#is his way of keeping Gates’ memory alive

[frantic-fiction]

Reunions

(Pic: lovelybluebirdie) I cropped it a bit

Astarion x gn!reader, Astarion x reincarnated!Tav

Summary: A few months after reconnecting to your past life as Tav, a party is set to meet the rest of the group. You're nervous, worried about not living up to who you once were. Will you be enough?

This is a little part 2 of I'll Find My Way Back to You

Notes/ Warning: Pretty much just fluff. Reader is insecure. Astarion is a supportive partner. I kept all 6 origin characters alive because it's my story and I don't want to imagine any of them dead. Also, Halsin's here cause druids live to be like a thousand or whatever.

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist

You're not panicking. Why would you be? It's not like you're meeting a group of people you've only met in dreams—a group of strangers you've painted for the better part of your existence- a family forged through hardship from a past life you're still trying to remember fully.

No, you're not panicking. You're not scared that the people who are so excited to see you will not like what they see. You're not terrified the family Astarion has helped you remember will look at you disappointed once they realize you are no longer the Tav they once knew. You're not worried at all. Not. One. Bit.

You spent the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom. It was sparkling, and your fingers ached from the hours of scrubbing you filled in the restless day with. No surface was left untouched. Bookshelves were dusted, baseboards were spotless, and even the top of the cupboards, where no one would ever see, were wiped down. The floors were swept and mopped three times now, but you keep finding spots you missed. Astarion even physically stopped you from scaling the roof to clean the chimney when you ran out of things to occupy yourself with.

There's a roast in the oven, potatoes, and veggies cooking alongside it, and a pie cooling on the counter. You wanted to cook more, but you were worried that not everyone would like blueberries or that someone had turned to a plant-based diet. Astarion quickly reminded you that they used to eat food out of dusty barrels and mildewed chests.

Currently, you stand in front of your floor-length mirror. Astarion is out on a quick hunt before the party arrives, leaving you to obsess over your thoughts of inadequacy. The majority of your closet littered the floor. You're scrutinizing a simple tunic and legging combo. Was it too simple? Should you wear something more eye-catching?

You're trying to remember what Tav would have worn. All you can recall is blood-stained armor and simple camp clothes. But this occasion garners something more. Fuck. Stripping off the current outfit, you replace it with an almost identical one and look at yourself in the mirror again. You weren't sure what you expected, maybe to magically love this pair of pants and old tunic. But in reality, you were just as frustrated and worried.

The clothes weren't the problem, you knew that, but it was easier to be pissed at a blouse than to accept that you were scared. You were frightened to face Astarion and Tav's friends. You have Tav's memories and feel an odd kinship with these people. But you weren't Tav, and you would never be them, at least not entirely.

You felt like an imposter to try and convince anyone otherwise. Tears of frustration and disappointment in yourself began to trail down your cheeks. How could a silly artist hold a candle to the kind and heroic savior of Baldur's Gate? You glared at yourself, wishing things could have been different.

You jump when you feel cold arms wrap around your torso and a warm kiss at the nape of your neck. Astarion loved to use his lack of reflection to sneak up on you. You, on the other hand, hated it. Still, you found yourself leaning back into his firm chest.

"Hello, my love,"

You try to stop the pathetic sniffle, but it's useless. Astarion turns you in his arms and cups your jaw. "Darling," is all he says because he knows. Of course, he knows.

That simple pet name causes the floodgates to open, and you crumple into Astarion's chest, nuzzling his neck. He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. Astarion lets you cry, knowing how nervous you've been for this meetup.

He rubs soft circles on the small of your back and peppers kisses to the crown of your head. "You can talk to me,"

"W-what if they don't li-like me?"

Astarion moves you both to the bed, skirting around the mess you made. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap to look you in the eyes better. "Why wouldn't they love you?" He prompts, not wanting to push you.

"Star, you know why. I'm not Tav," you hiccup, and you're positive the words you're speaking are incoherent. "I have their memories and some of their mannerisms and…and I'm also allergic to bees, but I'm not them. What if they hate me because I'm not Tav."

Astarion pecks your lips to halt your panicked words. He wipes the tears from your damp face. "No, you are not Tav, but they are part of you. They live in your art, laugh, and kind heart."

"But wha-"

"Let me finish, my love," Astarion smiles, brushing some hair behind your ear. "No one expects you to be Tav. We all love them deeply, but Tav's gone." He swallows hard, the words still hard to voice for him.

Astarion kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and continues to pepper kisses over your face, catching stray tears. "They just want to get to know the beautiful artist I fell in love with. Gale's big mouth might have let them know more about our history than I would have liked, but that doesn't change anything."

"And if they don't like the person you fell in love with?" You ask softly.

"Then fuck all of them. I love you, and if they don't love you as well, then they have no place in my life." His eyes pierce deep into yours, and there's no denying the truth of his words. You are overcome with a wave of love for your vampire and kiss him softly once more. "Now come, my love, by the smell, your roast is done."

"Shit!" You jump off his lap and rush out of the room, self-doubt pushed to the side.

*

The roast is fine if slightly burnt on the top. It looked juicy and smelled amazing. The vegetables are mush, but the potatoes are tender and seasoned well. It's not your best meal, but there's nothing you can do to fix it now. You left it on the counter to rest and found Astarion in the living room.

He was rehanging one of your paintings- the one you drew late last year after waking up in a cold sweat. It was a complete picture of the party standing on a dock overlooking the Grey Harbor just as the sun rose above the horizon. Astarion helps you fill in the gaps, telling you that this followed the fall of the Absolute.

"What are you doing?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the wall. You had hidden away most of your art, too embarrassed by the sheer number of canvases depicting the guest due here any minute.

Astarion finishes hanging the painting above the fireplace and turns to you. "I liked this one and thought I'd put it back."

Before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Your stomach instantly dropped, and your heart beat hard in your chest. As if sensing your rising anxiety, Astarion moved to your side, his large palm finding the small of your back.

He swiftly kisses your cheek. "One word and I'll throw them all out."

Astarion leaves you and walks to answer the door. Your palms are sweating, and you rub them down your thighs. You take a few deep breaths and pace the room. Not knowing what else to do, you idly fluff up the decorative pillows of the couch and stall.

"Pull yourself together." You mumbled under your breath. You hear the sounds of multiple footsteps, and you know they're all here.

Why did Astarion request for them to arrive all at once? You're still not sure. But you're suddenly very pissed at him for his decision. Having all of them looking upon you like an art exhibit terrifies you.

"My dear," Astarion pokes his head into the room, a warm smile adorning his sharp features. "Would you like to meet our guest?"

You swallowed hard and nodded. Putting on a brave smile, you rounded the couch and reached for Astarion's hand. Threading his fingers with yours, you curled around his arm like a lifeline.

Moving out into the foyer, you shyly look at the group before you. Gale, given the circumstances of your and Astarion's meeting, you had already met. He had relentlessly bothered Astarion until an introduction was made between you and the wizard. But you've only seen the others in the paintings you've made and the dreams you've seen.

Karlach bounced on her feet, Wyll smiling brightly behind her left shoulder. Haslin stood by the door, a beautifully sculpted wooden bear in his arms. Shadowheart stood beside him, her face passive but relaxed and almost pleased. Lae'zel was the farthest from the group, brooding in the corner, looking at you suspiciously. Still, she even loosened her tense shoulders and stepped forward upon your entry.

"Um, hi." You waved meekly, giving them your name, cringing when your voice cracked.

It's quiet for a moment too long, and you're a step away from fleeing when Karlach skips over to you.

"Can I hug you?!" She almost yells, shaking her fists excitedly.

"Karlach!" Astarion scolds. The Tiefling had, by the looks of it, broken a rule he had set for your comfort.

"Sorry, sorry." Karlach's smile fades, and she moves to retreat. Your heart clenches, and it's like your body moves on instinct. You detach from Astarion before you can think, and then your arms are around her waist. Her scalding heat seeps into your bones and listen to the cranks of her engine.

"Hi Karlach," you whispered into her torso. The wind squeezed from your body, and your feet were off the ground.

"It's nice to finally meet you! The letters fangs write didn't do you justice."

Quickly, the group connects like magnets. Wyll crowds in and hugs you from behind, pressing you closer to Karlach. Gale piles on after, then Halsin. Shadowheart nudges her way between the men and apologizes on behalf of everyone but gives you an equally tight squeeze. The group even wrangles Astarion and Lae'zel into this group hug.

These people are supposed to be strangers, but having them close, seeing this family you've watched through someone else's memories for most of your life right before you. It fills you with familiar warmth and affection and has tears of joy in your eyes. You might not be Tav, not entirely, but you still have a place in this little family.

"Um…excuse me, I can't breathe." You squeak out after a moment of suffocation, and the group is quick to disperse.

Wiping away the lingering dampness from your cheek, you take a moment to compose yourself, clearing your throat with a subtle grace. Your hand instinctively finds its way back, and Astarion swiftly recovers it, his touch reassuring. Soft circles dance on the back of your hand, a silent question lingering in his gaze, seeking affirmation that you're all right. You respond with a nod and a comforting squeeze of his hand.

"Ah, well…" you chuckle with a hint of self-awareness. "I have a roast with everyone's names on it. And a blueberry pie; Astarion found a wild patch on one of his hunts."

"Thank the gods, I'm famished," Wyll sighs, his appetite evident as he sniffs the air dreamily. A nudged Karlach sets the communal movement toward the dining room in motion.

Astarion emerges with the wine, gracefully pouring glasses of red for everyone. Gale, the sole visitor to your home beforehand, takes charge of the table settings. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, plates and silverware align harmoniously. The stage set, the food emerges, and the night takes flight.

It feels like a cinematic scene picking up where it had once paused, a seamless continuation. Laughter weaves through the air, stories unfold, and even the occasional argument dissolves into a chorus of joyous laughter. Though new and fresh, the conversation flows as naturally as breathing. Strangers evolve into friends, and amidst the clinking of glasses, a familial bond begins to sprout. Tav was indeed fortunate to have these beautiful souls around.

As the night bids farewell and everyone departs, you find solace curled up against Astarion. His voice, a gentle undercurrent, softly reads from his newest book, and you gaze up, fixated on the beautiful man before you. A silent expression of gratitude graces your lips, an unspoken acknowledgment directed at Tav. Thanks for giving you a family and the love of your life.

Astarion's fingers scratch your scalp, tenderly coaxing your eyes closed. "What are you thinking about, little love?"

"Just how lucky I am."

"I would argue I'm the lucky one, but I suppose we can share," he smiles; he continues to read to you and massage your scalp until you're puddy against his body, sleep having all but consumed you. The night settles into a tranquil symphony, the warmth of shared love lingering in the serenity.

Okay I know it was a bit cheesy, but I needed so fluffy shit today. Anyway, tell me what you thought I love talking with y'all.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna, marina-and-the-memes

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #reader insert #fanfic #writing #frantic fiction #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 x tav

[antiqua-lugar]

Tumblr refuses to let me reblog a post referencing Wyll saying that as a child his father told him that their dead love ones were always watching over them and Wyll's reaction was to be scared. He thought he was haunted.

The idea of Wyll being genuinely scared of wide-eyed ghosts in response to what probably was his father's attempt to console him over his mother's death is. His loved ones not as a consolation but as a reminder, as an audience - possibly as someone judging him, because ghosts cannot move on until their unfinished business is resolved. Especially because his mother also haunts the narrative, in her own way? She's first defined by her absence, Wyll doesn't talk or think of her much because she died giving birth of him. Except he reveals that he has been thinking of her recently, specifically contrasting her to his father. He's been thinking about how his life could have been different had she been there. Wyll is always very adamant that he doesn't regret anything, he can't, because it means regretting all the good he has done and all the lives he has saved. Is his mother's death one of the things he is not supposed to regret, because had she been alive then none of this would have happened and he would still have been in Baldur's Gate with his family, not a hero but happy and whole...but then dozens of people would have been dead and dozens of devils would still be living? Are his good deeds, like his dead loved ones, haunting him? Especially since he keeps contrasting his father and mother, public vs private, duty vs personal happiness, throught the whole of Act 3, culminating with his romance scene in Act 3, where his mother's memory is directly tied to his proposal. I know some people said the writers just straight up forgot he never met her, but I just assumed he is simply recalling what his father used to say abut her, just like he always repeats his father words, which instead are curiously absent from the whole thing. We are never told why his father never married his mother while Wyll will marry the person he loves no matter who that person is - Bhaalspawn, vampire spawn , Great Liberator of the Githyanki people, former Sharran with a degree in torture and interrogation - and it would have been so easy to bring his fathers' words in his romance, to say anything at all about duty, but no, only his mother's words matter in his romance. I know this probably IS a result of the rewrite, but the complete absence of his father in favour of his mother in his romance arc, which is the ONE arc that is entirely all about Wyll's personal desires? Like The Blade of Frontier is a hero from the legends, Wyll Ravengard is someone who wants to be in a romance. It's perhaps his only indulgence, to have a love story as he wishes. On some level he compares it to his childhood dreams, and he says it's his greatest wish, as if the idea of the person he loves staying at his side forever cannot possibly be something he actually gets to keep. And not only then he does, but his romance scene only triggers after Ansur after he (in his good ending) has just refused his father and the world of politics to remain the Blade The themes in his arc. don't get me started on mizora being a dark mirror version of his mother

#antiqua plays bg3 #bg3 #wyll ravengard #bg3 meta #i am rambling. i have so many thoughts.

[yandere-sins]

Favorite

You are Astarion's favorite blood sacrifice. He decides to reward you for it.

Characters: Yandere!Ascended!Astarion x GN!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Yandere, Vampires, Reader nearly dies, Blood being mentioned in all manners, Biting, Death mention, Minor sexual hints, Desperation, Possessiveness, Obsessiveness, Minor violent acts (not directed at reader except biting)

a/n: I don't have a big Halloween story for you guys, but I've been trying to get back into writing more and I've been working on this story the last couple of days, so I hope you enjoy it ♥ (I mean it's vampires so that's almost Halloween-themed right???)

Darkness is a vampire's best friend. 

It shields them, hides them, benefits them—all without expecting something in return. It's nature's way of making up for all the pain and suffering it put its less loved children of the night through, and they welcome it, moonlight glistening on their skin, their perception so much sharper without the fear of sunlight's burn. 

Like eager partners in crime, a vampire's gifts are amplified by what the darkness provides. They stalk in the shadowy coat of the night; see the prey that wants to stay unseen. Their voices, mellow and honeyed, sound even sweeter, whispered in the ears of those who wander into the vampire's hunting grounds as the creatures lure their prey with promises of grandeur. Fame, money, lust. It seems to be all that their food desires. What more could someone want who's unaware of being tricked? And so they follow wherever the masters of night command them. 

Deeper and deeper into the darkness.

"Hello, darling."

You came to hate it—all of it. The darkness, the night.

The whispers and touches, promises and the hunt. You knew he had many more like you, living blood banks stored in cold, dark cells. You heard them scream every night when the bell rang twelve, the darkest hour of the day. Sometimes, you recognized the cries as the ones from days before, but you never knew when would be the last time you'd hear the poor souls lost in the darkness. New ones came and went, but you were the only one that remained after every night. 

Somewhere between three and four months, you lost count of the days spent here. You tried to remember how many times you'd been visited, but one miscount, and now you didn't know if it had been one or ten years. You would have expected to get mad in the darkness, alone and aching from your shoulders to your ankles, with no place on your body unbitten. But Astarion was punctual—perhaps the only good quality about him. That was the only thing to keep you grounded down here.

