y/n! How’d this piece of shit get in??? You sneaking.. boys in now?” The man was slurring and stumbling, a drink in his left hand.

“Dad! Please I can explain, just—“ the man’s hand went up and it clicked into place. He was the one hitting you. Your dad. Raphael acted on instinct, easily putting himself in between you and your father, grabbing the raised arm and shoving the fucker back. He stumbled onto his ass. “Oh-ho lookie here you got a fighter huh Y/n?” Your dad barked out in laughter as he slowly pushed back to stand. “Take another step and you’ll be back on your ass.” Raphael warned. With that he turned his back to check you on. You were trembling, and his eyes softened, “Y/n you don’t have to put up with him,” he jerked a thumb back at your father. “I could take care of you! I could protect you!”

Your eyes widened with fear. “Raphael!” You screamed. Raph hadn’t realized his warning had fallen on deaf ears as the man lunged, this time he swung the bottle aiming to hit it over Raph’s head. The sound of breaking glass rang in your ears as you watched in horror. Raph jerked forward almost falling onto you, but he was quick to plant his feet and turned back swinging. One second he was talking to you, then the next his was on top of your father, beating him senseless.

“Raph!” “Stop!!” “Please you’ll kill him!” Your hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him backwards. It did the trick as Raph turned to you, fists raised and ready to fight. “It’s me Raph, it’s Y/n” you said shakily raising your hands in surrender. He was bleeding from the side of his head. “Come on, you’ve gotta get out of here,” you said quickly, offering your hand, palm open. He blew out a breath and took your hand. He led, pulling you to the window. He was getting out of here and he was taking you with him. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to talk, he was a turtle of action right now. And all he wanted was to get you to safety.

A couple of hours later, his head bandaged and you in the lair. It was like his fantasy had finally come true, you were here, in his room no less! And all he had to do was let that stupid prick smash that glass bottle over his head. He’d do it all over again if it meant Raph got to keep you. And now that you were here, he surely wasn’t letting go. Promises of just staying the night, and that you had to go would be falsely made. He’d let you think what you want. You’d see, sooner or later, you wouldn’t be safe unless you were be his side.

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burning-academia-if · 7 months

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the mandatory second part of the dressed up ask where the mc comes back from the date upset and/or crying because they either got stood up or the date went terribly and the ros reaction to that?

Part 1

Presenting part 2:

Rook:

He finds you crying. Some of your friends had already found you before, but you’d warded them off immediately and any attempt at comfort had failed. He knows why your friends would then go to him, as though he’d have an easier time at comforting you, but it doesn’t make it true.

Now, he lingers awkwardly at your door as you stare at him with red rimmed eyes. Your tears are silent, and they drip down in the languid way tears do after someone has been crying a while.

“…May I come in?” You let him and when he’s inside it takes a moment for him to place himself. As though he wasn’t there, you wander back to your room and collapse on your bed. “I, uh, heard it was bad but…”

You laugh, voice raw and raspy, “Yeah.”

“How bad?”

Your eyes are on the ceiling and not him. “It reminded me to never get my hope ups.”

“MC…”

“You know I’ve never been close to anyone in my life. I try and try and yet…” You take a shuddering breath. “And whenever I think someone has a genuine interest in me, it turns out they just want to use me.”

Everything blurs, softened by the mess inside his head, “…There really isn’t someone?”

“No Rook. No one ever cared for me.”

And oh how his heart breaks for the hundredth time, he isn’t sure how he still has one left as he watches you stubbornly wipe the tears away. Like the words you spoke should only be objectively fact and not a blade stuck inside you since you were born. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he has a right to say anything. Your words morph in his head.

‘No one ever cared for me.’

‘You never cared for me.’

“I do.” It lays in the space between you, and he doesn’t dwell on how it sounds like a lie to you when it has never been a lie to him. “And besides, I’ve known you my whole life. Someone has to realize how fucking cool you are instead of just me, right?”

Your lips twitch. It isn’t a smile, it isn’t anywhere close but it’s enough.

“Come on, you need a distraction.” He motions towards your discarded laptop. “Come on, let’s watch a shitty movie to make fun or something.”

He stays with you, feeling it isn’t enough. When you fall asleep mid movie he carefully turns it off, only to see a notification. He doesn’t recognize the name but the message informs him this is your supposed date from earlier. Something dark cuts into him, seeing them so readily in front of him.

Instead, he shuts the computer and memorizes the name for later. Just in case.

Beck:

There’s a knock on his door, and the last thing he’s expecting is to see you. You stand there, sheepish, dressed back in your usual clothes, and your bag is on your shoulder, “Last minute, but what to study together?”

He’d seen you earlier, on your way to a date. He isn’t sure how long ago that was but based on the time he doubts you could have already been back so soon.

“Come right in.” He steps aside, keeping a careful eye on you. “Lucky for us, Rook’s out so we won’t have a lot of distractions.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind distractions,” it’s suppose to come off as casual, off handed. But he hears the hitch in your face and pieces start coming together.

He motions towards the couch, “Have a seat. Do you want anything? Rook ate us out of food, but I think I can manage to find something for us to snack on.”

“Oh, no! It’s fine.” You wave him off, but he comes back with the last surviving drinks and snacks anyway. As he spreads them out in front of you both, it’s clear you’re not in the mindset to study, let alone focus on anything.

He bumps your shoulder with his, “You’re not actually here to study, are you?”

The curtains come close on the show you’ve been putting up and your eyes moistened, “…Sorry. It’s been a rough night. I thought studying might help.”

He nods, “Maybe it could, if you were in the right mind to focus.”

“You’re not going to ask?”

“I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about it.”

You press your lips together, looking conflicted. He waits, letting you sort out whatever you need. After a moment, you finally say, “My date didn’t show, so I guess I just wanted to hang out with someone.”

“You don’t have to hide your loneliness.” A stray tear finally falls and he brushes it away without thinking.

His words, his touch, all make your breath stutter, “You’re always too nice.”

“So I’ve heard.” It’s a curse in this moment. To you, Beck is as he always is to everyone. He wonders if it’d make you feel better to know he’s here for you not because of this, but because it’s you.

His hand pulls away and you appear steadier, “So, still up for studying together?”

“Always.” And as time slips by together, it’s like you’ve forgotten what brought you here in the first place.

Rhea:

She’s always been good in an emergency. When she gets the text your back safe, there’s something in the wording that says otherwise. It’s late, she has an early morning, but she grabs a sweater and pulls it over her pjs before she heads out.

When she finds you, you haven’t even made it through your door. Your forehead rests against the wood, hand limp on the handle. There is a tremor to you, and pins and needles run down her arms.

“MC?” She calls softly, and you tense for a moment before pulling away.

You’re not crying, exactly, but it’s clear you’re upset. Your lips part but it takes a second before you can form the sound, “Rhea? Why are you here?”

“Never mind that, let’s get you inside.” There are questions in her head, but they can wait. She knows you had a date today, and she knows it must have went badly. For now, she guides you inside and makes you sit on the couch.

Listless, you sit as she goes into the small kitchen area and grabs a cup and some water. Every motion is quick and sure, only letting her thoughts focus on the tasks at hand.

As she places it in front of you, you blink, “Oh, thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about?” You pick up the water but only stare into the clear liquid. She takes a seat in the spot next to you, folding her hands in her lap. “If you just want to sleep I’ll leave you be.”

You shake your head, “There’s nothing to talk about. They were just…”

“A plebeian bastard not worth your time?” She says it with an even voice and straight face.

A sharp laugh spills from you, but you cut yourself off as it turns into water. With a hard swallow, you nod, “Yeah.”

“They’re a fool. An absolute angel appears in front of them and they decide to show they’re the devil.” She raises a hand before you can protest. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“I…yeah. Thanks.” Finally, you take a sip of water and slowly tension eases out of your body. The details of exhaustion slowly start to come out, the sense of safety she brought allowing them to do so.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll check up on you tomorrow, ok?” Again, you nod and she guides you to your room. As soon as you see your bed, you collapse, not bothering to get changed or wash your face.

She leaves you after bidding goodnight and as soon as she leaves your dorm, she’s the one leaning against the door. Her eyelids flutter shut, and she takes a breath. You hadn’t even seemed surprised, that it went poorly. For you, who’d already been so much, it was probably another cut on top of thousands. The contrast from the hesitant excitement you had when you asked her to help choose an outfit to this grim acceptance made her blood boil in a way she didn’t know was possible.