He didn't miss a single day of feeding or, as he called it, spending time with you. 

Alongside your meal, he showed up at exactly midnight every night, someone always there to close the door behind him without fail. You had never seen his face, but you had felt it plenty of times beneath your fingertips, enough to know he was one of those handsome bloodsuckers who kidnapped and locked you here. At least for now, as long as you were pretty enough in his eyes as well. Eyes that you felt creeping over your body the moment the only door to the outside opened, only more darkness waiting behind it. They mustered you, devoured you perhaps, an appetizer before the main course. 

You knew nothing of your nightly visitor besides his punctuality and his name. There was no face to associate it with, just the feeling of his cold skin and the sharp pain of his fangs in your memory. And yet, something told you he was special even among his kind. Somewhat… superior. He still had the capability to be gentle if he wanted, never causing you to cry out in agony like the other sacrificial lambs did. And more importantly, after all this time, you were sure he was the one keeping you alive.

"Astarion," you greeted him, simply, calmly. Hiding the shiver in your voice despite the room growing colder ever since he stepped inside. It was hard to say if you were still afraid of death when it was a constant threat like a noose hanging above your head. Perhaps you dreaded surviving more than dying if you thought about it, your heart growing heavier with fear and loneliness every day. But at the same time, you grew more and more desensitized to the screams and pain and more used to the darkness.

Hugging your body with one arm, you used the other to walk along the wall to your chair, the wood creaking as you sat down, scooting it closer to the table. He liked it when you did what he wanted without him having to ask you to. Astarion's steps were non-existent, but you needn't wait for or invite him to join you. You could always count on his chest pressing against your back the moment you sat down as he leaned over you from behind. It was a familiar yet suppressive feeling. A reminder of your position. 

You were below him, prey to be consumed. Yet, he treated you more like a pet, almost beloved, but at best, you were well-cared for. You doubted he could feel anything towards you that wasn't belittling. You'd not thrive in the darkness on your own, but Astarion knew how to keep you alive. A waft of roasted chicken drifted into your nose, hearty and mouth-watering, and you had no doubts it would be accompanied by sides that would nourish the dire lack of vitamins you had. He had always insisted on you finishing your plate, feeding you himself if he had to. It couldn't go that you'd not eat what he graciously provided. But this was the only meal you were given every day, and the loss of blood made you too hungry to strike.

You tried once. For almost a week, you starved yourself until you could not do it anymore. Continuing not to eat when you were starving and food was served in masses to you cost too much willpower that you didn't have. Likewise, eating the food with the condition that you had to sit on his lap and thank him for every measly pea he fed you one after the other was enough humiliation to never try that again. And Astarion had been happy since with your plate wiped clean.

"You smell delightfully today," he mused as he drew back from the table. You felt his lips brush over your bare shoulder, your breath hitching when he pressed them to the nape of your neck. You'd not put it past him to eat before you, even though he seemed satisfied waiting for you to finish most of the time.

"Garbor gave me new soap today. Roses, I think," you breathed, reaching forward to the cutlery that, no doubt, laid beside the plate Astarion brought. It just appeared, almost magically. But you were pretty sure it was there all along, Garbor, the guard, probably cleaning and switching it out while you were asleep. You didn't even know if his name was Garbor; you merely decided to call him that. After all, no one would speak to you here aside from Astarion, even if you knew they existed in the shadows. 

"Sure, if that's what you want to believe," Astarion chuckled, his comment profoundly unsettling as you knew what he meant when he said you smelled nice. Your blood. To him, you must have smelled as mouth-wateringly as your meal did to you. You had always empathized with animals, wishing for them to live their lives as best as possible, even if they were destined to be slaughtered. Ironic, now that you were cattle to a vampire, likely being fed according to Astarion's tastes. 

"Next time, I think I'd like something citrusy again. The last soap was divine."

His hands driving up your arms made you nervous. They were unfettered by your movements as you aimlessly tried to pierce meat and vegetables onto your fork, your eyes never adjusting to the complete darkness of the basement cellar. You weren't a vampire, after all. Despite the time spent down here, the broken fear and authority between you two, he could still make you nervous. And you talked when you were anxious, to the point you wanted to bite your own tongue off.

A mix of a chuckle and a scoff escaped him as he wrapped his fingers around your neck, his nails resting softly against your throat while his thumbs ran up and down the sides of your spine in feathery touches. Slowly, reassuring you of his presence. And the ability to snap your neck with this formidable cut-throat necklace. He readjusted his touch a few times until his pointer fingers pressed against your pulse on one side, your gullet on the other. Enough for you to eat and breathe, but you didn't dare to move your head. 

"I shall tell… Garbor, to fetch that for you. Anything else? Another pillow? A new shirt? Would my darling fancy some earrings? We just so happen to have someone donate a wonderful pair of rubies that would look so beautifully dangling from your ears."

A shudder went through you; the word 'donate' was not one to take kindly. People donated to charities and beggars. Not to someone who could put meat on a plate every day for you and obviously had no saintly bone in his body. Gulping down the chicken that got stuck on your tongue as you listened to the sultry voice of your captor, you put down the fork for a moment to think, clearing your throat as best as you could with his hands still pretending to be a necklace. 

"A candle maybe, and a book. I feel like now's a great time to pick up a new hobby."

You heard the grin spread on Astarion's lips as he chuckled, his thumbs curling inwards until you felt his nails press against your skin. "I do so very like those entertaining ideas of yours, sweetling. But alas, I'm afraid I cannot give you that. You'd end up preferring the book over my company!"

"How could I ever, Sir? I wasn't planning on going on a paper diet."

This time, he actually burst out into laughter, hands disappearing into the darkness as you presumed he held his stomach from the ache of amusement. You wasted no time to stuff two more bites into your mouth as long as you had the freedom that was oh-so short-lived. His hands banging on the table in front of you created an explosive sound in the small confinement you called home. Compared to the cold body pressed against you, his breath skimmed your ear warmly, his voice like honey dripping right into your ear. 

"That's why you're my favorite. Those little witty comments of yours have saved you so many times, you know?"

The food you were so eager to sneak into your mouth now threatened to fall out of it as you couldn't find the strength to swallow. Some instinctual part of you waited for him to attack, exploit your vulnerable self. It readied you, muscles tense, body paying attention to everything it could perceive (which was shamefully little with your senses so inferior to the vampire). But then there was the rational part of your brain, currently occupied with the warmth of his breath gracing your ear and cheek, and his words. 

Favorite. You were his favorite.

You forced yourself to finish chewing, slowly, embarrassingly aware of Astarion waiting for another 'witty' remark from his favorite. Favorite late-night amusement? Favorite person to take care of? Favorite blood bag? You felt his eyes drilling into your jaw expectantly as you chewed your food properly before you leaned forward to reach for the cup of water that was unmistakably always on the table. Perhaps because of the darkness, you were so very aware of your hair brushing his nose and the deep inhale it caused Astarion to take before he pressed his face into it, gripping a bunch of it with one hand and forcing you to halt. 

"You're my undoing, pet."

"Really?" you said in your most convincing, surprised voice, trying your hardest to sound as fake as possible. Revealing his thoughts to you might have given you a chance to bargain with him, even though this cell and the darkness had long become much safer than anything he could offer. In reality, you knew better than to trust the words of a vampire, yet found yourself truly surprised about the reverence they were spoken with. "It's hard to imagine I could do such a thing. I'm just sitting here."

Astarion hummed, amused, satisfied with your remark once again. Another chance at life, how you noted duly. Perhaps he liked the challenge of you playing his game, neither of you ever speaking the whole truth and coating your words in sarcasm and fake friendliness. Or maybe vampires were accompanied by madness that made them prefer prey who didn't cave as easily into a begging, sobbing mess. Prey like you.

 "It's been years—no, decades since I last took a liking in someone, and you have no idea how much I longed for companionship like yours. It's exciting and a bit of a tease. I couldn't bring myself to kill you yet."

"How very gracious of you," you praised, hoping he didn't pay close attention to your face, a grimace edging into your features.

"You know, I might even be convinced to return you to the light. If you ask, nicely."

And suddenly, there it was. You gulped as you felt your stomach twist anxiously, suddenly attacked by something you had long abandoned. Hope. A glimmer of it, at least. You remembered the days when you had still banged at the door, demanding and reasoning with anyone who'd hear you to release and let you go home. The early nights when you dreamed about the sun and the warmth of being surrounded by people. And now the time had finally come to reclaim those wishes, almost bringing you down to your knees. 

You knew you couldn't be so foolish as to retort to being a boring, begging nobody. You had to be his favorite. Crawling over the dirty floor and clinging to him for dear life wasn't going to cut it, no matter how much you wanted to. Because yes! Yes to the surface, yes to leaving all of this behind. Escaping him would be much easier when you weren't locked in the darkness. You had waited so long for the sweet embrace of death and endured so much pain when you were forced to survive pitifully like this. You even became his favorite. And now it was paying off—if you played your cards right.

"Ah… I don't know," you sighed. You could hear your own voice, thin and nervous. Excited. Your mouth was dry, but your heart was banging against your rips. Undoubtedly, he knew that, but you hoped Astarion would forgive your very appropriate reaction. Maybe even fancy it.

Every flinch of your muscles and every word carefully uttered was driven by a hope that Astarion could easily crush if he disapproved. You never saw yourself as exceptionally talented with words, but if that was what he wanted, he should have it. Your mom would scold you for being a brat, but this vampire here favored your attitude enough to keep you alive, so it had to be good for something. "I was just starting to get comfortable here. It's so… cozy."

"Well, I have it cozy up there as well. Cushioned chairs and silk sheets—only the best for my best."

It was strange to hear his voice in the same tone as his usual banter, even though you could detect another tone swinging in the background. It was but an insignificant waver, one of uncertainty and doubt. Desperation. Maybe not as much as you, but he wanted you to agree, his reasons unclear. And yet, your heart setting out a beat must have given away that you recognized his wish since he added, "You were always a marvel. But imagine how good you'd look by my side up there. My consort. My favorite."

"W-Well, are the beds soft?" you pressed out quickly, trying to avoid the sensual allure of his voice being murmured into your ear. You didn't mean to stutter, biting your own tongue before deciding to calm yourself with deep, quiet breaths that you hoped he didn't notice. But you knew that everything he said went straight to the unreasonable part of your mind, the one a vampire knew to manipulate so well. But in your desire to get out of here, eagerness and giving in too easily could cost you everything. 

"Very," he mused, and you were relieved to hear him still in good spirits, his next words almost a lilt. "Soft and warm. Like you."

"And the food?" you asked, gulping. You didn't care for the beds or the food. 

"Oh, the food!" 

His exclamation caught you by surprise, as did the sudden disappearance of his body. For a moment, you thought you had ruined your chance. Had gone too far with your hesitance. But next you knew, you felt his hand fall to your shoulder again, running down your arm until he had your wrist in his palm, lifting it to his face. Astarion planted one kiss below your thumb, then moved on to kissing the pulse beneath it. 

"It's delightful! Delectable! The best you ever had. And me for dessert. You won't lack anything,  I promise."

His promise meant very little to you, and yet, as he littered your wrist with kisses, you couldn't help but cave. It was everything about this situation, the hope, the reverent kisses, the empty promises, that blinded you from the danger. You hadn't questioned his intentions or the price you'd have to pay. Not when he spoke to you as if he was laying the world at your feet, promising you the moon, the stars, and everything beyond.

"Ask me, pet, and you can have it all. The luxuries, the world, me. All you have to do is ask, darling."

There they were, the simple, honeyed words every human wanted to hear. All feeding into your own desperation so perfectly as if they were made just for you. As if you were the only suffering fool in this world, and perhaps to Astarion, you were. The grin curling his lips upwards against your wrist revealed just how much of a fool he took you for when you opened your mouth again.

"I…" you hesitated. But not long enough. You had too much to lose, despite not knowing what you were going to lose agreeing to this. "I want to go to the surface."

"Do you now?" he smirked, and you felt the hard edge of his teeth as his lips parted in a wide grin. 

"I want to, Sir. I want to be your favorite. I want to be by your side. Please take me with you."

For a moment, there was silence, then Astarion let out a hum of satisfaction followed by a deep breath.

"Oh, you are, darling. You are my favorite. I've longed for this moment for so long, yearned for it every damned day and night, and finally, it's here. Let's be together forever, alright? It'll hurt only a little, and then we'll always be together."

"What will hurt?" you asked before you felt the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into your arm. You knew this pain, the searing burn of his fangs piercing your skin. You had felt it a hundred times, no, a thousand. But this one was short-lived, blood dripping from your hand as you bit your lip, holding back the tears. No one liked tears, and you were too close to your goal to ruin it now. 

"Endure it," he purred, and it was almost a shame that he noticed, considering how much you fought yourself to keep your composure. "You'll have to bare this beautiful neck of yours if you want to be mine, darling."

There was another moment of hesitation, the taut skin of your neck always hurting the most if he bit it. But why even did he have to bite you? What good were two more bites of you in this dark cell when he could assume you'd be at his beck and call upstairs as well? Astarion couldn't know of your feeble escape plans yet, so he had no reason to doubt your devotion. And even if he did, wouldn't he enjoy feeding from you in one of the more comfortable beds he mentioned?

But pondering was of no use to you. You had to comply if you wanted your dreams to come true. Turning towards him and laying your head to the side, you could feel your hair fall out of the way, baring your neck so beautifully. "Yes, Sir," was your short, meager reply, and yet your arm immediately fell to your side, one of Astarion's hands wrapping around the back of your head while the other weighed down on your shoulder, keeping you in place. 

 "That's a good pet," he mumbled, face inching closer to your body with every spoken word. You braced yourself for the pain, the burning, the mess it would make, and you took it like a champ, which you probably were after all those bites—at first. However, all the bites before eventually ended. They never lasted more than a few minutes at worst. But not this one, and that's when you realized your mistake. 

You gasped as you reached for him, grabbing his clothes like a lifeline to hold onto. Tears fell freely as the pain didn't stop, your body growing lighter while Astarion had little problems keeping you in place. "It hurts!" you sobbed as your thoughts became less reasonable, less controlled. Everything began to swim, and though you were sitting, you felt like you were going to fall. But even as you struggled to stay conscious, Astarion didn't stop, didn't care. 

By the time you realized you were going to die, it was already much too late. Your life was drained out of you with all of your blood. At least you didn't have to feel the pain of your crushed hope or the desperation of, once again, being stuck in this cold and lonely darkness. If you were honest, you looked forward to escaping all of this, as had been your destiny for so long. At least this way, you'd be free, too. Differently than you thought, but free nonetheless.

"Mhm, darling. Even now, you're ravishingly beautiful."

You could hear the voice, but your body had no blood left to supply your brain, so it could understand anything. You didn't even feel his uncharacteristically warm fingers smear a thick fluid to your lips, slipping in to coat your tongue, reflexes working even when you were as good as dead. 

"And you're mine. All mine."

At least you wouldn't have to die in this dark cell, though you had no strength left to think about what shithole you'd be thrown into instead. Your body was but a sack of skin and bones in his arms as he carried you outside, your head empty like your blood vessels. But even as you lay dying in Astarion's arms, getting carried away, you knew one thing for sure: You hated it. The pain and the blood. The cold and this evil man that had held you like a cattle for so long only to kill you just like everyone else in the end. You hated him. You hated everything.

And most, you hated the darkness that continued to surround you, enveloping you mercilessly as it cooperated with your murderer. Unaware that you, too, were meant to succumb to it. That your dying body was changing into that of a child of the night, a spawn to the very same lonely vampire you so willingly promised eternity to in exchange for what you believed had been your path to 'freedom'. The same freedom you'd never have now.