It takes a moment for her to calm down, but when she does it comes with a resolution. You’d find happiness, she would make sure of it.

Zoe:

It’s late by the time they leave the tea shop. They’re brother had headed out earlier, leaving them to close up shop. As they locked the doors and pocketed the keys, they glance over at the small restaurant. It’s still lively at nine at night, and there’s a lull of music and a spilling of warm lights.

Sitting on the curb, backlight in orange hues and crumbling, is your form. It takes a moment for them to realize it’s you. You’d popped in an hour ago, and there’s no way you’re still here just sitting there unless—

They cross the distance before they realize it, “MC?”

You slowly look up at them, a tiny small on your face, “Hey Zoe. Is your shift already over?”

“Yeah, it’s late. What are you still doing here?”

They already have a feeling, but it doesn’t stop the stab in their chest as you say, “I’ve been waiting for my date. Well, I guess not waiting anymore.”

“They ghosted.” A series of choice words and curses all vie to be said and they wish this mysterious date magically appeared in front of them so they could let them have it. Instead, Zoe offers a hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Where?” You take their hand and it’s so cold. They can’t understand why you stayed here so long, like a lost thing hoping for someone to find them again.

Zoe inclines their head, “I just got off work and I’m hungry. We’re going to eat.”

“But…”

“Come on, it’s on me. To make up for your shitty night.” You two of you make up an odd pair, maybe. You, dressed up to the nines and still heavy emotion in your eyes, to them smelling of various herbs and a work outfit disheveled and wrinkled.

As you two grab a table, a flicker of light is back in your eyes again, and the anger inside both unspools and hardens all at the same time. They push it aside. For now, all the matters is hoping your night turns around, even a little.

Lars:

Your ‘SOS’ message probably was not meant for him. Still, he sees it and decides to play the part anyway. The address you attached to said message wasn’t far away, and he has nothing else going on during this Friday night.

When he shows up the restaurant, a faux rich overly gilded sort of place, the host informs him he needs a reservation with a cursory glance at his outfit, skewing on the more casual side of things in contrast to what everyone else is wearing.

He hardly pays the man any mind, and looks out at towards the dining area. Instantly, he sees you at the same time you see him. Your eyes go wide, darting from him to your phone to your date as you realize what you’ve done.

“My friend’s already here.” Lars says, striding towards where you sit. He stops right behind the seat of your date, and your eyes never leave him. Vaguely, he registers your date start to ask what’s wrong before cutting him off. “I’m here to pick you up.”

The date, a man Lars casts so little attention to his features are like water, jerks and spins around in his chair, “Excuse me, how are you?”

“You’re free to excuse yourself.”

“I said who the hell do you think you are—”

Lars doesn’t know the situation, besides you wanting to get out of it. For all he knows it could be because the man is irritating to a straight up bastard. He doesn’t care, as his eyes flick downwards and he feels a thrum of magic come from him.

“Bold.” Lars states, with no emotion.

Sensing his intentions, you scramble up from your chair, “Right, we should go. I’m so sorry—”

You scramble ahead, expecting he to follow. He expects to as well but the man stands and latches a hand on his shoulder. This guy has to fall into the asshole category, Lars decides, and it gives him an excuse for what he does next.

He snaps his hand up and places a grip so tight, a snap sounds at his wrist. The man sputters out a noise, a flash of magic which Lars warns off with a flash of his own. It makes the man still, knowing he isn’t the only magician here. Good.

“Two things. Don’t touch me. Don’t contact them again.” He lets go and leaves without another word or glance back.

He finds you waiting for him outside, arms wrapped around you as though to ward off anxiety.

You frown at him, “Why are you here?”

“You texted.”

“It was an accident, and besides…” He isn’t the type to do this kind of thing.

Aware this appears out of character for you, he shrugs, “Thought I’d make things worse for you as payback for you dragging me around earlier.”

“…Did you?”

He ignores the question and motions you forward, “Come on, let’s head back.”

At the very least, your shock at his arrival and his refusal to answer your pestering questions on the drive back seems to distract you. His own thoughts keep flashing back to your date. A steady thrum of annoyance worms it’s way into him and tries not to frown.

There’s no reason for him to feel it. At least, so he tells himself.

???:

“Are you there?” It’s rare for you to be the one to call out to them. So rare, they’re instantly there, their presence blanketing you like a homemade quilt. It almost immediately makes you feel a little less terrible, as you walk back towards the dorm tonight.

‘Is something the matter?’ They’re asking out of politeness. They can feel all the messy feelings swirling around in your gut.

“No—yes. My date didn’t show.” And it brought up every single childhood feeling of being nothing more then salt in the snow. Maybe it was you, because you have nothing special or unique or good about you. Maybe it was the people you choose, because all you knew was distance and always wanted to run as though you could close it by your will alone.

For once, while you sense they’re having an emotional reaction to this, you can’t feel the specifics, ‘A waste of your time, then.’

“Maybe they thought I—” You cut yourself off, curbing the mountain of negative emotions with the belated remembrance of how the Voice feeds off things like this. For how comfortable you’ve started to feel with them, it’s become harder and harder to remind yourself what they want.

Tonight though, they’re only focused on your well-being. A strange change, and one which only muddies the water more, ‘I’m not sure what they thought, little moon. But may I show you what I think of you?’

Perhaps because you feel awful or because your defenses are low when your heart is raw, you let the Voice guide you away from the dorms. With only half a mind to be wary, you let the Voice take you into the gardens and deeper still into it. At some point the yellowing color of fall gives way to a sudden glow of green and flowering plants. And it is glowing. A faint white hue emitting from the plants as you go. Even though you’ve started to get used to magic now, there’s still an awe that steals your breath.

“How do you know about this place?” There’s no answer, because of course there isn’t. Instead, as you look up and see how vines and branches wind up and encase the moon, you ask another question. “So why did you bring me here?”

‘I promised to show you what I think of you.’ A tickle in your chest is a sure indication there’s something teasing about this.

“You just did this to distract me, didn’t you?” They laugh softly but don’t refute your claim. The bruise of early is still there, but it’s easier to nurse now as you let yourself lay in the grass and look up at the stars. The Voice keeps you company as long as you need.

#em answers #ch: rook #ch: beck #ch: rhea #ch: lars #ch: zoe #ch: ???#unedited

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castieldelamancha · 7 months

Text

Castiel stands still as Dean approaches him. He briefly eyes the light blue box he just left on the table, recognizing the logo of a bakery they drove by on their first day here.

He stands still as Dean stops in front of him, stretching the elastic band of the party hat in his hands in order to get it on Castiel, adjusting the hat on his head so it's slightly tilted to the side, on the opposite direction Castiel's head is tilted to in confusion.

Dean takes a short step back and Castiel briefly wonders when is and isn't right and acceptable to invade someone's personal space, but he doesn't say anything he simply watches Dean as he admires his work, his gaze focusing on the way his hands twitch slightly, how he lifts them as if to reach to touch Cas only to lower them down again, he does so a couple of times until he finally settles for adjusting Cas' tie and brushing off some non-existent dust off his shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Cas." He smiles brightly and Castiel, if that's even possible, feels even more confused than before.

"It's really not my birthday, I don't have one of those," Dean's face falls slightly at that, but the expression is gone almost as quick as it appeared in his features, not like he even understands why some logical reasoning would upset Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes, "I know that, but we humans have that one day where we celebrate a person, I thought you could have one too and I-" he trails away, now staring anywhere but at Castiel when before it seemed he couldn't look away from his eyes, "well I thought we could celebrate you on the day we met."

September 18th. Castiel remembers now. That's the day on the calendar today.

Sam, who had been watching the scene unfold up to that point from the motel room's table, with its wobbly legs and it's scratched wooden surface, turns his head away, probably trying to school his features because in Castiel's opinion, he made a quite strange face at Dean's statement.

Castiel doesn't see the point on telling Dean they met before this day, so he doesn't say anything at all, part of him not wishing to be the cause of another hurt look in Dean's eyes

"It's stupid, really, uhm." Dean is rambling, nervously, he is also blushing, lightly.