Because you were his favorite.

And he'd never let his favorite spawn leave.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #yandere astarion #yandere!astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #yandere bg3 #yandere!bg3 #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[jahiera]

I know it’s just a games mechanic thing but I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of the potential learning curve astarion had to do being thrust out into the wilderness and actually fighting for his life every single day after 2 centuries of stalking shadows and mostly using charm to keep himself safe and alive. picking up a bow for the first time in centuries and it’s awkward, unwieldy at first, but the muscle memory slowly returns to him as he uses it more and more—and so does the question of, did he learn to use this while he was mortal? did he enjoy it? it feels familiar, like a long passed hobby he might’ve once had. or having to quickly adapt to using two daggers for actual combat rather than the one he might have kept on him just in case an alley interaction turned sour. astarion having to learn how to fight in a group, when he’s always been deeply, deeply alone in the shadows before. slowly adapting to watching karlach’s back, picking off enemies from the side as they group around her, or picking off an enemy that was creeping up on wyll with a trick shot from a distance. like there’s no way he did any of these things back in baldurs gate, and it’s a special kind of thrill to accumulate new skills, work skills he barely remembers even having, or finding new ways to utilize talents that once would’ve served cazador but now he uses them to save his own life, and occasionally protect his …. friends … with only mild complaining. something makes me crazy about astarion being forced to use his body for centuries to lure people back with his attractiveness and middling charm and NOW he can turn his body into something strong, a weapon that belongs only to him, reclaim autonomy through the ways he chooses to fight and develop skills and abilities cazador never would’ve wanted him to have

#I have a Mini Essay for Every Companion on their relationship to fighting vs autonomy by the way. Unhinged essays #wyll losing his powers at the beginning as he mentions. karlach using her brutality to DEFEND HER FRIENDS rather than fight for zariel #gale flexing spells and talents he hasn’t dipped into in so long while he was isolated away. #lae’zel learning what it means to fight in a group that wants to keep you as safe as they do themselves. fighting for protection. #BITING DOWN. #bg3 meta

[overnowsfcb]

halfway out the door; fermín lópez

summary: fighting to keep a little flame alive underwater, you couldn't lose the only stable thing in your life

warnings: ANGST!!! (no good ending) mature language, mental health issues (panic attack, anxiety, emotional distress), relationship struggles, unhealthy dinamics, brief mention of smut themes. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 3,3k

note: hiii! it's me again, this time posting for my sweet boy (who is not as sweet in this story) fermín. im planning to do something with all the 1989 vault tracks x barça players. so take it as the first from the series!! also, apologies if the angst hits hard, promise to post fluff next time (its a bit of challenge for me haha) super excited about this and would love to hear your thoughts or suggestions! – venus 🫂💐🫧 p.s.: im so proud of this one tbh

He didn’t seem to have enough time for you anymore. You didn’t want to see the subtle twist, but you knew him all too well and an imperceptible change for everyone was an imposing earthquake in your world.

It was in the hours that your messages would be waiting for a response and the way he wasn’t starved to taste your lips anymore. Once, he’d find an excuse to be with you, even if only for brief minutes. He’d dash to your apartment bearing your favorite chocolate with the pretext of keeping you fed. A smile brightening and your stomach still produced the same fluttering butterflies, as the first time he kissed you underneath the moonlight at fourteen.

Back then, everything was perfect, the chill air in your faces as you ran with sand getting between your toes, you could still feel his timid hands and tender touch on your waist as you both shared a breathtaking kiss.

Your mother's words echoed - relationships don't last forever. You'd always dismissed her musings, attributing them to the bitterness stemming from your father's departure. But now, that thought held a glimmer of truth.

He was your soulmate, your solid backbone, he would hold the candles for you even if his arm grew weary, drawing strength from unimaginable places. Unseen pictures would fill his phone, capturing your candid moments, proudly setting you as his lock screen. One cherished memory stood out: a photo of you, pajama-clad, returning from a late-night ice cream run, a victorious smile on your face. You had lost a bet that day, darting to the store at 1 AM, just a street away from your building.

However, now everything appeared to be falling apart; the last picture in his gallery folder, titled 'I love, mine, mine, mine,' dated back to July, and it was already November. It contrasted the warmth of July with the chilling absence of recent affection.

Yearning for something to blame, tears seemed futile as memories replayed relentlessly, etched deep within your heart. Each sob felt like a painful reminder of the emptiness in the cold, desolate bed without him by your side. Staring at it blankly, your mind echoed the silent void, your chest tightening with every expelled breath.

Sleeping alone always felt unbearable. You reached for your phone, gazing at the lock screen displaying a snapshot of both of you in a summer pool. His outings with friends never bothered you; you accepted that he was now part of Barcelona's first team, and you weren't his priority. However, deep down, a simple goodnight message like "Sweet dreams, Pip, I love you" was all you silently longed for. Was it too much to ask from someone who claimed to love you?

The absence weighed heavily as you saw the clock strike 4 AM. This hour always induced a sense of dread, a time too late to sleep, opening the gates to wandering thoughts about life's choices. Moving to Barcelona for him might have been a hasty decision.

In Sevilla, there wasn't much to lose. Your little town overwhelmed you, especially under the weight of your living nightmare, your mother and her pursuit of perfection. That was until she married your toddler brother’s father, her focus shifted almost forgetting about your existence.

He was your escape from that suffocating environment. Initially, it felt liberating, but gradually, it became confining again. The cage expanded as you became his pillar while his name was in everyone’s mouth, especially girls who found him attractive. The weight of being his support, witnessing the attention he received, caused an internal storm. But he wouldn’t change you, right? Yet, the conflict brewed within, the tug-of-war between being the support he needed and holding onto your own identity.

You grew tired of waiting for him, tossing and turning in bed for ten minutes, before finally succumbing to sleep, cocooned in blankets to ward off the cold.

Abruptly opening your eyes, hours later, your body spasmed and your heart raced, reflecting the recent struggles with sleep these days. Observing to your side, relief washed over you; he lay there peacefully, an arm draped over your waist.

Tears welled in your eyes, a sense of loss filling your chest. Deeply in love, you realized your first waking thought was about him, albeit taking a negative turn.

What if I lose him? What if I lost the lighthouse in the middle of the sea? The uncertainty of the waters and the potential fall weighed heavily.

You wanted to get back to those times when you smiled as you landed your eyes, his body next to you, where blonde strands of messy hair framed his face and you delicately organized them while you talked and kissed every morning, staying in bed like an old married couple, feeling each other's warmth, laughter used to fill the air as he playfully booped your nose.

The weight of invisible hands squeezed your chest, making each breath a desperate gasp for air.

You didn't want to feel this anxiety; your breath became erratic. Rushing to the terrace, you breathed as if your mind forewarned a trailer of what has to be.

Struggling to regain control, your hands tightened on the cold railing, a reminder of the grounding reality you struggled to grasp.

Peering down, the height induced paralysis, intensifying your vertigo. "y/n, estás bien?" (are you okay?) His concerned voice, muffled and distant, struggled to penetrate the thick fog of panic, fear rooted you in place, afraid the floor would fall through if you made a step.

"Amor, háblame." (darling, talk to me) He approached, unsure. This panic attack was the first in years. His hand on your shoulder offered reassurance like an anchor, and you emerged from the state, meeting his gaze with your tear-stained eyes; he was still your gentleman. He was still yours.

And you needed to repeat it to stave off madness.

"Abrázame," (hug me) you whispered in a fragile plea. His arms enveloped you, he was the refuge that you needed; his familiar scent eased your breathing.

His head on yours, he sought to share his heartbeat, attempting to quell the sudden anxiety and the questions that haunted your mind. His furrowed brows hinted at his confusion, but conversation could wait. For now, it was about you. The one who never failed him; he couldn't fail you now.

When your body distended completely, he gently guided you back to bed. You clung to him, as if he could run away at any moment.

You walked to your side of the bed and he tucked you in like no one ever did before, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead, an attempt to dissipate the negativity.

“What time is it?” you inquired, looking up at him.

“Six a.m., sleep. ok?” He stroked your head, and your eyes closed under the weight of fatigue. “I love you so much.”

Days passed after the incident. He chose not to ask more about the reason behind your anxiety, he decided to act as if everything was fine.

This didn't imply he lacked concern for you, but it certainly felt that way. His demeanor towards you was still unchanged.

Feelings unaddressed hung in the air, manifesting in the cold kisses and the superficial small talk that never deepened. But, in front of everyone, you maintained the façade, accepting compliments from everyone about your seemingly perfect relationship. Only if they knew the underlying truth…

Yet, you personally sensed his gradual withdrawal, a palpable feeling of him slipping through your fingers. The strain became evident as you found yourself having to repeat things that were important to you at least three times, only for him to continually forget. Or the lackluster pecks he gave you, making you feel pathetic.

Although feeling unwanted, you weren't a resentful person, so you would religiously sit in the stands at every game and witness how he gained fan's hearts with outstanding performances on the pitch, earning the title of man of one of the champions league matches and you loved how the stadium echoed his name as he made an incredible goal.

You found joy in his happiness, doing his thing with the team of his dreams. In that moment, your mind transported into a different time – those moments when you stood by his side, offering comfort during his moments of self-doubt, back when he believed his dreams would forever be just that – dreams.

His satisfaction meant the world to you. Meeting him as he emerged from the dressing room, already showered, you couldn't help but admire how his wet hair framed his face.

A big smile adorned his face as he approached you. Opening your arms, your bodies collided as he effortlessly lifted you spinning around, creating a whirlwind of laughter that filled the air.

Once he gently set you down, you couldn't contain your pride. Cupping his cheeks, you locked eyes with him. The sense of accomplishment and joy was overwhelming. Your lips met his in a deep, meaningful kiss – one that hadn't been shared in weeks, but in that moment, it felt like the perfect reunion.

You believed this moment marked a fresh start, a much-needed rejuvenation to propel you forward. That optimistic outlook, however, disintegrated after he bid you farewell at your apartment, scrolling through TikTok on your couch, a video of his post-match interview caught your eye, and an involuntary smile crept onto your face.

His voice echoed through the video, captivating in its beauty. The interviewer's final question lingered in the air, "Who are you going to celebrate this with?" Anticipating a mention of teammates, family, and you, you were bewildered as the final words left his mouth – your name conspicuously absent.

And in that instant, the realization struck: he hadn't kept his promise to do a heart gesture to include you in his celebration either. But you decided to let it slide; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins that caused him to forget, and you were willing to overlook it.

You turned on the TV to avoid your thoughts. He no longer watched movies with you, and lately, the time you spent together felt like his phone held more allure than anything you did to catch his attention.

Without even mentioning that he wasn't fucking you lately, offering excuses of exhaustion from training or unexpectedly halting any progress when things got heated and leaving your folds wet.

But still, your mouth stayed shut, justifying every action. What you didn't know is that only one drop was missing in the glass before it overflowed – the last straw.

And eventually, the bomb exploded in the least suitable scenario. You stood by his side, his arm around your waist, desperately wanting to take his hand out and shout your feelings in front of everyone.

You didn't want to be there; you longed to be at home with your fluffy cat, who offered more comfort than Fermín did in these past months.

He was so smooth about it, engrossed in the conversation with his friends, seemingly oblivious to your distress. You whispered in his ear that you needed to get home, you weren’t feeling at your best, the strobe lights blinding you, the music pulsating louder than your heartbeat. It felt like water was reaching your nose, and you feared you'd stop breathing any moment.

Yet, you stayed, like a naive girl striving to make everything perfect for her lovely gentleman. But was still that gentleman who put you above all else?

The voices and laughter from his friends overwhelmed you. While you genuinely liked them and had never encountered an issue before, this night seemed a challenge you couldn't survive.

Your gaze darted around, hoping for a savior amid the sea of faces. But there was no one.

The air seemed to get thinner, and your chest constricted, as if locked in a slowly tight embrace. The blue dress discomforting your skin, felt like an additional layer of confinement, fantasizing to shed not only the fabric but also the skin beneath.

It was as if transparent walls were materializing around you, and this was the moment to escape a place to which you didn't belong, feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece, you watched him again with pleading eyes, silently urging him to notice you.

“Fer, really, I need to go home.” You whispered, careful not to let his friends overhear. He scanned your gestures, it took him a few seconds to realize that something about you was off. You wish he had seen it earlier.

Everything he did was later than you needed it, when he did the things, you have already fixed yourself into the uncomfortable.

“Okay, let's go.” He nodded and he finally took out his hand off your waist, allowing a momentary exhale. Greetings were exchanged with his friends and you reciprocated, not wanting to show an impolite image.

Almost running, your feet propelled you outside of the disco, pushing people out of your way, without waiting for Fermín.

The doors swung shut behind you, plunging the abrupt silence upon your ears. Relief washed over you.

Closing your eyes, you took deep breaths. You needed to hold yourself like the grown woman you were and not cry. As the doors swung open and closed again, you turned to find Fermín, a frown etched across his face.

“Why didn't you wait for me?” his voice held a trace of anger, making you shiver. Realizing the street wasn't the place for such a conversation, you began walking towards the car, your feet aching from the high heels worn that night.

He hurried to catch up, the tension palpable. When the car alarm reached your ears, signaling it was unlocked, you opened the door and entered as quickly as you could.

Sitting there, attempting to adjust to sudden silence, you sensed his presence beside you.

Leaning back into the headrest, you brought your hands on your face.

He started talking again. “What's going on you?” you hesitated to face him, reluctant to confront those expressive brown eyes you memorized like the back of your hand.

As he insisted again to hear a response, anger got to your head. Without warning, you exploded, all the carefully restrained words meant to preserve your relationship pouring into a torrent.

“I'm just so damn exhausted! I feel like I'm invisible. I ache to be seen, to matter in your eyes again. I’ve been here, baring my soul, and it feels like you're a million miles away.” Your scream echoed, tears smudging your makeup. You saw the weight of his actions settling on him as his eyes reflected comprehension. A sob escaped your lips, he stood frozen. “I'm just asking you to hear me, to truly see me, and realize that I'm shattering inside because I've already fought too much alone for the person who I thought I would marry.”

He shook his head, a boy who had always the right words now seemed that they left their mind, leaving him defenseless. A hesitant pause filled the car.

Lips parted, but the sentences seemed to dissipate before finding form. It was as if they were navigating a maze of thoughts, searching for the right words to offer comfort or understanding, yet coming up empty-handed.

You got tired of waiting, you've been doing it for such a long time, you almost felt old. But if he just opened his mouth, you knew you would forgive him. “Let's go home.” You whispered, disappointed about a man who you were calling the love of your life.

He gripped the steering wheel and hit the road. Memories flooded back of the anecdotes shared in that white car, now slipping through your fingers like ash.

You pondered the absence of rain, almost expecting the heavens to open up. Wasn't it obligatory for the sky to weep when something magical began succumbing to rationalism?

When you arrived at the house, he finally was able to speak. “I'm so sorry for everything that I caused you.” He didn't know if physical contact would be well received from you. So he gripped even more the steering wheel, needing to make something with his hands, getting out the tension.

“What happened to us, Fer?” your heart-wrenching question hitting him. You were already talking in past tense.

There wasn't an exit for this situation, and he knew that. He wished he could build a time travel machine and make everything alright, fix the first mistake that led to this big snow ball that was making an avalanche. “I-I don't know.”

“I think I'm coming back to Sevilla.” you confessed, stepping out of the car. Your headache due to the tears that you've been letting out and your eyes were puffy.