Castiel reaches out and awkwardly pats his shoulder, he smiles softly, the gesture still feels so unfamiliar to him, "thank you so much, Dean." They stare at each other for a while and Castiel, usually aware of everything around them, forgets about the Earth spinning slowly around the Sun, about the noise outside, the heat of billions of stars and the voices of his brothers and sisters echoing in the back of his mind. There is only Dean, and the easy smile on his lips that reaches his tired but bright green eyes, and the brilliance of that soul that still catches Castiel off of guard with its love and bravery.

Sam clears his throat, breaking the stillness of their shared moment, "have you bought a candle too or something? I mean not like we can get a cake big enough-"

"Pie." Dean interrupts.

Sam huffs lightly, "a pie big enough to get all the candles for Cas' age on it."

Dean laughs at that with a muttered, "you are too old buddy," that has Castiel nodding in agreement because he is, indeed, too old. Dean proceeds to take a little plastic package out of his pocket with a single blue and white candle inside, "I got everything we need."

And Castiel doesn't know it yet, but Dean also has a hastily wrapped present for him in that very same pocket of his jacket.

Castiel stands still as Dean approaches him. He knows well by now that glint in his eyes, his barely contained excitement and the playful smile on his lips. He doesn't even need to look at the party hat in his hands or notice the familiar smile of freshly baked pie coming from the kitchen to know Dean has planned something.

Castiel is a bit at a loss here, he knows it's not their anniversary yet, it isn't Dean's birthday either.

So he simply waits. He stands still, feeling a sense of deja vú as Dean stretches the elastic band of the hat to put it on Castiel's head, slightly crooked to the left. Dean doesn't step back, his eyes moving from the hat to Castiel and, with sure and steady hands testimony of how far they have come after all these years, his right hand closes over Castiel's jaw and the other settles on his lower back pulling him closer.

"We haven't really got the chance to celebrate your birthday since that time, all those years ago," he explains, a hint of guilt in his voice, " so, since the world isn't ending for once, I thought it would be nice to do it again."

September 18th, Castiel remembers now, that's the day on the calendar today.

"It's really not my birthday, I don't have one of those," Dean's face falls slightly, "but if I had one," he adds, trying to avoid upsetting Dean when this is clearly something important to him, and Castiel sees the appeal in this too, stop mourning and start celebrating, " I would love it to be today, the day we met again all those years ago.

The day that started it all.

September 18th.

He had never felt as alive as in that moment, with his wings manifesting with the power of a thunderstorm, a knife through his heart and the brightest soul he had ever had the honor of holding close right in front of him.

He had never felt as alive as he did fighting side by side with Dean, as he did in their shared laughter and sorrow.

As he does now, in their love.

They stare at each other and he gladly loses himself in the depths of Dean's gaze. He can't feel the Earth turning anymore, he can't hear the noise outside or feel the warmth of all the stars in the skies above, it has been a long time since he last heard another angel's voice echoing in the back of his mind. If he could still experience all those things they would be gone now, completely forgotten.

He crosses the short distance between them and presses his lips to Dean's, "thank you so much, my Dean." He then chuckles lightly, what makes Dean, that was leaning forwards, chasing his lips, stop and frown at him, "how many candles do I have to blow? I am concerned, see, my lungs aren't what they used to be anymore."

Dean laughs too, shaking his head lightly, "just the one, I actually managed to find the same one we used the first time around." He takes the candle, safe inside a plastic package, out of the front pocket of the flannel he is wearing and proudly shows it to Cas, and there it is, the single candle with its white and blue swirls.

"C'mon," Dean kisses Cas once more, stepping away from him and offering him his hand, "you actually can eat pie this time without tasting every molecule in it."

Castiel takes the offered hand and allows Dean to guide him to the kitchen.

#destiel #long post #september 18th #it's cas' birthday today bitchesssssssss #and i just got out of work and i am so tired i could pass out right now #ficlet #vanessa writes ✨#tuserpris

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hbyrde36 · 2 months

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Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5

Chapter 6: Four Chimes

WC: 7910 | AO3 link

It was nearing midnight by the time Nancy and Mike got back to Steve’s house, where everyone was still anxiously waiting up for their return.

They would have been back sooner but, as Nancy explained, they had stopped home first on the off chance that Jonathan had tried to reach her there and left a message or anything like that.

He hadn’t.

After that unfortunately unsurprising discovery, the siblings snuck out again to make their way back to the others, only to be passed on the road by an ambulance, fire truck, and a police car, all with sirens blaring and lights flashing.

They tracked the procession to Benny’s, watching from a safe distance as the long abandoned burger place was cordoned off with caution tape. Not long after the Hawkins P.D. and Co arrived, a blackout SUV pulled up to the scene and a woman Nancy thought she recognized from her time being detained at Hawkins lab stepped out of it.

After watching a body bag get rolled out on a stretcher, she and Mike figured it was time to get out of there before someone noticed them, and raced all the way back to Loch Nora.

“It's gotta be Patrick,” Dustin said when Nancy was finished. “He’s the only other previous victim unaccounted for.”

“And Benny’s is the team’s usual hangout spot.” Lucas added.

“What do you think that woman was doing there?” Robin asked.

Erica sneered. “Trying to cover it up.”

“Should we…” Eddie trailed off, biting at his bottom lip. “I dunno, this is their fault isn’t it? Should we maybe be going to them for help or something?”

“Absolutely not.” Several of them said in unison, including Steve, and Eddie quickly raised his hands in surrender to the experts.

“When’s the last time you tried to call California?” Nancy asked.

Dustin scoffed. “Don’t you think if they went back home from the airport they would have called us by now?”

Eddie tilted his head in agreement, while Steve threw the kid a grateful look.

“I did actually try to call a few times when you and Mike didn’t come back on time, but it was always the same, a busy signal.” Steve admitted.

Robin wrinkled her nose. “That sounds… ominous.”

“So that means either they left the phone off the hook, or…” Mike began, but neither he or anyone else bothered to follow that thread. It didn’t seem likely to lead anywhere good.

“What are we going to do now? We can’t just keep waiting around for an answer to magically present itself. Not with three of our party in danger.” Dustin said, gesturing generally in the directions of Max, Steve, and Chrissy. “What if the music stops working?”

“We’ll figure something out Dusty-bun, we always do.” Robin said, reaching out to roughly ruffle his hair.

He shrugged her off, undeterred. “And what about Will, El, and Jonathan? What if it’s him, what if Vecna got them somehow?”

“Look, Dustin, we’re all worried, alright?” Steve paused, dragging one hand down his face. He looked tired and drawn. “It’s late, everyone is exhausted and we’re no good for anything like this. Let's just try and get some sleep and see what we can come up with in the morning, ok?”

The sound of protest from the kids was deafening. Even Max who so rarely took part in any of the group discussions seemed appalled at the idea of sleeping at a time like this.

But surprisingly, Nancy agreed with Steve.

“No guys, he’s right. We-” She paused, her bottom lip wobbling almost imperceptibly. “There's nothing we can do about any of it right now.”

Suddenly Eddie felt a little bit like an asshole, because until that exact moment he’d briefly forgotten that Nancy and Jonathan were together. It had to add another level to whatever else she was feeling right now.

It usually would have been enough to get the others in line, the two older and most seasoned members of the group—the new adults essentially with Joyce so far away now—agreeing on a course of action, but still they argued.

Nancy looked on the verge of tears, a startling thing to witness from someone who was usually so stoic in these situations, and Steve was clearly at his wits end, already rubbing his temples as if warding off an oncoming headache.

Eddie surveyed the scene and figured maybe it was time to step in and put some of his DM skills to use.

“Shut up!” He shouted as he hopped up onto the coffee table, praying it would hold his weight. Though, him crashing through the furniture might provide the same level of distraction.

The kids immediately fell silent—Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Erica, out of habit, and Max because she was usually quiet anyway.

“Okay kiddies, you heard your mother—and Nancy. Bed, now. We’re all in need of a long rest to properly replenish. No arguments! Or you can say goodbye to any magical items your characters collected over the last campaign. Better yet, maybe I'll make you all create brand new characters. Who wants to relive the glory days of being a level one rogue, or a level two mage?”

Max cracked a smile, as did Steve—his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched Eddie’s antics. Chrissy and Robin hid their snorts of laughter behind their hands and there was a collective groan from the rest of the peanut gallery followed by blessed silence.

Eddie hopped down off his makeshift soapbox with a flourish. “That’s what I thought.”

As everyone made their way to where they’d be sleeping for the next few hours, he and Steve lagged behind, making sure that all the doors and windows were closed and locked, for whatever good it would do them.

When they did finally head up the stairs themselves and into the hall, Steve stopped short, catching Eddie’s eye as the sound of stifled giggles trickled out of the room Chrissy and Robin were sharing.

“Sounds like they’re getting along well.” Eddie said softly.

Steve grinned. “You know it’s funny, Robin is usually so nervous around… uh, people. It’s nice to see her making a friend.”

Eddie pretended not to notice the hesitation. He could appreciate Steve not wanting to out Robin without her permission, even when it was someone he knew was safe.

“I think it’s nice for Chrissy too.”

After so many nights in a row, getting ready for bed with Steve was becoming surprisingly comfortable and routine. Each of them taking a turn in the bathroom to shower, change, or do whatever else they needed to before going to sleep.

Except that tonight, for the first time, Steve left the door wide open while he washed his face and began to brush his teeth. Eddie wasn't sure what to make of it. It felt like a test of some kind… or maybe an invitation?

Did Steve want to share the small space with him?

He could, it was just sharing a sink. Friends could do that, right?

It wasn’t a big deal, though something about it felt like a level of closeness that Eddie'd never had with someone else before, and as dumb, and as simple a thing as it was, if that was something that was allowed—he wanted it.

Eddie took a chance and ventured in, not looking at Steve as he took up his own toothbrush out of the holder. The tube of toothpaste was on the far side of the vanity and without Eddie even having to ask Steve passed it to him, catching his eye in the mirror, and smiling a little around his own toothbrush.

Steve finished before he did, their shoulders brushing lightly as he bent down to rinse and spit. After drying his face Steve looked at him one last time through the mirror before slipping past to go out into the bedroom, sliding a hand along Eddie's back on the way as if he'd needed to steady himself. Eddie shivered, his skin breaking out in goosebumps at the intimate, almost familiar touch.

As they settled into bed, Eddie had the dangerous thought that he could get used to all this—this cute domestic shit, and falling asleep next to Steve night after night. If they made it out of this thing alive it would be hard to go back to normal. Though it would be nice to see Uncle Wayne again, and the rest of his friends.

A muffled cry startled him out of his thoughts and his half-asleep state.

He opened his eyes, not really remembering when he’d closed them, and found Steve with his face pressed into his pillow, body trembling with the effort to hold his sobs inside.

“Hey,” Eddie crooned, sliding his arms around the other boy and pulling him in against his side. Steve went willingly, resting his head on Eddie’s chest, one arm thrown over his waist.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, Stevie?” Eddie gently stroked a hand through Steve’s hair and waited patiently for him to decide if he wanted to talk.

“I’m sorry. I swear I’m not usually like this," Steve said eventually, groaning into Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie believed it. He had a feeling Steve didn’t let himself break down very often, even in private—even when he had more than earned the right to do so. He felt honored to be someone Steve felt safe letting go in front of, and it was a privilege to be allowed to offer him comfort.

“No apologies needed, sweetheart.”

"It's just… I feel so useless this time. Usually there’s something to hit, some physical threat I can protect everyone from with my bat or my body, but—this thing? I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where I fit. I can’t protect anyone from this, and I’m fucking terrified. I’ve seen what Vecna does, and I don’t want any of you to have to go through that.”

Steve finally looked up, wet eyes glistening in the dim light. “I’m so glad you knew to get Max started on the music before she had to–”

Eddie squeezed, tightening the hold he had on Steve with one hand while still raking fingernails lightly over his scalp with the other.

Steve settled more heavily on top of him.

“And I can’t stop thinking about the Byers, and El. Not that Jonathan and I are the best of friends or anything, but none of that matters now. What if Dustin is right and Vecna got them? It has to be related, doesn't it? They were right there at the airport. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to think—I mean, what could have kept them from getting on that plane?”

It was the million dollar question, and Eddie didn’t have any more answers than anyone else, but there was one thing he had to make absolutely sure Steve knew.

“It's not your job to protect everyone y’know, or at least, not your job alone. Not anymore.”

Only a few short hours later Eddie found himself awake again, a warm weight resting on his chest, his own fingers still tangled in Steve’s soft hair.

Cracking one eye open he realized Steve was awake too, and watching him intently from the same spot he’d been before they fell asleep.

“You get any rest?” Eddie mumbled.

Steve jolted a little in surprise. “Some,” he said. Then, perhaps realizing that he’d been staring, stuttered out another unnecessary apology.

“Sorry, you just… I mean, you look… peaceful, when you sleep. It’s, uh, cute.” A dark red blush began to spread from the base of Steve’s neck all the way to the top of his ears.

Eddie huffed a laugh. That was… hmm. This couldn't be what it looked like, could it? There had to be some sort of heterosexual explanation for it.

“You—are clearly delirious. I think maybe you should try and get some more shut-eye.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right." Steve said through a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “But the kids will be up soon and I really don’t want them getting impatient and trying to sneak off to do something stupid without us.”

Of course, Steve was right.

It was barely 7am, they’d all had less than 6 hours of sleep, and every child in the house was awake, and they were loud. Technically everyone in the house was awake, it was just that the younger teen’s raised voices at the early hour were particularly grating. Eddie thought teenagers were supposed to sleep in. Apparently not true for this bunch.

The TV in the living room was tuned to the local news, and everyone was watching over the top of their cereal bowls as the anchor spoke of another murder victim having been found. The police were not naming names, still waiting to notify the victim’s family, not that it mattered. Maybe it was wrong to not want to know the name of the person who had essentially taken Chrissy’s place, but to Eddie—to all of them, it just meant that Vecna now had 3 out of 4 kills under his belt, and their time to act was rapidly running out.

As she so often did, Nancy took charge.

“I thought about it a lot last night, and I think our only choice is to follow through with the original plan without the others. A version of it anyway.”

“The plan that’s failed three times now? The plan that’s gotten Eddie killed and who fucking knows what else?!” Dustin shouted.

“I know! Alright? I know, but with some minor adjustments, I really think it could work.” Nancy said.

Eddie looked to Steve across the room and found the other boy’s eyes were already on him, a question swirling in their depths.

He wanted to know what Eddie thought, if he was in. With nothing but a meaningful stare Steve communicated loud and clear that he would take Eddie’s lead. If he didn’t want to do this, then Steve would back him up.

He didn’t, for the record. The last thing he wanted to do was the same fucking thing they’d been doing—the literal definition of insanity—but he didn’t have any better ideas, and the clock was ticking.

He gave Steve a sad smile and a shallow nod before turning to Nancy.

“What minor adjustments did you have in mind, Wheeler?”

Eddie regretted agreeing almost the second they started hammering out the details.

The crux of the plan would remain the same. Someone would play bait for Vecna, keep him busy in their mind while the others set about attacking his physical form in the Upside Down.

“I’ll do it.” Steve volunteered immediately.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. He wanted to scream—no! Absolutely fucking not! No way was he letting Steve put himself through that again, but he held his tongue.

What was he supposed to say? What other choice did they have? Max, who was an actual under-18-years-old minor child, or Chrissy, who wasn’t much older and had no experience with this stuff. Who would he throw into the fire in Steve’s place?

No one.

If it was up to him no one would have to play this role. But it wasn’t up to him. They needed the distraction. Without it they had no chance at all of defeating Vecna.

“Maybe it should be me.” Chrissy said. “I mean, won’t they need you to go after his body? I don’t know how to fight, I'd be useless there.”

“No, Chrissy I-” Steve began, but Nancy cut him off.

“Eddie can come with me and Robin in Steve's place.”

“What about the bats?” Eddie asked.

Nancy eyed up the Harrington's fancy stereo system. “If we got you a long enough extension cord could you set this up in the Upside Down?”

“Nancy, you’re a genius.” Dustin exclaimed, and Eddie couldn’t help but agree. Why hadn’t he ever thought of that?

The next and perhaps the most important detail they needed to work out was where they would enter the other dimension from. Eddie’s trailer was out, obviously, since there was no gate there this time around. Fred’s gate was inaccessible, being in his own backyard in the middle of a residential street. Too many people would see them and wonder what they were up to, most of all Fred’s poor parents. Not knowing where the most recent murder had even occurred, that only left them with one viable option.

Benny’s.

“We need to go over there and see if the cops are still around, if it’s clear we could go in tonight.” Nancy said.