As you stood outside the car, the quiet suburban street provided a bleak contrast to the storm raging within your emotions.

Fermín, still gripping the steering wheel, searched for words that could somehow mend the gashes that had formed between you two. The realization of the inevitable distance settled on him like a heavy cloak.

“I never meant for it to come to this,” he finally uttered, voice heavy with remorse. “I let things slip away, and I can't forgive myself for that.”

You, caught between the pain and the need for resolution, gazed at him with a mixture of sorrow and longing. The familiar surroundings of the neighborhood seemed to transform into a backdrop for the end of something significant. You already knew you were never coming back here.

In the distance, a streetlamp flickered, casting intermittent shadows on the pavement. You took a deep breath, the chill in the air stinging your lungs, and said, “Sometimes, we have to go back to move forward.”

His eyes, filled with regret, met yours. “Is there anything I can do to make things right?”

But the answer remained unsaid, it wouldn't be fair to give him instructions and keep rowing and carrying him while he was just there. Wounds were already too deep and your energy was drained.

You turned away, the distance between Sevilla and this quiet street growing smaller in comparison to the emotional gap that now separated you two.

The door creaked shut, marking the end of a chapter that perhaps, in the unfathomable depths of your heart you didn't want to admit that you anticipated it.

In the solitude of your apartment, surrounded by echoes of shared laughter and the ghost of a love that once flourished, you confronted the daunting task of rebuilding your world. The faint glow from the streetlamp outside cast a melancholic light on the remnants of what was.

Fermín, still parked, felt the shared years withering in the blink of an eye, something you had been discerning for a torturing amount of time. The engine hummed softly, an averse companion to the lingering regret in the air. As he drove away, the distance between your hearts seemed insurmountable.

You watched as Blaugrana, your Calico fluffy cat, approached you unawarely of everything surrounding her, you sat on the wooden floor with her purring next to you. The sparkle of her collar made you remember how your life was bound to be lived with Fermín forever, in that collar your initials were carved. You didn't want to fall back to this cruel reality.

You even commanded yourself to religion to save your relationship, months before. Night after night, you poured the essence of your yearning into prayers addressed to Aphrodite, beseeching her to weave the threads of love and passion back into your relationship, to restore its former glory. Each whispered plea carried the weight of your sincere desire, a desperate hope that the goddess of love might heed your call and guide your connection to the blissful days of yore.

But even that didn't work. And you realized the hug of what you thought would be a fresh start unraveled into the deceptive clarity of terminal lucidity. Now you would hear the eternal melancholic tone of the complete loss of vital signs. Forever.

#fermin lopez x reader #fermin lopez #fermin lopez angst #football angst #football x reader #gavi x reader #pedri x reader #fermin lopez imagine #fermin lopez x you #football imagine

[dinneronvenus]

Doesn’t Matter Now

⭑ Gojo x fem reader

⭑ inspired by the song “doesn’t matter now” by flyingfish (listen to that while you read for max effect)

⭑ tags: ANGST ON 100, description of a jujutsu technique that forfeits the sorcerer’s life, death, a funeral, a hopeless and depressed Gojo goes to a medium, hinted reincarnation

⭑ synopsis: Gojo already lost his only true friend, so he never thought losing a woman could hurt him so badly

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Gojo. You didn’t even know.” Utahime spoke softly, her own pain wanting to break through in her voice. “Nobody did.”

Gojo remained silent, eyes glazed over, a cocktail of negative emotions mixing in his mind. He couldn’t even look at Utahime, whose outfit would remind him of you. They stood in the ruins of the shrine your family had built and ran for generations. It had come under attack by many cursed spirits and you had fulfilled your duty to protect the people who lived and worked there, as well as its secrets. With everyone else safe, it would be rebuilt and restored to its original glory, something that should have been a silver lining.

“It is not uncommon for a high priestess to give her life for her people.” Utahime said, voice breaking at the end. This brought Gojo even less comfort.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I hadn’t heard her say those exact words to me before?!” He snapped, still not able to take his eyes off the scene in front of him. It was Utahime’s turn to stay silent.

In the middle of the leveled temple, there was the evidence of your bravery. A set of heavy stone doors bearing an ancient inscription, left open by whatever you had summoned to walk through them, loomed over the two sorcerers. Gojo already knew they’d be used as a gate to honor your memory and remember your sacrifice. His eyes begged to see any scrap of you in the rubble. Maybe this was just a trick, and you were hiding behind one of the doors.

“What could her technique have been to have killed her in the process?” He whispered to the open air, not thinking anyone could’ve heard him.

“Gehenna Gate, it is a technique with the highest of costs,” A raspy voice broke the unbearable quiet. It was your mother, who despite everything, managed to keep a small smile on her face for your surviving friends. “I am sorry she never told you that properly. She wanted to protect you, in her own way.” Her hand came down on Gojo’s shoulder and the kindness in her touch almost burned him alive.

“I didn’t… I wish she…” Gojo stuttered out, hot tears stinging his eyes. Your mother pulled him into a hug, shushing him like a child.

Five days later, your funeral was to be held at your family cemetery in the mountains overlooking the temple. Gojo had no idea how he would survive that. He spent the time until your funeral looking for someone who could communicate with the dead. Thanks to his power and connections, he found one the night before and prepared himself to have one last conversation with you.

“Welcome, sir. I assume you’re here to see Mistress Takemi?” The young man spoke just loud enough to be heard over the jingle of the bell from the door shutting behind him.

“Yeah, and she knows already so I’m just gonna head back there,” Gojo sauntered through the foyer and down the hall to the back room where a woman in black and purple robes standing over a large glass table was waiting on him.

“Welcome Satoru,” she spoke cheerfully with a deep voice that echoed her years of life.

“Don’t call me that. Can we get started?” The overly familiar attitude irked him. The woman cleared her throat and dropped her cheerful act.

“I suppose we can get right to it then.”

The woman had a technique that essentially made her into a human ouija board. Her hands rested on the glass table and it began to glow a soft greenish-blue. Gojo could see the dark circles and puffiness of his eyes in the reflection, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself for being this unable to accept that you were gone.

“Satoru?” His name again, but this time he could hear your voice mixing with Takemi’s voice. He said your name in disbelief, tears of joy in his eyes.

“Yes, yes! It’s me, I wa—”

“You can’t do this, Satoru. It’s against the laws.”

“Please, don’t tell me that right now. You hid so much from me, please just let me ask you one thing.”

Silence. Fearing he’d miss his chance, he went ahead with his question.

“Did you ever really love me?” The depth of sadness and desperation in his voice was unbearable to you, even in your disembodied state. “Why couldn’t you have told me? I could’ve helped you, I would’ve done anything to have saved you.”

“In the mountains where they’ll bury me, follow a trail that begins with pink and white flowers. You’ll find everything you want to know at the end. Goodbye, Satoru.”

“No, no, no,” He wiped the tears from his face and gripped both of Takemi’s shoulders, shouting. “Please come back! I can’t do this again!”

Regaining full control of herself, Takemi pushed Gojo off her and had him escorted out of her shop. The whole world was one hideous shade of grey. He walked for a while with no destination in mind but the grave. He wanted to go find that trail right now but he didn’t have anything else left in him. He wanted to sleep for the rest of his life. Returning home, he set his alarm and went to bed with your instructions in mind.

Utahime and Gojo walked with each other up the mountain to the funeral site. Utahime thought it was odd but refreshing to see him dressed in more traditional clothing. Just one more thing that only you could get him to do.

Everyone took their places, and your father stepped up to the podium. “We are gathered here to send our beloved high priestess to her place of final rest with her ancestors…”

Once the funeral was complete, no one but Gojo, Utahime and your mother lingered too long.

“I’m sorry again for your loss, ma’am.” Utahime said, bowing deeply. Your mother gave her another one of those wise, otherworldly smiles.

“I don’t think I’ve really lost her.” She said before taking a last look around the cemetery and turning to leave. “Why don’t we give him some space?” She motioned to Gojo and Utahime followed her.

Now alone with your memory and your ghost, Gojo began to look for this trail you had mentioned. It took him a while to find it but when he did, his path to the end was quick. It led to a small clearing where the grass was lush, and he was consumed by the smell of many different kinds of flowers and plants. The sight of the small garden was as beautiful as you were to him.

Looking around for anything that could be the answer you spoke of, he saw a faint bit of energy coming from inside a tree. When he got close to the tree, he found it had a hollow spot in it where you’d left a diary. He fished it out and walked to a shaded place in the clearing to begin reading it. Every page was an entry about the two of you together. All of your private feelings from when he was just a crush, and once you had gotten closer, you even glued in pictures you’d taken together.

Gojo couldn’t control his tears or hide his sobs. His body shook against the tree as he held the diary close to his chest. He calmed down enough to continue reading it, with the last entry being dated a week ago.

She knew she was going to die… He thought. You had written about the rise of cursed spirits in the area of increasing numbers and strength and how you felt like it was time for you to fulfill your duty to your people. More than that though, you wrote about how you wished you could have told Gojo. How you wanted to stay with him forever, how he was the only thing you’d ever loved as much as you loved the Gods, and how because of that you wanted to make sure he was safe and didn’t have to fight for once.

It was all too much, Gojo swore he would drown in his own tears right there. The wind picked up and blew the diary’s pages, landing on entry from before you two had met.

6.25 — Training Notes: after a long session of training and studying my technique’s history in my family. I have learned of a way I might be able to circumvent its cost. If I summon a deity of destruction that has the ability to reincarnate, then I will reincarnate too! One of my ancestors did that long ago, although it took 59 days for them to come back.

Gojo couldn’t believe what he was reading. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves furiously and scrambled to his feet. He stored your diary in an inner pocket of his kimono and made his way down the mountains to the temple ruins.

He inspected the gate and found exactly what he needed to be able to accept the loss of the only woman he’s ever loved. Utahime was strolling the grounds when she noticed him in the air, getting a close look at the doors.

“Gojo, what do you think you’re doing? Get down here!” Utahime found his behavior so disgraceful. He chuckled on his way back to earth.

“I was just checking on something. Had to be sure that I wasn’t seeing things.”

His eyes were red and puffy, but his annoyingly cheerful attitude was starting to return. Utahime couldn’t tell if she was relieved or annoyed.

“Checking on what?”

“Eh,” Gojo put a hand over the diary in his pocket.

“Doesn’t matter now.”

#jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gojo angst #Gojo x you

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion with Wood Elf!Tav headcanons, pls?

I decided to stick to the prompt and write about Wood Elves as promised, but let me know in the requests if you want Wild Elf!Tav as well!

Astarion x Wood Elf!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of suicide and PTSD

As a Wood Elf, you grew up deep in the woods in one of the many hidden villages of your people.

Since childhood, you learned to trust humans and dwarves and know how to survive in the forests.

You are good with animals and have your own familiar - a lynx called Mould (because of her weird patterns on the fur).

When you were sixteen, your woods were destroyed by orcs. You survived by hiding high in the trees, afraid of going down.

From now on, your path is the path of revenge.

To orcs, who destroyed your home. To humans who sicced them and solved the issues with Elves with their dirty hands. To dwarves who refused to help.

And to High Elves who didn't help a young orphan

You kill. You destroy. You are cruel and violent like a drow, not a Wood Elf.

Your rage and your blindness are used by the wrong people.

Your bow and your arrows become a weapon of destruction.

You leave a blood trace wherever you go.

Until you are kidnapped by mindflayers.

You aren't afraid. You want to die. You just wait until the cruel will of the Illithyds turns you into something monstrous.

But it doesn't happen. The tadpole blocks some of your most unpleasant memories and suppresses the bloodlust and disgust.

You've never felt so good!

As a leader, you gather your small company to get to Baldur's Gate.

You feel something is off with Astarion - Wood Elves have a good intuition concerning the Undead.

You feel compassion - you also left a trace of blood. You allow him to feed on you, and with every day you get closer.

He reconnects with the Elven culture through you, though Sylvan Elves and Moon Elves are different.

You braid his short hair and adorn it with little pieces of jewelry the same way men of your kin did.

On the other hand, he tells you about history and geography things that aren't known to isolated Or-tel-quessir.

You help Astarion to heal, and you feel like something is healing inside you. Your past, your sorrows.

But the moment the tadpole disappears...

It is all back.

The blood on your hands. The cries of your victims.

You want to die.

While the streets of Baldur's Gate are festive, you walk like a ghost.

You don't deserve to live. Not after everything you've done.

You want to end it all. You find a solitary place where no one will ever find you, and you take a dagger.

You faint as the blood leaves your body, and you feel like death lulls you to forever sleep.

You hope that your soul is too corrupt to be reincarnated.

But-

You wake up.

Alive.

Astarion has saved you.

He found you by the smell of blood and managed to find help before it was too late.

You remember his desperate cry for help, his attempts to stop the blood loss.

As you recover, he takes care of you. He spoon-feeds you, changes the bandages, and never ever says anything about your suicide attempt.

He knows why you did it. And he won't allow you to do that ever again.

Together, you leave the city and go into the wilderness.

You help each other heal. Astarion soothes your mental pain, and you help him with nightmares.

You have a few more attempts to off yourself, but Astarion always finds words to stop you.

With years, it gets easier. You redeemed yourself in your own eyes by helping people. You found the strength to keep living.

As for Astarion, he comes to terms with your mortality.

You will live for centuries, and you have a lot of time together. 

And you will return. You will reincarnate and, if he is still alive, you shall meet again.

A century post-game, you find yourself in the familiar woods.

You know this place.

It is your destroyed home.

You cry and grieve while Astarion holds you, not letting you fall into the dark abyss of your sorrows.

He helps you build a small shrine, a reminder about people who used to live there.

And you feel good. You feel free.

Astarion suggests going to see more of this world. Other continents, maybe, other planes.

And you agree. You leave your past and go into the future with your Thiramin, once and forever love.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#spacebarbarian headcanon #dnd elves #high elves #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #astarion x f!tav #dnd elf #dnd wood elf

[masterofmunson]

promises, promises (1)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Eddie Munson, accuses you of cheating on him due to your strange behavior. If only you could tell him you were hunting interdimensional monsters instead.

Word Count: 3.1k+

Warnings: language, drugs and alcohol mentioned, it’s a sad one

Author’s Note: As always, please reblog and comment to show your love on content you consume! Let me know what you think xoxo

“Are you cheating on me?”

Eddie’s tone is hard and accusing as you walk into your bedroom. You scream in shock and clutch at your chest as you turn the lights on. Your eyes meet his and your heart races at his unannounced arrival.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you sighed, tossing your backpack on the foot of your bed. “You scared me. How long have you been sitting there?”

“Are you cheating on me?” he repeated, getting up from his spot on your bed. He moves so he’s standing just a few feet away from you. Eddie seems much taller and more intimidating now. His face is cold and his voice struggles to remain steady. How long has he been thinking that you’ve been cheating on him? It devastates you just thinking about it.

You frown at him and shake your head. Where was this coming from? Just yesterday you went on an amazing date to a concert he’s been dying to take you for the last six months and now he was accusing you of cheating on him. “What? Of course not! Why in the world would you ask me that?”

He glares at you and crosses his arms over his chest. “I dunno, maybe it’s the fact that despite being your boyfriend, you’re still keeping things from me. You won’t let me spend the night. You won’t let me touch you! I had to drag you to the concert last night that I’ve been dying to take you since the moment we started dating and you’ve blown me off several times over the last few weeks.”