“If we’re lucky they’ll be too busy with the other murder.” Dustin said.

Max shook her head. “Dude.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

“Me and Eddie could take a ride over there.” Steve suggested.

“It might be safer to keep Eddie out of sight for now,” Dustin pointed out. “Jason might not have a whole lynch mob after him this time but he’s still got it out for him.”

Chrissy cleared her throat, “Nancy and I could go check it out. We made a pretty good team looking for Fred the other day, even if we didn’t manage to find him.”

Eddie half expected Robin to want to go too, since she and Chrissy had become attached at the hip, but she’d only bumped their shoulders together looking proud and continued whispering to Steve. He’d noticed them doing a lot of that this morning actually.

Once the two girls were gone on their fact finding mission, Steve grabbed Robin and pulled her into the kitchen to start working on dinner.

Naturally, Eddie followed, letting his curiosity get the better of him, under the guise of offering an extra set of hands to make the food.

“Want some help?” Eddie asked as he stepped into the room.

Steve looked up in surprise, his cheeks turning pink as he opened his mouth to reply. He hesitated and Robin shot Eddie a sympathetic smile behind Steve’s back

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. You two want some time alone then.”

“Not like that.” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes.

Eddie laughed. “I know, I know. I get it, you need some best friend time. That’s okay, I'll just go keep the rug rats out of your hair.”

It was surprisingly easy to keep the kids distracted for a while, a testament to how much they’d been through that they were able to compartmentalize like that. He told them a little, very little, about his plans for the next campaign for Hellfire, the last game he planned on running before he graduated.

If he managed to graduate, Eddie mused, but he kept that thought to himself.

Which of course led to a discussion of who would be taking the reins when Eddie went off to bigger and better things. Dustin seemed to think he’d earned the right to inherit the kingdom, but Eddie was quick to knock him off that pedestal.

“Do you really think Gareth would let me hand the club over to a bunch of freshmen when he’s been waiting for his moment for two years?”

“We’ll be sophomores next year!”

Eddie waved him off. “Semantics.” He muttered “And Gare will be a senior. I expect all of you to support him, you hear me? He’s a good DM and an even better friend.”

The room fell silent when the phone suddenly rang, a sound that could mean only very good things or very bad things. It could also be a telemarketer, Eddie reminded himself, though it was a little early in day for it, they always seemed to call right as you were sitting down to eat.

When it hadn’t been answered by the third ring Eddie jumped up and ran into the kitchen to see what was wrong.

Something on the stove was burning and Robin was running her hands under cold water while Steve fussed over her.

“Do you want me to..?” Eddie asked, indicating the phone when Steve looked up. He nodded gratefully.

“Uh, Harrington residence.” Eddie answered, just in case it was, god forbid, a relative or one of Steve’s father’s business partners or something like that.

“Oh.” A young female voice came over the line. “Is this, Eddie?”

Eddie's heart rate picked up speed as he realized who it must be. “Supergirl?”

She laughed softly. “Yes, this is El.”

“Jesus Christ kid, we’ve been so worried! What happened, are you guys okay?” Eddie said in a rush, and Steve was at his side in less than a second, pressing their heads together so he could hear her voice too.

“El?” Steve said.

“Steve!” She sounded so happy and so relieved to hear his voice, it made Eddie’s chest tight.

“I am sorry we worried you. We are…. okay. Men in uniforms came and took us away from the Airport. I thought they were police but really they were with Doctor Owens. He knew about Henry. He knew Hawkins was in trouble and said he could help me get my powers back, so we went with him. We were in a car for a long time and then–” She hesitated, swallowing hard enough that Eddie could hear it over the phone. “I- I could not call until now, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re just glad you’re safe.” Steve said into his side of the receiver.

“I know you were planning to go after him tonight. I…spied on you earlier, and I think I can help. I just need a little more time to get strong. Do you think you could get the others to wait until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I think we can do that.” Steve said.

“But how are you gonna help from… wherever it is you are?” Eddie asked.

“I think we are in a place called Nevada, and I can piggyback. I’ve done it before, sort of.”

Eddie mouthed the word piggyback to himself silently, sending Steve a sideways look.

He shrugged.

“Once Henry has Steve in his trance, I will enter Steve’s mind, find him, and help fight Henry from there. Piggyback.”

“Oh. That actually makes sense.” Eddie murmured.

“Can Steve still hear me?” She asked.

“I'm here.”

“After Henry takes you, remember to think happy thoughts. Hide in the good memories, it is harder for him to find you there. Hide for as long as you can. I will find you.”

She hung up with promises to call again the next day to work out a time for the attack. In order for this to work they had to be perfectly coordinated.

Hearing from El changed everything. Even Eddie felt a much needed boost of optimism from it, like they might finally have a real shot at beating this thing.

They were all still worried something might happen in the meantime by delaying their plans. There wasn’t much stopping Henry from taking another random victim in the night, but they all agreed it was worth the risk to go into this fight with the full force of the party now that they had their superhero back.

Privately Eddie had a suspicion that Vecna didn’t want just anyone for his final kill anyway. He had a vendetta against them now, no doubt, and would take nothing less than someone Eleven knew and cared about. He was almost sure of it.

Nancy and Chrissy returned with good news as well. After they were filled in about the surprise phone call, Chrissy told them that Benny’s was completely abandoned. They even found the gate, a wide crack in the wall with a pulsing red membrane in the back of the building out by the dumpster.

For all their talk of staying awake all night to watch over each other, by 1 o'clock in the morning, after eating way too much pizza—half in celebration, half because Robin had burned dinner—and watching several cheesy movies, almost everyone had passed out where they sat.

Robin was slumped over on the small couch with her head draped over the armrest, while Chrissy was draped over her, and Nancy and Erica were snoring from their place on the floor in front of them.

Mike, Dustin and Lucas had all fallen asleep sitting up in a line on the longer couch, with only Max looking comfortable where she was reclined against the arm, and had her legs sprawled out over the three boys’ laps.

Eddie was wide awake, feeling too unsettled to sleep.

He was on the floor with his knees tucked to his chest and his back resting against the recliner that Steve was currently occupying. He understood why the kids had wanted them all to stay in one room tonight. They were worried, unsure of what the future would bring tomorrow, as was he, but if it was their last night on earth—so to speak—he would rather be spending it with Steve in the now familiar cocoon of his warmth, in the bed they’d been sharing for almost a week now.

He finally turned, looking up, expecting to find Steve as conked-out as the rest of them but found him awake too—already gazing down at him with a look that, if aimed at another, he might call longing.

They stared at each other for a long beat before Eddie tilted his head in the direction of the stairs in silent request. Steve smiled warmly, nodded, and the two snuck off as silently as they could.

The air between them felt heavy, charged in a way it hadn’t quite been before, and Eddie was almost sure he wasn't the only one feeling it.

Neither of them spoke as they climbed into bed together, as if they both knew anything they said would either be too much or not enough.

There was so much Eddie yearned to say.

That he was scared. That he wished Steve would stay behind where it was safe, even if he knew it wasn’t practical and that the other boy would never ever sit out this fight.

Unfathomably, he considered telling Steve how he felt about him. If his world was, maybe, about to end for the 4th time, what did he have to lose? He could tell Steve exactly how much he cared about him, how much their short time together has meant, and how he’ll never be the same after this. How he thought he might be falling in love with him.

But Eddie was a coward, so he didn’t say any of that. He held Steve’s gaze from a foot away and wished desperately for an excuse to get close.

As it turned out, he didn’t need one.

Steve closed the distance between them, winding his arms around Eddie and pulling him into his chest. Their arms and legs entwined with an almost practiced ease, and when Eddie pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, for the first time it didn’t feel scary or awkward, it felt like he was made to fit there.

He breathed Steve in deeply, lips brushing lightly across the other boy’s collarbone by accident, but he didn’t care. He needed to memorize this moment, sear it into his brain forever—Steve’s smell, the heat of him, the softness of his skin, because one way or another it could all be gone tomorrow.

He tried to hold on but in the end it was too easy to fall asleep in the circle of Steve’s arms, and as he drifted off he could have sworn he felt a light kiss being pressed to the top of his head.

But maybe that part was just a dream.

The shrill ringing of a phone way too close to his head jolted Eddie from his sleep. Somehow he hadn’t even realized Steve had one in his room. Must be a rich people thing.

Eddie was closer so he snatched the handset off the base that sat on the nightstand and held it out to Steve, already sitting up and reaching for it.

“Hello?” Steve answered roughly, sounding exactly like a person who’d just been woken up after too many days of too few hours of sleep, but after a quick reply from the caller he was instantly more alert.

“Woah! Jonathan, slow down. What happened?”

Eddie sat up, scooching over and pressing himself into Steve’s side so he could listen in through the earpiece.

“Some army guys showed up, tried to get El. They killed Brenner and took Owens.”

“Brenner?” Steve asked.

“Papa.”

“Wait, that fucker has been alive this whole time? Dustin told me a demogorgon got him back when all this shit started! And he’s been there with her?!”

Steve clenched his jaw, audibly grinding his teeth. Eddie was still a little confused on the details, but he knew enough to put the pieces together. They were talking about the man who raised Eleven like she was a goddamn lab rat instead of a human being. The balls to do that to a child and have them call you Papa. It was disgusting.

“I know, man, I know. But it was her choice. He- he was a piece of shit but he got us out of there. He got shot as soon as we made it out the door. They had a gunman in a helicopter aiming for her.”

“Jesus H. Christ, she’s just a kid.” Eddie mumbled.

“Who? Wait, is that… Eddie?!”

Eddie's face felt hot, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar or something. He cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. “Hey Byers.”

“Is she okay? And Will?” Steve pressed on.

“They’re fine. We got away. El… she’s amazing. She stopped the helicopter, knocked it right out of the sky. She saved us. Brenner gave me his keys before he passed out, and we took off. I drove for a couple of hours till it felt safe enough to stop and grab a motel room. Hang on, she wants to talk to you-”

“Hi, Steve.” El said.

“You alright?”

“I’m tired, but I’m okay. I still want to go through with the plan.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can do it, I have to do it.”

Steve took in a breath and held it, fumbling around with his free hand until it closed around Eddie’s, squeezing. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll find you, Steve. Do not worry.”

Steve pulled his mouth away from the receiver and made a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry. Eddie was blown away too, Everything this girl had endured and here she was trying to make Steve feel better.

“I know.” Steve said eventually. “I’ll see you soon kiddo.”

A moment later there was a shuffling over the line as she presumably passed the phone back to Jonathan.

“I need some time to get salt and stuff for her set-up. At least the room we got has a bathtub.”

“The gate is behind Benny’s so we need to wait until dark anyway.” Steve explained. “It’ll give her some time to rest too. 7 o’clock our time should do it. We’ll have everyone in position, and I’ll start baiting Vecna.”

“Good luck.”

“You too, man.”

“And Steve, um, can you tell Nancy…” Jonathan trailed off.

They could both hear the words getting caught in the other boy’s throat. Whether it was because of the emotion of the day or because Jonathan realized who he was talking to, Eddie didn’t know, but Steve understood what he needed and as he’d said before, none of the shit from the past mattered now.

“Yeah, man. I’ll tell her.”

It was a somber day. Far from the party-like atmosphere of the night before, everyone was quiet, down to the youngest member of the party, all lost in their own thoughts as they made their preparations for battle.

The sound system from Steve’s living room was carefully broken down and loaded into the back of Eddie’s van, along with several extension cords and a gas powered generator they’d found hiding under a tarp in the garage.

Weapons were made and split between Nancy’s station wagon and Steve’s car. Between the sheer number of people and the supplies they carried, all three of their vehicles would be needed for transport.

When there was nothing left to do and the sun was beginning to set, the group got into the cars and made their way to Benny’s.

Eddie pulled around to the rear of the building and backed his van up as close to the thrumming gate as he dared, quickly busying himself with getting the generator going while the others parked on the side and walked over.

After a short argument Nancy entered the Upside Down first, wielding her brand new sawed-off shotgun. She would provide cover, if needed, while Steve and Eddie carried the sound equipment through to the Upside Down.

Eddie carefully didn’t look Steve’s way much as they worked.

He hadn't meant to do it, at least in the front part of his brain, but he’d spent a majority of the day avoiding Steve as much as possible. It was just… he didn’t know how he was going to say goodbye to him.

In no time they were set up and ready to go.

It was the moment Eddie had been dreading the most since this loop had begun. His time was officially up. There was nothing left to be done, for any of it—no more preparations to make, or warnings to give. He’d changed so much and yet he had no idea if they were about to succeed or fail.

When the farewells began, he tried to hang back, but he was pulled into the fold by Dustin—one of the few people in this world that he could never really say no to. He made his way around the group, still studiously avoiding Steve until finally the other boy caught his eye, and then it was all over.

It was like gravity, a magnetic pull that left Eddie powerless but to walk up and meet Steve where he was.

“Remember what El said,” Eddie started, trying so hard to hold it together. “Hide in your good memories and she’ll find you there. And whatever that prick tries to show you just…”

They stood only a foot apart as the others filtered away towards the cars, but it might as well have been a mile-wide chasm for how badly the space made Eddie’s heart ache. But they weren’t alone, and Eddie didn’t dare close the distance between them.

Steve nodded, offering him a sad smile.

“I’ve got a few in mind, and Dustin is on Walkman duty, if anything we have to worry about him trying to pull me out too soon. It’ll be okay.”

“Come on, Steve. It’s time!” Dustin shouted through the open passenger window of the BMW. Max and Lucas were in the back seat, all of them going to the real-world Creel house with Steve.

Steve bowed his head, shaking it before looking back up to study Eddie’s face.

“Good luck, Steve.” Eddie said.

“...You too.”

Eddie spun on his heel and forced himself to walk back towards his van. He needed to get his shit together. If they were going to defeat Vecna, he had to–

“Eddie, wait.” Steve called out seconds before his hand landed on Eddie's elbow, just as it had that first night in his bedroom when Eddie had tried to make a break for it.

He turned and found himself enveloped in arms that had begun to feel like home, and he eagerly returned the embrace. Steve pulled back, a soft look of determination in his eyes as he cupped Eddie’s cheek, his other hand falling to rest on his hip.

Eddie’s breath hitched as the hands holding him trembled, and again with those fucking eyes of his Steve asked a silent question. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing but he was almost sure he knew what Steve was asking permission for.

The answer was easy.

Eddie dipped his chin, a single shallow nod, and without hesitation or a care for who was watching Steve crashed their lips together in a desperate kiss. Eddie melted into it, winding his hand into Steve's hair and pulling him impossibly closer.

It ended far too soon, though to be fair they could have stood around making out all night and it would never have felt like enough. Steve broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Eddie’s as they panted into each other's mouths.

“Please, please be careful.” Steve begged, pressing one last soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him go, jogging over to his car, and peeling out of the parking lot to make it to his mark on time.

Eddie stood frozen, a little stunned as he watched the BMW drive out of sight. When he finally shook it off and turned back to his waiting crew he found them all watching him, dumbfounded.

Except for Robin, who was trying and failing to stifle the world’s largest shit-eating grin.

“Well what are you all just standing around for?” Eddie mumbled, picking up his axe and backpack full of prepared molotov cocktails and headed straight towards the gate.

Chrissy, Mike, and Erica were tasked with staying in the Right Side Up, armed with spears as they kept an eye on this side of the gate for any demopests trying to make their way out—though their main job was to wait for the signal and press play on one of Eddie’s many metal mixtapes to draw the bats away from the other Creel house, and clear the way for Nancy, Robin, and Eddie who were venturing into the Upside Down.

They were roughly half way there, having made the entire journey so far in silence when Nancy decided to go scouting up ahead, leaving Eddie and Robin alone.

“I see the way you look at him, so I’m not going to give you the shovel talk or whatever.” She said, falling into step beside him. “Just… be good to him, okay? Steve deserves that.”

Eddie’s knee jerk reaction was to scoff, and roll his eyes. “It was one kiss Buckley who knows if it even meant anything. Maybe to him it was just a, we’re probably all about to die, thing.”

In reality he didn’t know what to think. It had certainly felt real, but the circumstances were indisputably dire. Who was to say if Steve would have ever kissed him had they not found themselves in a life or death situation.

With no warning Robin cocked her arm back and punched him in the side, hard.

“Hey!”

“You listen to me, Edward Eleanor Munson–”

“Not my middle name!” He grumbled, rubbing at the spot. Robin was tougher than she looked.