The growing volume of his voice startles you. You should’ve expected that Eddie would start asking questions. You have been distant, but it’s not because he thought you were cheating on him. You were so wrapped up in dealing with the probability that the gate to the Upside Down was back open that you pushed Eddie to the side.

It started because of the nightmares. Although you hadn’t been a victim of the Mindflayer like Billy and Heather had, you would have vivid flashbacks from the night at Starcourt. Memories of pushing Steve out of the way from the monster always repeated. The feeling of its claws wrapping around your arm and tearing through your flesh stung. You made it out alive because of Billy’s sacrifice and El’s powers. The teeth incision scars running along the length of your arm reminded you every day.

You pushed through it. You were fine, all things considered. You went to therapy because your parents asked you to and you shared what you could and it made you better. Until a month ago, you hadn’t had nightmares about the night. You had reminders of the night etched on your skin just like several of the kids and your friends did, but you made it out alive together.

One nightmare was worse than all the rest, which is why you brought it up to Steve, Robin, and Dustin in the first place. It was terrifying how real it felt.

The crisp spring air nipped at your skin as you followed Eddie through the forest brush to get to Lover’s Lake. With your hand wrapped gently in his, he tugged you with him. His backpack is draped over his shoulder and you hold the blanket under your arm. Eddie steps over a fallen tree and turns to help you step over it. His hand slips around your waist and kissed the side of your head as you walk to the frozen shoreline. Eddie helps you lay the blanket down on the hard sand.

“I still think this is a dumb idea,” you said, adjusting the knit hat on your head so that it covers your ears. Eddie pulls you into his chest on the blanket as you stare out into the lake. The heat from his chest warms you through your coat and his lips rest against the shell of your ear.

“I’m trying to be romantic,” he mumbled with a smile.

“By making me freeze to death? What if I get sick?”

The smirk you feel against the side of your face makes your stomach twist in anticipation for his answer. Eddie sits up and gently twists you around to face him before laying you down on the blanket. “Then I’ll just have to take care of you… and I can think of a few things to keep you warm.”

Your laugh mingles with the sounds of the leaves whistling on the forest floor. Eddie playfully nips at the nape of your neck and you feel his smile grow against your skin. Your gloved fingers card through his hair and rest at the base of his neck. Your breaths are labored and you see each exhale hover over you.

Eddie leans back on his knees and stares down at you. His own gloved hands travel up your body before resting it against your neck. You preen at him and Eddie’s smile brightens in the moonlight.

“Why do you keep lying to me?”

Your brows pinch together at his question. You frown at him and attempt to sit up but his hips pin you to the floor. “What are you talking about, Eddie? I’m not lying to you.” Eddie’s face shifts and his eyes noticeably darken. The grip on your neck tightens and your hand flies on top of his. Your fingers squeeze his. “You’re hurting me, Eds.”

You struggle to breathe. The air in your lungs is cut off and it makes your head spin. Blood thumps loudly in your ears and you ache for a drink of water.

“You’ve been keeping things from him.”

His voice is deep and menacing. Your eyes search his as he spoke. He snarls at you and it’s getting harder to breathe. This isn’t Eddie. You squeeze your eyes shut in hopes that he’ll go away. His deep, evil laughter filled your ears. A finger strokes against the top of your cheek. You freeze under his touch.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Your eyes open and stare into soulless blue eyes. His face, although once human, is mutilated with dark, thick tentacle like shapes covering his skin. There are holes where his ears and nose should be. His claws dig into your arms and it makes you cry out. Your scarred flesh burns underneath his touch and tears coat your cheeks.

You shake underneath him and shove as hard as you can. You scramble to your feet and run straight through the woods. Your legs ache and your chest burns as you breathe the cold air. Your heart races as you jump and run over fallen branches and brush.

His voice echoes in your ears. “You can’t hide from me.”

You spin in circles and grab at your hair. You let out a gut-wrenching scream that leaves your voice raw. You scream for Eddie, for Steve, for Robin in a weak attempt to get help. How had you ended up in the Upside Down? One second you were with Eddie and then he was gone. Now you’re being chased by him with no way out. You were sick with fear. You had no idea how to get out.

You woke up in a cold sweat. Why did you feel so threatened and targeted by something you’ve never seen before? There was no reason to be scared. The gate was closed and El was safe in a small town all the way in California. There was no reason to freak out over a nightmare. You had them all the time as a kid, and this was no different.

At least that what was you tried convincing yourself until you woke up the next morning with a large gash in your arm and dried blood staining your sheets. You called Steve and Robin in a panic that morning and they drove over to console you. You’d been trying to figure out what it could mean ever since. Although you have yet to have a nightmare like that again, it had stalled your monster haunting efforts and began to impact your relationship with Eddie.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. You didn’t want to have this conversation, not yet at least. You were under strict instructions from Dustin not to tell another person about the possibility of the gate opening again. The rest of the party was kept in the dark which you suppose made it easier since Mike was dealing with his long-distance relationship with El, Lucas was on the basketball team, Will was in California, and Max was keeping her distance. If they couldn’t know what was going on, neither could any outsiders, boyfriends included.

“Eddie, I can’t talk about it, but I promise that I’m not cheating on you. I would never do that to you,” you said softly, reaching for his hand.

The frown on his face deeps and he dodges your touch. Your chest squeezes at his blatant rejection. “What is it then? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Is that why you never want me around anymore? Am I just your dirty little secret?” he sneered with dark eyes.

Tears loom at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head violently and swallow the lump in your throat. “No. No. Of course not, Eddie,” you answered pathetically. “I’m not. I promise you—”

“Stop saying that!” he yelled angrily, making you jump. “You promise you’re not cheating on me. You promise you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, but that doesn’t tell me why you’re keeping secrets from me. It doesn’t explain how weird you’ve been acting lately. It doesn’t explain how you spend all your time with Steve, Robin, and Dustin. I shouldn’t have to beg to see my girlfriend. When I asked Dustin what you were up to, he wouldn’t answer me either. I don’t want to be an overbearing boyfriend, but I want to spend time with you. I miss you.”

The tears at the corners of your eyes escape and silently coat your cheeks. This conversation wasn’t going well and you weren’t getting through to him. You wipe your face with the back of your hands and let out a broken sigh. You hate how you’re making him feel. You didn’t mean to push him away. You were so caught up in monster hunting that you pushed Eddie away.

The silence is heavy between the two of you. The emotional distance you caused swallows you whole. You never meant for this to happen. You just wanted to keep Eddie safe and now your relationship is hanging by a thread. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” is what you settle on.

Eddie’s face noticeably crumbles at your response. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. You didn’t give him what he wanted. He expected an answer. He expected the truth and you hadn’t given it to him. You never wanted to be the cause of his pain, and here you were, refusing to answer any of the questions he asked you. It made you want to puke.

Tears gather in the corners of his warm brown eyes as he stares at you. Eddie shakes his head in disbelief and reaches for his bag on your bedroom floor. You’re at a stand still and neither one of you are getting what you want.

You want to reach out and beg him to stay, but it wasn’t fair. He had done the same thing and you kept blowing him off. As much as you hate that it’s come to this, you know you deserve it. Eddie deserves better. He deserves someone who won’t keep things from him. He deserves someone that doesn’t lie. He deserves better than you.

Eddie doesn’t say anything as he walks around you to the door. He’s said what he’s needed to say. Now it’s up to you. Now he’s giving you the space freely. It’s up to you to decide whether or not you want your relationship to continue. He said his peace and now you had to grapple with the consequences of neglecting your relationship. It was all your fault.

The tears fall in rapid succession when you hear the front door open and slam shut. Slamming your own door, you collapse on the floor and cry between your knees. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Your life helping El and the party with the Upside Down wasn’t supposed to impact or intermingle your personal life, and now it had.

You don’t know what this means for your relationship now. Were you broken up? You didn’t stop him from leaving, should you have? Your relationship with Eddie wasn’t supposed to be hard. Loving him came easy. Loving him was natural. Loving him was second nature. Was that gone now that you refused to tell him the truth?

You certainly hope not.

….

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Dustin asked as you, Robin, and Steve sat down across from him at the only diner in town. Steve pursed his lips at the teen and flicked his hat off. Dustin shoves him and glares at you.

A week had gone by since your altercation with Eddie and you haven’t seen or spoken to him since. You were too busy wallowing in your own self-pity to resume the monster hunting efforts with the group. Instead, you drank and smoked yourself stupid. It was easy that way. You momentarily forgot what you did and the pain you caused in the haze of your highs and drunkenness. If you couldn’t remember for a brief moment, you couldn’t remember the pained look on Eddie’s face when he left that night.

You cried pathetically to Robin and Steve the morning after. Although it was your fault in the first place that you were (presumably) single, your friends still attempted to console you. They distracted you with new movie rentals and boardgames you haven’t touched in years. You appreciated the effort but the ache in your chest wouldn’t subside.

You neglected to share the news with Dustin. He practically worships the ground Eddie walks on. You didn’t want your stupid decisions to get in the way of their friendship. It wasn’t Dustin’s fault that you weren’t being honest with Eddie, even if he knows the reason why.  It was your consequence to bear.

It was one of the reasons why you were avoiding Dustin in the first place. You didn’t want to have the conversation with him. If you did, you would just start crying again. You couldn’t stand to see another person you care about be upset with you, especially over something you have complete control over. Dustin’s told you at length how much Eddie adores you. He always brings you up during school or Hellfire Club meetings. Thinking about it hurt.

“A lot of things, Henderson,” you grumbled back. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“What the hell happened between you and Eddie? When I asked about you today, he looked like a kicked puppy. What did you do?”

You sigh loudly and shrink into your seat in a weak attempt to hide from the overbearing teen. The last thing you wanted was to be yelled at by a 15-year-old. “Nothing, which was the problem. Eddie thought I was cheating on him because of how distant I’ve been lately. I couldn’t tell him that I’m too busy hunting monsters with my friends to spend time with him, now, could I?” you snapped at him. You’re not in the mood to be lectured to. You’ve been in a consistently sour mood since your fight with Eddie and Dustin is only making it worse.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence settles over the table and you cross your arms over your chest as you stare out the window and watch cars drive by. Your bottom lip starts to quiver as you struggle to hold back tears. “It’s better this way, right?” you sniffed, locking eyes with Steve across the table. “Eddie’s safe. He doesn’t have to know. He doesn’t have to get involved.”

Robin reaches for your hand and squeezes it affectionately. She doesn’t offer up an answer. None of them do. You just have to bite the bullet and end the relationship. Eddie would see it coming. He’s probably accepted it already. You’d gone a week without talking and it was all your fault. He was willing to put the effort in and try to fix things, which was why he confront you about it in the first place.

Eddie’s letting you make the choice. He’s letting you decide if your relationship is worth saving. It’s up to you. You have to let him go.

“I mean… it’s your choice,” Dustin said after a long pause. “Steve made the choice to involve you. You made the choice to involve Robin. Lucas made the choice to involve Max. I don’t think any of us would oppose having a new member to the team. You and I both know that he’ll be there for you no matter what, even if he thinks you’re crazy at the end. It’s for you to decide.”

You blink away your tears and stare at him in awe. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe what Dustin’s suggesting. You swallow hard. “Are you sure? You told us not to tell anyone what we’ve been up to. Your friends don’t even know. Why are you okay with letting me tell Eddie?”

Dustin shrugs and nods in affirmation. “Yeah. The Upside Down has taken enough from us as it is. I don’t think you should sacrifice your relationship with Eddie because of it. If you do, the Upside Down wins. I’m surprised you listened to me in the first place, to be honest.”

You grin at his reply. God, he’s such a twerp. You would never tell Dustin, but he’s right. You couldn’t let the Upside Down win again. You didn’t want to keep secrets from Eddie anymore. You didn’t want to lie to him. You wanted him to know why you’ve been acting so strange. Eddie deserves the truth.

You would go to him tomorrow and tell him everything. Everything would be fine. You would get your relationship back on its feet and you would tell him that you love him for the first time when it was all said and done. Things would work out.

Eddie would hear what you have to say and listen. Your honesty and vulnerability would save your relationship from ending. You would kiss him and everything would go back to the way things were.

You wouldn’t realize until the morning just how wrong you actually were.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie imagine #eddie imagines #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #my writing

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Millie Bright x Reader

Triggered (Rewrite)

AN: I’ve wanted to rewrite this for sometime since reading it back and it felt so cringey. As it’s about a neurodivergent reader I felt like it could and should be better. It’s mostly Part 1 that’s changed the most but I felt like it should have it’s own post rather than editing the old 3 parter, so I hope you enjoy. It’s been a nice way to ease myself back into writing too.

A ping rang from your pocket up to your ears letting you know you had a new message, hearing the sound your heart started beating faster. You had desperately been waiting for updates from your friend who had won the chance to be at Chelsea women’s open training session and was hoping he’d get something signed from Millie Bright for you. Millie is your favourite footballer but she has been out with a knee injury for months - hardly spotted at games or training as if she’s gone into hiding, but opening the photo from your friend filled your heart with joy seeing the blonde huddled with her friends. She wasn’t in her training kit but seeing her there kept your hopes alive that you’d have something signed in your hands by tomorrow. Your friend had asked you to come with him but you already had tickets for the England game tonight that was at the other side on London which made it impossible to be at both. You had hoped that if she wasn’t at Kingsmeadow she may had turned up to support her England teammates but the photo on the 6 inch screen proved she wasn’t coming. “She seems really rude (y/n/n), why do you like her? She’s not talking to anyone!” the next text came through, shattering your daydreams of finally having her autograph. “I don’t care, I love her! Pleeeease try!” you begged with lots of prayer emojis, keeping your fingers and toes crossed that he’d come up trumps.

“Here, it’s the last one” your best friend Mack broke your concentration from the text exchange as he sat down next to you, placing a hotdog on your plate. His mum was cooking a BBQ for your friend group before you left to go to the stadium which was conveniently around the corner from their house. Perching on the doorstep with him and watching the fans trickle towards the stadium you munched happily on the mounds of food piled up on your plate. Mack’s mum always goes above and beyond when it comes to gatherings, you had been eating BBQ food for hours yet your plate never seemed to be empty. She was the type of person who always left her front door open, her house was always filled to the brim with school friends, then uni friends and work friends. New Years Eve parties every year, Miss Gloria really knew how to throw a banging party! You and Mack threw some memories around while watching his mum pile more sausages onto your other friend’s plates, chuckling as you remembered her flinging you across the lounge to dance with her after she saw you sitting alone when you were younger.

The click of the front gate in the near distance drew your attention to the garden path where a very familiar blonde was approaching the house. Watching in awe as she approached Mack’s mum over the BBQ you rubbed your eyes to see if you were hallucinating. “Millie!” she loudly exclaimed, “I thought you weren’t coming anymore!”, looking to Mack beside you for reassurance that you weren’t going mad who had already upped and left, running over to see her. ‘What, the..?’ muttering to yourself in disbelief you heard them all chattering in the distance but didn’t notice her approaching you a little while later. You were spaced out staring into the distance trying to muster up the courage to talk to her when suddenly she was in front of you. “I’m assuming you’re (y/n)?” she snapped, breaking you out of your spiralled thinking. “Uhh.. yeah?” you replied, not knowing what to think of her standoffish behaviour, she always seemed so upbeat and happy that you just didn’t imagine her being as rude as your friend said earlier. Mack came running over saying his mum was out of food, glancing at the mound on your plate you offered it over. “I-I’m definitely not going t-to eat all of this” you stammered, still in awe that your idol was in front of you but confused with the interaction as you passed your plate over. She took it with not even a thanks and sat down beside you on the door step, beginning to eat like she hadn’t had food for months. “Ketchup?” offering the bottle that was next to you to try break the awkward silence that only amplified her chomping sounds. You felt the mood lift a little when she squeezed the bottle too hard it splashed over her plate in a massive gloop, waiting for her to chuckle at herself so you felt able to too. Squirming in her seat trying not to get it on her clothes, her knee grazed yours, “hey, hows the injury?” you asked trying your hardest to make small talk, “I’m not allowed to say” she responded bluntly, plunging the interaction into dead silence again. Rolling your eyes you let out a desperate sigh, disappointed with how the day went from hopefully getting her autograph to being totally disappointed with actually meeting her.