“Whatever. I did not help Steve speed run through his bisexual crisis, in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, just for you to be dumb about this.”

“Can we maybe talk about this after we survive?”

“Fine, but i’m warning you, Munson, if you mess this up I’ll–”

He was saved from whatever threat Robin was about to dish out by Nancy’s return.

“It’s just up ahead. I can see the light marking Lucas at the playground. Are you guys ready?”

“As I'll ever be.” Eddie said.

Robin nodded. “Let's do this.”

When they reached the playground Nancy gave the signal, pushing her hand through the particles three times to initiate the next phase.

Soon after, the faint sound of music started in the distance and they were forced to duck down under the play equipment as swarms of bats began to pass overhead.

That meant Steve was in, Vecna had him, and now it was their turn to finish this.

Eddie let out a shaking breath, closing his eyes tightly against the rising panic.

Robin laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be alright. Steve always makes it out, you’ll see.”

They failed.

They fucking failed.

The ugly asshole was on fire, and Nancy shot him so many times.

They had him, he was down and they thought he was dead but then they heard it.

Chimes.

Four chimes and then the ground beneath their feet started to shake. Deep down Eddie knew what that meant, but he couldn’t allow himself to think it. Not yet.

He ran full out back to the gate, so fast that he somehow managed to lose the girls along the way. He felt bad about it in a distant way but he had to get there, he had to know. Was Steve really gone?

Eddie tumbled out of the gate, taking only a second to notice that Chrissy and Erica were huddled together by the van crying, while Mike sat a few feet away with his head between his knees.

He snatched one of the spare walkies up off the ground, pressing the button down with shaking hands. “Dustin? Lucas? Max?.. Steve?” His voice didn’t sound like his own, thick with an emotion he wasn’t ready to name as it cracked on his words. “What happened?”

“Steve, he was…” Dustin was barely audible over the glorified toy’s small speaker, but it was still evident that he’d been crying—was crying

“He- he got Vecna to take him and w- we were standing by in case things went too far b- but… Jason and Andy showed up. They held me and Max at gunpoint. They saw Steve’s car here, and they’d seen your van at his house before and… Eddie, we almost had them. They didn’t see Lucas sneaking up from behind. He tried, but the Walkman got broken in the struggle and then Steve was floating. Jason freaked out and took off, but it was too late. He’s gone.”

Eddie felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the world. He let out a painful gasping cry and let the radio fall from his hand, winding his arms around himself as his body began to shake. It felt like a black hole had formed inside his chest, an endless void, and every good thing he’d ever felt was being pulled into its vacuum of hopelessness.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the cult leader himself, and the rest of his flock.” A familiar and very unwelcome voice called out as two figures appeared around the side of the building.

Jason and Andy came walking up, trying to look casual save for the way Jason was still limping on his bad knee, but as they got closer Eddie could see the haunted look in their eyes. They were afraid of him.

While keeping his gaze on Eddie, Jason pushed his second in command in Chrissy’s direction.

“Grab her, we’re getting her out of here right now.”

Eddie was torn, he wanted to help Chrissy fight Andy off but Jason already had his gun out, loosely pointed in his direction and he was afraid if he moved someone else would get hurt.

“You've brainwashed all these people into following you, and I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I know you’re responsible for these murders somehow.” Jason said, leveling his weapon at Eddie’s chest. “I saw what your friends did to Steve Harrington.”

“You don’t fucking say his name!” Eddie growled. “And you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He lunged at Jason but he was too slow and the other boy side-stepped out of his reach easily, swinging the gun back around to aim it again.

Just then Nancy and Robin came stumbling out of the gate.

Jason turned, eyes widening as he saw the two girls magically appearing through a concrete wall. “What the fuck is that?!” He shouted.

Eddie didn’t look at them, he was singularly focused on Jason and taking him the fuck down. He tackled him to the ground, hoping the force of the fall would loosen his hold on his gun, instead the impact only caused Jason to squeeze the trigger with the barrel pressed right into him.

Eddie reared back, balancing on his knees as blood quickly blossomed across his chest, the bright red of it stark against the white of his Hellfire club shirt, and it occurred to him that maybe it had been bad luck to wear this particular shirt on this particular day.

He’d just wanted to feel like himself.

Eddie collapsed backwards into the dirt and in moments he could feel it turning to mud, as a puddle slowly spread beneath him. It was hard to breathe, hard to concentrate but he could hear the sounds of a struggle and Nancy threatening to shoot Andy if he didn’t let Chrissy go.

She must have succeeded in convincing him she meant business because suddenly Chrissy was there, falling to her knees beside him and putting pressure on his wound. Robin joined her a second later.

The pain, which he’d mostly been able to ignore, intensified as they pressed on his chest but he welcomed it—let it run through him and drown out the despair and heartbreak.

Another gunshot rang out, and Eddie flinched, casting his eyes around wildly. All he could see was Mike consoling Erica as she cradled her arm.

“Damnit!” Nancy shouted from a short distance, and then she too came into his line of sight. “I missed. Clipped the side of the building and they got away.”

She looked down at him, and as if suddenly remembering that he was hurt started to tear at the bottom of her shirt. Eddie knew what she meant to do, but it was pointless. Even if he could be saved, which he highly doubted, he didn’t want to be.

“No, stop.” Eddie said, struggling to talk through ragged breaths. "You gotta let me go. It’s the only way to fix this.”

“But what if this is it? What if you don’t get another try?” Nancy said. She had a strip of fabric now and seemed to be considering the best way to get it around him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie grunted. “Have to try.”

“Eddie, he wouldn’t want–” Robin began, but Eddie refused to hear it. Couldn’t accept it.

“I have to. We- we still have to kill Vecna. And Steve-” He sobbed, choking on the name. “It can’t end like this, it just can’t.”

Reluctantly Robin and Chrissy took their hands off of him and Nancy sat back on her heels looking lost and unsure.

Eddie sputtered, a rush of coppery liquid filling his mouth, overflowing and spilling out the sides. It was hard not to struggle, his body still trying to breathe even as he was ready to let go.

Chrissy leaned over him, holding his face gently between her bloodstained hands as she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, her hot tears splashing down onto his cool skin.

He fought to give her a weak smile as she looked down at him.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry that you’re going to have to do this all over again—but you can do it, okay? I know you can. You are so brave, and loyal, and kind and I might not remember all this, but I’ll be right there with you in the next one. I promise.”

“See you soon, Chris,” was all he managed to say before releasing his final breath, and for the fourth time in his life, Eddie died.

Chapter 7

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

Taglist: @hitlikehammers @pearynice @cranberrymoons @thoroughlycollected @blubblesandink @finntheehumaneater @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @hellion-child @mentallyundone @manda-panda-monium @spicysix @kikidoesfanfic @dreamwatch @lawrencebshoggoth @stillfullofshit @lil-gremlin-things @mamafaithful

#steddie fanfic #time loop #pov eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie fic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #the party #hbyrde's anniversary project

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nkogneatho · 2 years

Text

"𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐎, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓."

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

#m.list #series m.list #taglist #kofi

—#𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖

—wc: 2k

—cw: semi-public, dry humping, protected sex, mentions and description of blood, smoking, side character death, emotional.

—A/n: I present you my asshole broke husband. I'd ride him anywhere. I have no shame. Reposting because it flopped before and I worked my ass off for this.

Reblogs are appreciated.

It was such a beautiful evening. Well, it was sure fun in a room filled with fake people. The whole night you spent smiling at people you barely give shit about because your father asked you to do so. It wasn't easy being there. It was sarcastic how you felt so suffocating for someone who was in such a comfortable satin dress. Some waiter spilled the red wine, staining Mr. Yamazaki's white vest. The maroon drink was seeping through the fabric, quickly covering a large amount of the vest. If it wasn't for his yelling, someone would've thought he was either shot or stabbed in the heart. But thanks to the ruckus he caused, you got a chance to slip away from that boring evening.

“Pathetic idiots,” you stomped your feet on the ground, being clumsy with the heels as you struggled to reach far enough from them. Frustration was all you were feeling At that moment.

You were making your way through the park, lighting your cigarette. Eventually, your eyes wandered off to this shiny black limo parked in the corner. You didn't hesitate to assume it belonged to another rich investor at the party, even though it was far enough from all the other shiny cars. It wasn't really the car that caught your eyes, but the man leaning against it. You walked to the other side of the road to take a closer look to see if he was attractive. He was. He had dark hairs, buffed chest and strong arms. You wish he'd open his eyes, so you could see his eyes, too.