Glancing at your watch you called out to your friends that you should probably be leaving for the stadium soon, you were met with agreement from all of them as you gathered up the plates to wash up. When you collected Millie’s she asked why you had to leave so soon because kick off wasn’t for another hour. “I just like to know I’m on time” you replied, taking her plate to the kitchen as she followed asking more questions. “The stadium is only around the corner, you don’t need to leave that early” her statement sharp and slightly condescending. Your friends knew your autistic and adhd traits came out the most when you had a timed thing to do – like football. You liked to be there early so you could find your seats without the overwhelming amount of people staring at you arriving. You found comfort knowing you wouldn’t have to tell people they were in your seats and that you could relax knowing you were in the right place. You’d never been to this stadium before and new places trigger your anxiety. You couldn’t tell Millie that though, with the mood she’s in she probably wouldn’t listen anyway. “I just get anxious” you told her honestly, “well don’t worry about it, it’s just football” her tone now throughroughly irritating you. “Wow thanks, I’m cured” rolling your eyes at her ignorance you washed the last plate, expecting her to pick up a tea towel but she didn’t; truly cementing your feelings about the woman – rude and obnoxious! Maybe your friend was right!

45 minutes passed before you actually left leaving 15 minutes to get in and find your seats, you were now an anxious mess and on the brink of a meltdown. Millie lead your friends down an ally to a gate you hadn’t seen when you studied the stadium map online yesterday, falling behind as you rushed to find the tickets on your phone and missing the email containing them. “I can’t find the tickets” you said in quiet panic but realising no-one heard you made you become even more flustered, “guys, slow down! I can’t find the tickets!” you pleaded with everyone to help. Millie turned around and looked at you in a way that you could tell she was annoyed, “you’re with me you don’t need tickets, put your phone away!” she shouted but didn’t stop walking. Looking at Mack in desperation he shrugged but didn’t say anything. You’d never felt more like an outcast to your friends, they all knew your triggers and signs you were getting overwhelmed but it seems Millie’s presence made everyone forget them. You were so looking forward to this game but now you just wanted to leave and go home, everything was going wrong and it was nothing like you had planned for weeks. Millie handed over her pass to the steward as Mack watched you still frantically trying to find the tickets you bought a month earlier, clicking the lock button he gestured for you to put your phone away with no explanation. “5 yeah? All good” the steward said in a bored and tired tone. You didn’t have a clue what was happening but Mack linked his arm in yours and shuffled you inside to seats that weren’t the ones you had carefully chosen when booking them. To be fair, they were really good seats just above the dugouts but you couldn’t help feeling on edge knowing these weren’t your booked ones and panicked someone was going to tell you to move at any moment. Millie sat down next to you with her huge England puffer jacket encroaching on your personal space, hearing every squeak of the fabric against the chair and rustling against your body, you had never felt more uncomfortable.

Noticing you were stimming – tapping your foot making your leg shake and fiddling with your thumb ring, Millie placed a hand heavily onto your thigh making your leg stop shaking instantly. This meant that your anxious energy couldn’t be released and was getting blocked up inside you. “What’s wrong?” she asked sounding genuinely concerned, moving her hood so you could see her face. “Nothing” shaking your head violently trying to stop her from asking anymore questions. You were trying so hard not to have a meltdown and anymore questions might push the tears you were trying desperately to hide out of your eyes, you really didn’t want her to witness this. You’d looked up to the defender since you were younger and you thought meeting her would be a dream but today has been nothing short of a nightmare. She’d hit all your triggers without even realising you had any and you were really struggling to hide your contempt. “Just tell me” she said forcefully. Staring out at the pitch you thought deeply about what you wanted to say but it all came blurting out like a car crash of words leaving your mouth. “I’m autistic and have ADHD, I’ve never been to this stadium before so looked up all the maps of how to get here and where our seats were, I like to be early so I know I’m in the right place, you took us a different way and sat me in a different seat, I always sit on the aisle so I don’t feel trapped, the Lionesses are my special interest, I didn’t get to watch the warm ups or feel the atmosphere before the game, I hate being late and your jacket is so noisy it’s making me want to throw something at you!” Your words left your mouth in one extremely long sentence barely making time to breath, your monotone voice wasn’t raised just sad nothing had turned out like you’d planned. You took a breath and let out a long sigh, feeling a slight release of letting it all out and finally able to look at her. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for ages then you turned up and changed everything, it’s been a lot to deal with” you finished calmly and honestly. Millie stared at you blankly like everything you had just said flew straight over her head. You couldn’t help that you felt uncomfortable, your friends knew what triggers you and could have been more understanding to all the plans changing – one change you could have dealt with but this.. this was a lot.

“Do you drink tea?” Millie asked you after a long awkward silence, nodding gently she asked how you have it then rose from her seat, re-emerging moments later with a cup in her hand. “Sit in this one” she gestured to the seat she was in before which was on an aisle then passed the cup to you; instantly feeling a little relief as the warmth spread through your fingertips to your palms. Hearing the loud zipper of her coat she took it off without any hesitation and started to put it around your shoulders. “What are you doing?” trying to shrug it off, wondering about her intentions, “trust me, it’s a like a big safety bubble, put it on” she nodded smiling for the first time today as encouragement. Feeling the warmth around your body and the weight of the coat acting like your heavy blanket at home you sunk into your new seat, your heart rate slowly returned to normal and your eyes were no longer acting like dams for your tears. “I’m really sorry (y/n), I didn’t realise” her words sounded sincere. “Why would you? I have to work very hard to appear like everyone else, to seem normal. Nobody would know unless I told them or I suddenly snapped. They’d just see me flip out over one tiny thing without recognising all of the other things that had lead me to have a meltdown” you said looking down at your cup, embarrassed with how honest and open you were being. “I get it, I really do” she smiled, taking hold of one of your hands and holding it between hers on her lap as the teams walked out onto the pitch immediately making you happy again. It’s like she had heard you, listened and understood exactly what you needed - to feel safe.

Millie held your hand throughout the entire game, stroking her thumb along yours intimitently to keep you grounded and only stopping when England scored or to top up your tea. You’re unsure how she went from standoffish and rude to caring and kind so quickly but you wish more people you told about your neurodivergence acted this way when they find out instead of looking at you weird and ignoring everything you’ve just said - despite the beginning of the day, you had a good night.

Standing up and unzipping the coat to return it to her she abruptly stopped you, pulling it back onto your shoulders. “It’s okay wear it home, it’s gotten cold now” her voice a lot softer than a few hours ago and certainly more bubbly than earlier in the evening. “I can’t do that this is part of your kit” you giggled nervously, still trying to take it off. “Well I can’t let you walk home cold can I” she shrugged joking like her hands were tied. You argued back and forth at who would take the coat until you finally accepted the kind gesture, “I’m a hot bod anyway” was her winning statement which made you smirk, ‘in more ways than one’ you thought to yourself. Millie asked to walk you out but you didn’t need babysitting and suggested she go congratulate her teammates instead. “I wasn’t implying that you need babysitting, I just wanted to make sure you’d get home okay” trying to justify her intentions. “Well I won’t be home for at least two hours so you’d be waiting a long time” you laughed, shuffling past her to try and make your exit. Millie was shocked with how long a journey you had and had assumed you lived near the stadium as you were at Mack’s earlier in the evening. You chatted until your friends were ready to leave and finally asked how she knows your friends, questioning why he has never mentioned knowing the defender before now. Turns out her mum knows his mum from grassroots and she very rarely pops by, the game just happened to have been played near their house and Mack hadn’t seen her since he was a child. “I’m sorry I made tonight tough for you” she said, touching your back for reassurance which you barely felt through the puffiness of the coat. “It’s okay, nothing a tea can’t fix” you’d had a good night in the end, knew why you were triggered and was able to get over it quickly with her help. “No it’s not okay, I should be more aware of how my words and actions affect people” she looked down at the ground with embarrassment. “It’s not your job to accommodate me” you said bluntly still feeling like she was babying you. Before she could reply Mack called out that they were ready to leave and interrupted your conversation. You thanked Millie again for the coat but insisted you wouldn’t need it as you’ll be sat on a train, trying for the last time to return the offering but once again she stopped you. “Can I drive you home?” This girl just doesn’t give up! You had to put your foot down and raised your eyebrow in a ‘I’m so done with you’ way, “okay! You don’t need babysitting, I get it! Keep the coat though please” she smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes over exaggeratedly, your eyes rolled and reluctantly agreed to keep her from continuing to fuss. Holding her arms out to initiate a hug, you hesitated but hugged goodbye quickly when she called you out for leaving her hanging then made your way to the station.

On your second train of the night you were now half way home with an hour to go when your phone pinged.

“Did you get home safe?”

“It’s Millie by the way”

“I asked Mack’s mum to send me your number 🙊”

3 messages came through immediately one after the other.

“Good job you’re a footballer cause you can’t count!” you replied sarcastically “two hour journey I said, not one!” Sending a selfie of yourself, hood up earphones in and very obviously still on a train.

M - “Wish you had just let me take you home, you’d have been in bed by now”

Y - “Still babysitting are we?”

M - “No just checking this cute girl I met tonight is safe, that’s all 🙂”

Struggling not to spit out your drink as you read the last message you stumbled over how to reply. Was she seriously flirting with you right now? Settling for a funny but ugly faced selfie with “cute you say? 😂” to gauge if she really was flirting or just being kind.

M - “Don’t ruin your pretty lil face please”

M - “Although if any creep comes and sits near you that face will make them run a mile 🤣”

Y - “Didn’t work on you though did it 😉”

M - “Cheeky! 😳”

M - “Sorry again about tonight”

Y - “You’re gonna have something to actually be sorry about soon if you don’t stop!”

Y - “Honestly it’s okay, your actions after I told you speak louder than your ones before”

M - “That’s a nice thing to say”

Y - “Yeah you’re not used to saying nice things are you!”

M - “Shut ittt! What ya listening to?”

Y - “Nothing, I just put them in so no one talks to me, I need to hear the station announcements otherwise I get distracted and miss my stop 🙃”

With that she tried to FaceTime you but assuming it was a mistake, you didn’t answer.

M - “You ignoring me now?”

Y - “Assumed it was a butt dial 🤷🏻‍♀️”

M - “No I wanna see your face”

Y - “I’ve already sent you a photo!”

Your message had barely delivered when she tried to call you again, staring at your phone for a while before reluctantly answering; you wanted to be left alone to process the day and unwind from the overstimulation you had endured for hours but here you were FaceTiming with Millie Bright. What a mad day! “You don’t give up easily do you?“ was your opening line, “not when I want something, no” she smiled from the other side of the phone. Giving her a stern look with a raised brow you really didn’t know how to take her, what you did know is that her cheeky smile made you feel warm inside... It was either that or her massive coat still wrapped around you! She asked how long until your station and set a timer so you didn’t miss it which you secretly thought was adorable and incredible thoughtful. “For someone who didn’t want my coat, you’re still wearing it” she teased, rolling your eyes again as you leant your head on the window. She asked you where home was and said again that she would have driven you as she lives near by, you replied cheekily that your mum told you not to get into a car with a stranger. “Strangers are we?” her voice turned high pitch and excitable, “we’re hardly anything other!” you hit back. Millie wanted to change that and asked you to tell her about yourself, explaining that you’re exhausted you suggested she go first as your blinking slowed, you barely had the energy to stay awake let alone make small talk.

“Okayyy... I’m Millie, 29 years old” you were surprised at her age as she seemed older which she jokingly took offence to. You exchanged birthdays, star signs and talked about family - something that means a lot to the both of you. “I’m a footballer, as you know” pulling a 💁🏼‍♀️ face, “oh are you? I didn’t know that! I did wonder how you got this coat” you said popping the hood sarcastically. “Can certainly tell you live up to your star sign, your sarc is off the charts!” seemingly impressed that someone can keep up with her banter. “Your simp is off the charts!” you snapped back quickly. “Shit, is it that obvious?” her eyes widened in shock as you nodded in a ‘well duh’ sort of way. “So you’ve known I’ve had the hots for you all this time and you’ve just been knocking me back?” she asked as she laid down on her bed holding the phone above her head looking sleepy and adorable. Telling her you couldn’t let her have it easy, plus you didn’t know if she was flirting or just being friendly because she fucked up earlier, Millie assured you she wouldn’t do that but you reminded her that you didn’t actually know her and it pays to be cautious. “You were a right bellend and then went all soft” you said kicking your feet up on the chair in front of you, “I was just having a bad day” she muttered glancing away from the camera, “wanna talk about it?”. She spoke about her day at Chelsea, they sent her away as she’s still not fit to play, she can’t talk about her injury as it’s in her contract not to, she just wanted to be playing with the girls and is sad she’s missing out on the last England camp before the World Cup. Camp is her fave place to be and was extra sad because she’s missing out on seeing her best friend.

The alarm went off on Millie’s phone so you knew the next stop was yours, you thanked her for keeping you company but she wouldn’t let you say goodbye until you were safe in your car. Nobody had cared this much about your safety before accept your mum but you were still sceptical whether it was because she felt guilty for causing you to have a meltdown earlier.

“Are you home?” pinged up on your phone as you pulled up on your driveway. You couldn’t help the corners of your mouth turn up as you saw her name flash but decided to keep her waiting while you made your way inside your home, turning on the lights and pulling on your bed clothes before falling into bed. Sending her a photo of your bedroom TV showing Friends and telling her to let you know an address to send her coat back to.

M - “The coat was a reason to see you again”

Y - “Oh and there was me thinking you were doing it out of the kindness of your own heart”

Your phone vibrated next to you as she tried to FaceTime you again, this girl just does not quit! “Are you single?” she immediately opened with as soon as you answered phone and plotted to play with her a little. “Who’s asking?” you teased, “me, obviously!” she giggled, anxiously waiting for an answer. “Oh no sorry, I’m taken” you paused before laughing. “Yes I’m single, haven’t found someone who can handle all this yet. I’m not into girls though soz” struggling to keep a straight face with the lie you told. “I don’t believe that, I’m not the only one who’s been flirting all night!” her voice once again high pitched as she sat up in bed appearing more alert with the conversation. “How dare you insinuate such a thing!” your tone turning dramatic, playing with her. You chatted for a little while until your eyes couldn’t stay open much longer and started to drift off. Millie watched you drop to sleep before hanging up, for some reason she wanted you and she wasn’t gonna stop until she got you.

—————————

“Good morning beautiful 😘” was the first notification you saw when you picked your phone for the first time of the day to look at the time.

Y - “It’s been a long time since I woke up to one of those texts 🤭”

M - “I’m surprised about that”

Y - “get to know me better and maybe you won’t be lol”

M - “I’d like to, are you going to the game tonight?”

The text exchange had been non-stop since your train ride home a few days ago. You hadn’t gotten tickets for the England v Australia game tonight as the stadium looked tricky to get to and two unknown stadiums in one week was just a bit too much overstimulation for you. Millie wasn’t taking no for an answer though as she asked you to go with her and to meet at her house, she’ll drive so there’ll be no public transport involved. You said you’ll think about it but in typical Millie fashion she replied “it’s a date, be here at 7 😉” sending you a pin of her address. You didn’t reply after that, still trying to keep her guessing. Of course you’d go if it meant seeing Millie again, your head had been filled with thoughts of her since the day you met!

Pulling up on Millie’s drive and climbing out of your car, she must have been watching and patiently awaiting your arrival as her front door flew open the moment she heard the hum of an engine. “Nice coat!” she shouted from the doorway, “I’ve got my own in here” you called out to her when opening the boot of your car to look for it. “Keep it, it looks good on you” she winked, holding her arms out for a hug, kissing you on the forehead as she squeezed you tightly then held her passenger door open for you to slip in. “So..” she started after turning the radio down “I’m gonna park in the player’s car park and we’re gonna go in through the back door, they don’t show that on the map” - informing you of what’s going to happen tonight. It was admirable that she’d taken on board what you’d said last time and was trying to ensure that you would be comfortable. “I haven’t looked at the map for tonight, I trust you” turning to smile at her after clicking your seatbelt in place. For the first time in ages you’d agreed to a spontaneous plan and hadn’t researched it to an inch of it’s life. The conversations you’d had with her for hours on end made you feel safe, like you could rely on her to make sure you have a stress-free evening. “That’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever had” turning to look at you and squeezing your thigh. “Okayyy, what I’m hearing is that not a lot of people trust you so I shouldn’t?” jokingly opening the maps app on your phone. “No, stop. Obviously normal compliments are fine but being trusted feels better than say.. being called pretty or something” she shrugged. “Well you’re that too, I’ll see if I still trust ya at the end of the night” chuckling softly at the playful interaction. Both of you knew that the feelings between you were mutual and the days of pretending you didn’t were long gone.

Pulling into a space close to the England bus, Millie guided you across the car park towards the stadium, away from the hustle and bustle of thousands of fans making their way inside. As you neared closer her hand grazed against yours before locking your fingers together making your tummy do cartwheels. She flashed her lanyard and got waved inside, she lead you up the stairs and into a box, grabbing you both a tea and settling into your seats where she made sure you were on the aisle again. Eyeing up the line up together her head was almost on your shoulder as she leant over to look at your phone. The game was bleak, Millie watched you stand up and sit down every two minutes shouting support at the team, at a moment where you were sitting her hand found its way onto your thigh again “I love how into this you’re getting” she chuckled as softly as her eyes looked into yours. “I’m comfortable, I’m not like this if I’m not” shrugging at her comment. “Like the first game?” she asked, you nodded and explained how being yourself is harder when you’re uncomfortable then asked if she’s frustrated watching her team losing. “No, you watch the game but I’m studying it. Where we’re going wrong, what could have been done differently. It’s all learning. Yeah, it’s gutting but it helps us prepare for the World Cup… you carry on though, it’s cute” nudging her shoulder into yours. “My friends think I’m embarrassing” standing up again to watch a corner be taken, “I’d prefer you to be yourself” the defender’s hand grazed your back as she stood up next to you.

The evening was filled with smiley flirty glances towards each other and at half time she made her move, lifting her arm up and around your shoulders allowing you to snuggle into her. You reminded your date that the cameras would probably show her at some point but she didn’t care. This made you blush a little as you sunk further into her; with your feet up on the seats in front of you, it felt super cosy. The Lionesses came away with a loss, the first L under Sarina’s management. It was a tough pill to swallow as fan and player but you couldn’t have been prouder of the team. Losing made you appreciate women’s football, the crowd just accepted it and moved on. No arguments or swearing or violence - proud of the players regardless. Allowing the fans to trickle out of the stadium before making your exit, Millie held your hand every step of the way and once in the car park wrapped her arm around your shoulders again until you got to the car.

Her hand never left your thigh during the entire drive home and pulling up outside the house you were quick to climb out the car and wave goodbye, you desperately wanted to stay but suddenly felt awkward, what if she didn’t want to kiss you? You could never live with yourself if you were rejected. Heading towards your own car a hand clasped around your wrist, Millie was pulling you back towards her. “Can’t wait to get away from me aih?” she asked with a smirk as her forefinger stroked the hair out of your face. “No.. it’s not that..” looking down at your feet as your reply was muttered, “what is it then?” using the same finger to lift your chin so you were looking up at her. Her bright blue eyes and floppy blonde bun made you subconsciously moisten your lips as your eyes flickered between her facial features. This told Millie everything she needed to know as she moved her hand to the side of your neck and leant down to place a kiss softly upon your lips. Tiptoeing to meet her half way, her other hand held the small of your back pulling you closer into her, yours balanced on her hips as your lips entwined further. “Stay with me” escaped her mouth between kisses, your lips smiling against hers as small nods moved your head in agreement, faces still joined together until she pulled away to guide you towards the house. You’d had such a good night that you didn’t want it to end! Watching her close the door behind her you were quickly pulled back into her arms “I’ll have my coat back now” she smirked, pushing it over your shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Kicking your shoes off she wrapped her arms around your waist and you draped yours around her neck, tiptoeing to reach her as your lips found their way together again. As she started to lift you up off the floor you broke away, “you shouldn’t be doing that!” concerned about her knee, “don’t worry about it” her voice had turned husky between kisses as you connected your legs around waist. She walked you over to the sofa, sitting down with you on top of her, hands on each others face. Pulling her bunchie out to release her wavy blonde hair made you smile more as it dropped past her shoulders. “You have a beautiful smile” she said tucking your hair behind your ears before kissing you again “I’ve been dying to do this since I met you” she whispered. You questioned her statement as she seemed so grumpy, she insisted that she was smitten the moment you shared your food with her. “That’s why I sat down next to you, I couldn’t have gone inside” she reassured you that she didn’t realise how blunt she came across, especially if you don’t know her very well. All that was blown away now as you felt her hands pull your head towards hers again, you spent the night getting to know each other’s mouths until you fell asleep on her chest. As she stroked your hair your mind filled with happy little flutters, you felt like you’d finally found your person, someone that took the time to truly understand you.

#millie bright #millie bright x reader #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso x reader #woso masterlist #woso series #woso fic #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #chelsea wfc x reader

[celestoria]

Genshin Impact (Taylor’s Version)

Tags: SFW with semi-angst Characters: Scaramouche, Zhongli, Kaeya, Lyney

Scaramouche (The Way I Loved You)

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain // it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name // So in love that I acted insane // And that's the way I loved you // Breaking down and coming undone // It's a roller coaster kind of rush // And I never knew I could feel that much // And that's the way I loved you.

Loving you was so frustrating…yet so addicting.

Scaramouche had a complicated way of showing his feelings towards other people and always rubbed them the wrong way. However, you didn’t give up.

You noticed how the same lips that mumbled disdainful complaints were the same ones that would kiss you so passionately under the pale moonlight. His hands that would brutally throw a fight when needed are the same ones that would hold you delicately as he leads you to a secret spot only the two of you know.

Sure, there are times when you wouldn’t meet eye to eye, but in the end, no word would mean as much to him compared to the first time you told him you'll never leave him. Scaramouche felt so alive since he fell in love with you and he would never trade it for the world.

Zhongli (Wildest Dreams)

Say you'll remember me // Standing in a nice dress // Staring at the sunset, babe // Red lips and rosy cheeks // Say you'll see me again // Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha // Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

Times of old may be memories of the past but those moments shall never be forgotten.

How long has it been since he last saw you? A month? A decade? Centuries? It all feels the same when you’ve lived for 5000 years.

Still, he can’t bear to forget every bit of you, even if it pains him to reminisce about the days you called him yours. He loved how your hair flowed with the wind the first day you met each other during a busy day at the harbor, the distinct scent of your favorite perfume that could easily make his head turn, and even that beautiful shade of red that often smudged on the side of his neck whenever you were going out.

Sometimes your ghost haunts him in his dreams, but alas it was just a figment of his imagination playing what could have been if life was a little bit kinder to the both of you. But if everything is just one Samsara cycle playing over and over again, he promises to love every one of them until Teyvat and Celestia itself ceases.

Kaeya (Cruel Summer)

I'm drunk in the back of the car // And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (oh) // Said, "I'm fine, " but it wasn't true // I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you // And I snuck in through the garden gate // Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh) // And I screamed for whatever it's worth // "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Everyone has their fair share of secrets, and Kaeya was no exception.

But he kept them buried where no one would find them. Like the last time he opened up about his deepest, darkest secret to someone he trusted, Kaeya fears you’ll push him away once he finally comes undone in front of you.

However, it was such a pain to keep things like that. Always yearning for you but never having you. Brave is the kindest word you can call a fool, so call him the most foolish man on earth when he poured his heart confessing to you how much his heart aches for you like it's his guilty pleasure.

He was ready for rejection to kick him in the guts like a horse, but instead, he was meat with your flushed cheeks and warm smile. To him, he felt like he was confessing shame, but to you, it was the few words you always wanted him to say.

The weight of pining finally fell off his shoulders, freed with the knowledge you always felt the same way for him. Kaeya’s thankful that even though luck often refused to be on his side, it gave him this small chance to find something sweet to make everything seem a little less cruel.

Lyney (Today was a Fairytale)

But can you feel this magic in the air? // It must have been the way you kissed me // Fell in love when I saw you standing there // It must have been the way // Today was a fairytale

To him, loving you felt like a romance novel, always making his heart flutter like the wings of doves flying out of his hat. It must have been love at first sight, the way your enthusiastic, wide-eyed smile became enthralled with his street performances as you stood amongst the crowd.

How lucky he is that fate allowed him to have someone always by his side. Though he was the magician between the two of you, you were always the one taking his breath with whatever you had to offer.

You seem to know how to make his gloomy days a little bright with a bright smile, how to make the simplest gifts feel like the grandest gestures with him, and how to make real life feel like a fairytale that he thought would only be possible in children’s books. The sun always seems to be burning on his cheeks whenever you try to kiss him.

Even though he knows every magic trick there is, how in the world he managed to pull such a beautiful person like you will always remain a mystery to him. That must be destiny’s own little magic, he guessed — always finding a way to let two people tied with a red string of faith find each other in a chaotic mess of a world.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact drabbles #genshin drabbles #zhongli #scaramouche #wanderer #kaeya #lyney #zhongli x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kaeya x reader #lyney x reader #scaramouche fluff #zhongli fluff #kaeya fluff #lyney fluff #scaramouche x you #zhongli x you #kaeya x you #lyney x you #taylors version #taylor swift #wanderer fluff #wanderer x you #celeste writes

[love-toxin]

Retrieval - entry I

plot: after escaping the horrors of Los Iluminados, a piece of your heart is still stuck in that desolate place. you won't truly be able to rest until you find him--or until you put him down like the monster you wish you'd saved him from.

(cws: post-canon divergence, re4make spoilers, yandere!plagas!leon, fem!agent!reader, guns & blunt weapons, blood, gore & injuries, violence, grief, funerals, pining [chapter smut cws: wet dreams, mild choking, possessiveness, unprotected]

wc: 5.3k

(future entries to come! <3)

No matter how much time passes, you're certain this place will always reek of blood and death. It will always be the place that you lost the person most dear to you, and in such a vile, cruel way that it still haunts your darkest nightmares.

It's been awhile since then, but it all still feels the same when you step down from the car and let the door shut with an unapologetic thud. The air hangs heavy and thick with humidity, and although the distant stench of rot is lesser this time around, it still lurks in the background of your senses like a shadow creeping by the windows of a house. The trees hang low and sway gently as you pass them, crows beckoning you deeper into the brush with their croaking trills echoing all around you. Aside from a pitiful line of cautionary police tape strung across an iron gate, even the entryway and the path leading into the village all look exactly as they did weeks ago.

The last time your feet hit the dirt here, only Leon had been your much-needed company in your venture. You'd walked through the mud and ran through the mist together; searching the lodge and being chased into the heart of the village had only been the beginning. His breathing had been the thing to keep you calm then, of all things. Those heavy pants when he scrambled through doors and soft puffs of his chest when it was a touch too quiet; it reminded you that he was alive, and saved you from having to glance over and pray in the seconds between that he wasn't being carved into a bloody stump by a Ganados.

But all that? That was a long time ago. It feels like a lifetime, and yet neither of those timelines are the truth–really, it's barely been a month since you and Leon had been separated, but it still feels like years since you've seen him.

The scent of charcoal pulls you away from the memory of him as you draw close to the circle of houses, your gun out of its holster the moment you cross underneath the main gate. You at least have the sense not to go slinging it around when you hear the crackle of twigs in the underbrush, though the sound that resembles a gasp has you eyeing the forest to your left…just long enough to watch the offending group of birds chitter and take flight suddenly up and away from the trees as you draw close. The policemen that had accompanied you here have long since granted you their goodbyes, their eyes dark and fearful at the sight of this village looming in the distance before they had driven off in a frantic hurry. When you think about it you can't really blame them, not with them knowing the unfortunate fate of the two men they had probably rubbed shoulders with back at the station. Knowing that both of them had been made sacrifice for no better reason than violence and power.

That would've been you and Leon once upon a time, if Umbrella and the virus and everything hadn't screwed it all up and blown it to pieces. Sometimes you daydream about what it could've been like at RPD, but most times it's too painful to even consider and you just end up drowning your sorrows in a bottle of liquor instead. Leon would be admonishing you for dealing with it in that way and he would've been a total hypocrite for it, but he hasn't been here to do so. The thought that he won't ever be again fills you with so much dread you can feel it in each step you take into this dilapidated heap of pig slop and manure.

It's been over a month since you've been here last, about 37 days if you've been marking off your calendar correctly. You had to take into account the retrieval, your hospital stay, and the few days that seemed to meld into each other when you'd slept almost every hour away in recovery, but altogether it totals 37 days since you last stepped foot on this soil. Over five weeks since you last saw Leon, and only a couple days since you gave a eulogy at his funeral. It had all felt fake and pitiful even with you having organized it yourself–most of the people there were the reasons he even came to this disgusting place, all those government agents and well-to-do politicians that ate up yours and Leon's survivor stories and demanded you join the military's special ops. They should be the ones paying the price in the grave, not Leon.

But as you look around now, there really isn't much to speak of in the first place, now that you feel the sense of urgency wane and lower your pistol in the wake of dead silence. Aside from the bullet holes, the crumbled tower, and the blasted-out windows that cake the dirt with glass, there's not many signs that you and Leon had even treaded ground here. It's getting later than you'd like based on the position of that hot, Spanish sun, though. You've got to get moving and quit moping around this ghost town if you want to make any progress on his retrieval before night falls.

This isn't a trip down memory lane, after all. You came here with your own rescue mission in mind; you're here to find Leon's body, and you're prepared to give him the mercy he deserves if your suspicions about his supposed death are correct. Because you can't keep living with that memory of him in your head, that version of Leon burdened with black veins and vermillion eyes and a pained gait as he tried to kill you. When there weren't enough injections of the suppressant to go around, he gave you his own–and when it came time for you to go under the knife, Leon insisted on you and Ashley going first even when he had a death grip on the lever, the Plagas taking over him quick enough that he knew exactly what he was doing. Leon gave his life for you, Ashley, and Luis to live–and you've taken on the job of returning the favour, whether it means dragging him home in a body bag to give him a worthy burial, or putting a bullet in his head and ending the monster you never wanted to see him become.

"La Americana!"