Wow. He's actually hot. You thought.

“You know it's rude to stare at strangers?” The tall man spoke. His voice was low and a little husky.

“I-I wasn't really. I was just looking. You know…just curiosity,” you knew your excuses were lame.

“Curious about what?” Coming to think of it, you genuinely were curious. Why was this fine man standing near an expensive car was dressed like this? All he had on was a t-shirt—which accented his biceps and abs—that was either too old and tight or the loose bottom that you were sure was originally white but was stained beige in dust. If you squinted, the blood drops near the hem of his left foot would be clearly visible.

“Are you a guest at a party? Or are you just waiting for someone?” It was intrusive, you accepted. Hesitation in his eyes could be seen.

“Waiting for someone,” he answered, looking down at your lit cigarette. Judging from your cloth, he recognized you were rich. And he was broke and handsome, which made his job easier.

“You look…familiar. Are you famous by any chance?” He lied. You didn't look familiar to him. Instead, he just wanted to confirm his doubts.

“No, my dad is. L/n clan. Famous for investing in jujutsu sorcerers,” you answered, confirming his doubt. The L/n clan was a well-known clan with a lot of money and talent. “But you know what happens behind the door.” You had noticed him staring, so you handed him the cigarette.

He took a big drag. “Gambling with people's life,” he said, propping his head up, blowing the smoke out.

“Since you know, I am assuming you're one of them.”

“Not really. But I can't say that I am not involved.” His eyes were now on you. Coming to think of it, his attitude was entirely different from the investors you've met. He had a terrifyingly calm composure. A harmless posture, yet the aura was overpowering.

“Everyone likes money,” he asserted, blowing another drag and the passing the cig to you. You brought the tip to your mouth, but you'd rather stare at his. He had harsh but plumped lips. The tension grew stronger and stronger until it became hard to breathe. It did not go unnoticed by him. He had his half lidded eyes fixed on you. You passed him a slight smile, which he reciprocated, understanding that maybe you both share the same feeling about the moment.

Fuhiguro Toji never left a chance to bag money. He thought he hit a jackpot when he grabbed your neck, exchanged positions so now that you were against the limo's door, and pushed his tongue past your lips. The kiss was heavy and needy. It's like you both needed this. You needed to get the frustration out, and he thought he'd fool you and make money from you.

“Wanna go in the car?” His mouth was sucking harshly on your neck. You moaned in response, and he entered the unlocked door. You got in after him.

Toji had his bulge ridiculously visible from the thin white bottoms he was wearing. You gulped the air in your mouth, as you sat on his lap, hiking your dress up. Groans left his lips when he rubbed your clothed but wet slick against his bulge. You found yourself pinching your nipples and riding him anticipating more.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked, cupping his jaw.

“Always carrying one in case I met a hot girl like you anywhere,” he answered, taking out the condom in his wallet (which barely had money but many condoms).

Bringing his hands closer, he commanded you to spit on it. You did, and he used it to lube his bare cock. He wore the condom. Big hands grabbed your ass cheeks, picked you up, an placed you on his cock. You found your walls stretching at his size.

“F-fuck. You're so big,” you moaned.

“Does that bother you, babe?” he mumbled on your shoulder.

“Hell no. I need this. Need your big cock…” you stopped, realizing you don't know his name. But it's not like you had to know it. You needed his dick, not his personal information.

“Fuck. Fuck. Just like that, baby. Ride—Ugh! Ride me.” His hands gripped your waist, guiding you on his shaft. One of his hands snaked down to rub your sensitive spot. He circled your clit until he felt your thighs tightening around his. You grabbed him, almost suffocating him with your chest as you orgasmed, clenching around him.

“There there.” He gave your back a few strokes before pounding into you again. “Fuck, baby. Gonna make me cum.” Strong fingers were bouncing you on his lap, skin slapping against each other. He held you tight in one place as he came, arms stretched and his biceps flexing before his posture relaxed.

“Oh. Shit. That was hot—”

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my car?” Before you got to finish the sentence, you looked out at the driver's seat, where the voice came from.

“Wait. What? What's going on?” You asked Toji.

“Don't know. It ain't my limo, sweetheart.”

You should've known judging from his attire that no way in hell that was his. But nothing had to change.

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. This is Mr. Yamazaki's car, and he will kill me if he came to know about that strangers were in his car having sex.” The man was panicking.

“Yamazaki, huh? I am not really a stranger then. Don't worry.” Toji helped you straighten your attire, grabbing his own after.

You both stepped out and saw a man approaching you. The air in the environment had suddenly shifted. It was more tense than usual. What about to befall you?

“Oi. What's with the ruckus—TOJI! YOU.” Before Yamazaki in his newly changed black suit could say another word, Toji pulled out his loaded gun and shot him. A pool of blood formed on the ground, some seeping into it. The driver ran away screaming in fear. You had seen people getting shot before, but never so up close. The bang of the gun rang through your entire head.

“Would've killed him when the first word slipped past his mouth, but I wanted you to learn my name.” There was not a single expression of regret or shock on his face. Like it's his everyday job. And it actually was. Then it clicked to you. The name. He is Fushiguro Toji, the sorcerer killer. Your heart rate went higher until he grabbed you by your arms and looked you in the eye. Panic was seeping through you. And he noticed it.

“Don't worry. I know you don't have any curse. I don't kill non-sorcerers or innocent people,” he reassured you.

Your throat was choked up, but you still somehow managed to ask him, “W-what did he do?”

“He was the reason someone important to me is dead. Someone who made me human, which I don't think I'll ever be again”

He wasn't angry, but his face had a sad expression which did not suit him. You cupped his cheeks, not saying another word, forehead against his. Toji realized it wasn't about your money anymore. He felt foolish to judge you so fast. To feel something. And so did you for still standing there. Not because you were forced to, but because you wanted to. This was stupid. So, not you. Neither of you dared to push each other away. Instead, you held each other closer as the second passed until your lips once again crashed on each others.

“I can't make you human when I don't find me being one myself. But maybe we can work on accepting this side of us,” you offered comfort to him. Toji realized that isn't this is what he needs? Why was he expecting that someone similar might appear and make him human again? That part died when his wife died. Yet, he found himself being born in a new form and continuing to live. Your presence, your acceptance, adopted that part of him. And his instincts told him to trust you with all he had left. Because deep inside, you wanted to be accepted too. You did not belong here.

“Run away with me. Please. I know it's impulsive and stupid, but it feels right. I fucking need you. Not only that, but I am not thinking anything right now except holding you in my arms as long as I can,” he offered. It was indeed a dumb idea. What are you Ana from Frozen? But you knew you wouldn't survive in your own damn house. Not when you didn't possess any curse, so your father wanted to marry you off to one of his “friend's son.” You needed to get away and Toji felt like a risky but an option that was worth it.

“Take me away. Where I can be free.” He pressed his lips on your forehead, humming a yes.

Suddenly, the sound of people approaching alerted you two. Toji squinted to look and realized that goddamn driver must've informed others.

“Quick. Get in the car,” he commanded, quickly opening the door.

“What? It's not even ours.”

“Do we require it to be? I killed the owner. I earned it. Imagine it like a game. NOW GET IN THE FUCKING CAR.” Your actions hastened at his worried and loud order.

You both drove far away until you reached a secluded place with no angry, hot headed sorcerers in sight. You breathed out and giggled.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing. It felt like a movie. A really adventurous one.”

“Well, you have a lot of adventures down the road now that you're with me.” His head leaned back. You quickly sat up and crawled on his lap.

“Oh yeah? Then why don't we go on an adventure here?” You kissed him, your fingers pressed his chest.

“We could. After I learn your first name.” Oh, shoot. You realized you didn't tell him your name yet. Not that you got a chance between how the events escalated quickly earlier.

“It's y/n.”

“I see. So are you planning to do more than the kiss or shall I take matter in my own hands, y/n” Fuck! Your name sounded so hot when he said it. You grabbed his hair.

“Fuck me, Toji.” And that's all it took for him to rip your dress. You didn't need it any more anyway. You got your freedom.

On a cold-blooded night, in the darkness, two people had found warmth and light in their life.

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