But the moment you take another step to climb over the rubble of the church, a voice shouting from behind you sends a chill rocketing right up your spine. You thought you would only hear it again in your nightmares–but no, as soon as you turn on your heel, your eyes scan over a mob of Ganados shambling right for you. Drooling, bloody, rotting villagers wielding their pitchforks and sickles, and in that momentary panic that freezes you to the ground, a cold feeling erupts inside your chest that you've never experienced before. Acting on base instinct alone you make a mad dash for the house on your right, but you're left skidding to a stop and backing away just as quick when another monster lunges out of the doorway and makes a swipe. You're being cornered, trapped, with nobody left to save you like they did before.

This is wrong. It feels wrong, it sounds wrong, it's all wrong. This is exactly what happened before, but that was a nightmare you fought through and survived. You shouldn't be here again. Why are you here again? Why are you being so stupid to feed yourself to the same monsters that took your Leon from you? Why haven't you learned your lesson? Why?

When the first gets close enough to strike, you barely even register the hot, vile presence of its foul breath on your skin. Your muscles tighten and you swing indiscriminately, the butt of your pistol smashing into its temple with a force you didn't even know you were capable of. The scythe in its hand is halfway to hitting the ground before you're crossing the distance to the second one, movements almost robotic as you empty half your magazine into its forehead and don't stop until you're standing over it. For some reason, the gore and the blood splattering over you doesn't disturb you like it should. It doesn't even feel…real.

You're all to blame for this. This is all your fault.

Whether those thoughts are self-inflicting or self-soothing, they plague your mind in a constant, changing loop as you stagger from villager to villager. There's no other option; either fight or die, because reason won't get you anywhere but closer to your own grave. It's not even worth running at this point because they'll just chase you down, and you want them to just leave you alone more than you even want to live.

Getting hit doesn't feel real. Watching the Ganados choke on metal doesn't feel real. Not even your gun clicking empty and burning hot in your hands feels real, even when your brow furrows and you whip it at the nearest monster with a grunt that sounds more feral than ferocious. It's a slaughter but you can't tell that time has passed, or that you've gained bruises from the beating you've taken, or even that you've been blowing off the faces of people who were probably just people once. It just doesn't matter in that short, fury-driven span of time, not until you have nothing more to attack and you blink yourself awake with a hatchet gripped in your hands, soaked from head to toe in rotting blood.

With one final, blood-curdling scream from the deepest pit of your stomach, you throw your arm down and send the weapon flying across the ground like a tempestuous child. The pain, fury, and grief have been building up inside you for long you've forgotten what it feels like to be free, what it once felt like to laugh away your troubles when they got too big to deal with. Now you've been planning your best friend's funeral on the days you don't drink yourself into a stupor, and nothing matters anymore. This was a stupid idea and all you've done is set yourself up for a bigger, stupider failure than you've already proven you could accomplish. Right now, the best relief would come if you just dropped dead.

….But it doesn't come, even after you've fallen to your knees and sobbed into your hands. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. You count each breath, but each of them are just as heavy and laboured as the last, never slowing or getting shallower. If anything, you feel more alive as your senses come back and you cringe at the blood starting to crust over your skin and clothes. Taking your hands away, all that fills them is a sheen of dark, wine-deep red, splattered with tears that sting just as much as your skin that's been hacked with small, shallow cuts and bruises. As the episode passes, your desire to get up is stronger than your want to just lay down and relinquish your strength.

So you press on. Not for want of something better, but for the simple fact that you have nowhere else to go but forward. You put yourself into this mess, and as you can hear Leon's voice in your head, "You can get yourself out of it."

So you walk. You scoop up your gun from the ground and wipe the blood from the handle with your shirt. You stumble over the chunks of stone and rubble that litter your path, weaving through the half-open doors that haven't leaned right since Leon had first kicked them in or shot them open. You just keep walking until the gate with that familiar symbol comes into view, and upon pushing it open you're met with the sight of a sea of graves and dead grass–and a murder of crows watching you through the tree branches while they await a new body to pick at.

Seeing the church looming over the hilltop is enough to give you a chill. Maybe the graves are helping with that, standing as crooked and crumbling as they were before, but whatever it is about that place just plagues you with a sense of unease. Each step up the hill has you on guard, peeking around to see whether more Ganados will come out–but it's just as eerily quiet as you expected it to be, and you don't even spot much more than the crows until you're past the gate and standing on the front step of the chapel. To your fortune, the door's still unlocked–as you hoped it would be, considering all that you and Leon had to endure to get it open the first time. You'll never forget that feeling of your stomach sinking when you watched him retch up all that blood over the side of the boat, nor the heat of his tight grip as he had grabbed your wrist and whimpered in pain before slipping into unconsciousness on your lap.

Life had been scary enough then, but in some way seeing Leon go through the Plagas infection hit you harder than any other mission you'd gone through…especially since you know now that he would never be cured. He was just so strong in the face of everything, even during Raccoon City, when he truly had no idea what he was doing. He had such a kind heart that he would do anything for anybody. Even if he could be a hardass at times, he was pure.

Thinking about Leon always ends up leading you to memories of his funeral, especially so as your shoulders relax and you step into this church that somewhat resembles the one that housed it. You drop your bag on the nearest pew and let it spill over on to its side, and when your wallet tumbles out, your eyes pass over the picture inside that makes another memory pop into your head.

"This world is undoubtedly worse off without Leon. It won't ever be the same, and I…I'll miss you, Sancho."

Luis hadn't more than dabbed at his eyes at the service, but he'd hugged you so tightly at the reception he could've broken your bones with ease. You sat at a pew just like this one and held your hands between you throughout the eulogies, quiet and empty while Ashley cried her eyes out a few rows ahead. Other than a few close friends from the academy, a couple surviving members of RPD, and a handful of people Leon got to know in the military, the rest of the service was populated by complete strangers to you. Including the president himself, whose hand you openly refused to shake when he approached you with his "condolences". Without Luis there to guide you away to go get some complimentary dinner, you might have told the leader of your country where exactly he could stuff his condolences.

At the very least you can get some healing by actually burying your best friend, you think as you check the perimeter of the church to ensure its security. If you succeed, which you're hoping might actually happen if you can keep the grief and overwhelming anxiety to a minimum.

"Mh?"

Perhaps it's a good sign already, but going unnoticed by you up until now you spot something out of your peripheral that looks out of place here–and when you step up to it to take a look, sitting at the crest of the church where the podium would be, is what looks to be a washbasin that might have come from one of the nearby houses. Peering over the lip it looks to be filled with nothing but clear water…and when you dip a finger in, a sigh escapes you when you feel how warm it is. There's even a towel hanging over the nearest pew that you could've sworn wasn't there earlier, but it's getting harder to see with all the blood caking your eyelashes. And not one to turn away a perfectly good miracle, you're all too happy to strip off your clothes and dunk your head, hair, and limbs into a clean, semi-refreshing bath.

While you scrub the dust, dirt, and dried entrails from your skin, your mind wanders yet again into another world–the one you lived in before, so blissfully unaware of how bad the outcome could truly be. You'd met Leon for the first time at his debriefing in the RPD, when he'd been quietly optimistic with that baby face and a well of enthusiasm that had come out in the strength of his handshake. Marvin introduced you first as his immediate superior because you'd been in that same position before; you had been the rookie from out of town the year prior, and aside from the beaming sense of pride at moving up a peg in the force, you also liked how sweet Leon was.

He'd greeted you with honorifics you didn't need, smiled when you gave him a tour, and not once did he ever scoff or roll his eyes when you were giving him advice before he had even started. You noticed him because he was new, but also because he respected you and pretty much everyone else with barely any hesitation. In his plainclothes surrounded by decorated officers he treated everyone he met like a friend, and although Marvin had expressed concern about him being a little naive once he went home, you remember that moment as you watched him get into his car, and you remember thinking that the world–and Raccoon City–needed more people like that. You liked to think that you always knew he was a hero at heart.

Your brow softens as the water starts running clear down your body, the basin filled with blood and muck that you've been scrubbing off your skin until it's raw. The tiredness is setting in now from the plane ride and the tension, and all you want to do is sleep–but a sudden start and pain flooding through your abdomen has you alert and gripping the edge of the basin. Easing your chest out of the way to look down, you watch in frustrated horror as your fingers brush by the opening of a much more significant wound than the scrapes and bruises just beneath your breast down towards your stomach. At only about a half inch wide and five or more inches long the cut isn't severe, it doesn't even seem like it's been touched by the filth you've been doused in as you pour a little more water over it. But now that you've noticed it the sting is much more palpable, and with no desire to have it infected and die a slow death you fumble for your pitiful first aid kit and work away at closing the wound. Strips of medical tape and gauze are about all you can do, though the process is slow and awkward with you trying not to stretch or strain it too much for it to hurt worse. Just your luck. It's only the first day. You just count yourself fortunate that Leon isn't here to see this because you know he'd both fuss over you and tease you to no end…although you do find yourself glancing around more as you fix yourself up, your mind on high alert while you're in this state of vulnerability. For some reason you do feel watched, although with no sounds or odd noises to tip you off you're tempted to assume you're relatively safe. You can only hope that you are, because rarely have you ever been so sluggish and desperate for rest than you feel right now and you'd rather not wake up with an axe in your skull.

When you're done and with your clothes still hanging wet over the pew, you've got little choice but to tug on an old shirt and thin shorts from the bottom of your bag, the spare set of clothes an absolute emergency item that you're glad you at least brought this time. The summer heat's still strong so hopefully it doesn't get too cold in the night, the darkness of which you can spot creeping over the horizon through the stained glass windows. Luckily for you the layout is fairly simple and you'd already rediscovered the upstairs room where Ashley had been kept in your search, so after pushing the pews with a grunt to block the doors, low windows, and finally the ladder to the second floor, you take your gathered things inside and set up on the thin, downy cover that will have to do as a mattress for tonight. You've certainly slept in worse, less secure places than this anyways.

But before you allow yourself the chance to drift off, your fingers stretch for your wallet again that you'd tucked back into your bag, the picture greeting you once more when you flip it open and slide it out. Leon's beaming face smiles back at you, and your gentle self stands beside him six years younger in front of the RPD's grand foyer statue. Him in his jacket and you in your uniform, waving and grinning at the camera with his arm around you like nothing bad ever existed in the world. You knew in your heart that day would be the start of something different, but just how different wouldn't occur to you until it was too late. The picture sits tightly in your hand for immeasurable moments that melt into one another, up until your eyes finally flutter closed and you drift off in neverending silence.

When sleep finally comes, so do the dreams. And in them, you get to see Leon in a much more visceral way than the pictures on your desk or the smell of cologne on his jacket. The walls behind you look to be the same as the room you'd fallen asleep in, but in smooth fashion a hand cups your chin and pulls your gaze back from the floor to the one who wants it the most.

Leon looms above you on bended knees, his chest bare and hair tousled as if he'd yanked off his shirt in a hurry–he's always like that, always in a rush to begin only to take his sweet, agonizing time when he's actually performing. His lips look bitten and flushed like he's been kissing you already, but maybe that's because he's been nibbling on it like he is now out of shyness, or maybe embarrassment.

"I missed you." Your voice comes out muffled as it usually does, and Leon shifts around, his hands dwarfing your knees in comparison as he moves them to fit himself between them.

"I'm right here, sweetheart." His smile lights up your world with a glow, he makes it brighter even though a shadow still casts itself over half his face from the lantern on the other side of the room. "I'm always here for you."

But you died. Those words play on your lips, but you don't allow them to slip out. If you do, the dream may end here and now, and you can't afford to let such a precious moment of affection pass you by. "I love you, Leon." You whimper instead, and he gasps with pure, undiluted need as he makes that push inside you that he's been waiting for all night–that soft, wet heat welcoming his stiff self in like it always does and always will. The pressure stings at first, it beats hard in your chest and between your legs where he lies, but it's a forgiving ache and not a dull pain. When Leon kisses you again, it all disappears just as quickly–even quicker when he eventually starts to move.

"I love you more. I'll always love you, even after you're gone." He whispers against your lips, breathing his sentiment in and capturing yours on every exhale back. His fingertips leave trails of searing desire up your flesh, warm hands guiding your arms higher to rest around his neck and keep him as close as you can. You wouldn't need to, you don't have to, but he wants to be closer and you know you do too. Being inside you isn't enough for him, he needs you to want him, to desire him so deeply you can't fathom being apart. And you do, you always do, but you never seem to manage saying it out loud even in the throes of a perverse dream…but he can.

"I'll love you even if you leave me again. I'll fuck you so good you don't even think of doing it to me." Your lover pants, his pace picking up while your pleasure jumbles up into a heated, twisted mess. It seems like he's just entered you but at the same time it feels long, like you've been at his mercy for hours or days on end and the pressure keeps mounting higher and higher too fast. These fantasies usually end too soon for your liking but that's always because you're the one folding first, legs shaking and nails digging blunt marks into his arms when he makes you see stars. You're getting close to that mark now, yet you've barely even started.

Leon suddenly holds his hand up to your throat, fingers splayed over your delicate neck to squeeze it with a growl low in his throat. "Don't ever leave me again. Promise me." At your absent reply he tightens his grip harder, and the stars in your eyes have you choking out an answer that isn't good enough. "Promise me I'm the only one. Swear on your life you won't choose him over me."

"I-I promise! Leon, p-please, I promise! I-I'm coming to–c-cumming, Lee!" You cry, overwhelmed as you look up with wet, hazy eyes at the man you've always loved. The black veins start spreading across his golden skin, and his own gaze grows cold and dark before a sudden pulse turns his irises to a bright, piercing red. The killing blow comes with a chuckle as his lips curl into a sinister smirk, and his hips plummet down to meet yours in a cacophony of sounds that will echo in your mind for days on end, just before he stills and a shudder rolls through his body. As tight as he says you are, he never fails to press himself deep enough that he releases that pent-up desire as close to your womb as possible.

"Mine. All mine. You promised."

In the next moment of bliss settling in and a groan erupting from his throat, the world blots out into darkness and you jolt up from the floor with a start.

"Shit!"

The curse just flies from your mouth on instinct, the heat having disappeared and the pressure of a body on top of you making way for cold, aching emptiness. An uncomfortably warm, sticky wetness pooled between your legs has your attention immediately, but you've got no choice but to cringe and ignore the discomfort for now. Your breathing labours in your chest for minutes upon strained minutes before eventually quieting, and only then do you groan and shift in your spot to glance at the time just to remember that you aren't in your bed nor at home. As you would hope not, considering how stiff your back is from sleeping on the ground.

Without windows it's impossible to tell just how long you've slept, and a glance around the empty room offers no clues either. So when you manage to get up and stretch, the only thing you notice fluttering down from where you'd let go of it is that same photo of yourself and Leon–with that dream in the back of your head, however, you can't bring yourself to look at him and shove it back into the plastic holder in your wallet.

Still, with that being a normal practice for you being around the person you've been harbouring feelings for, that dream in itself was stranger than most. The last thing you want is to dwell on it right this minute, but Leon's words still echo in your head regardless; what did he mean when he spoke those words? Did they have a shred of truth to them, or were they just the frantic machinations of your brain still trying to make sense of his death?

Either way, you don't really want to know. You just want to leave this place altogether–but with that option out the window, the least you can do is leave this church and get some fresh air. With the skill and briskness of a trained agent, you gather your things and briskly slip on your newly-dried clothes downstairs, a few bites of a protein bar all you need to sustain you at least for a couple hours.

Upon pushing on the heavy entrance doors, the crack of light between them opens up into a bright horizon with the sun beating down on the soil, the burst of morning light blinding you temporarily as you take those first few steps outside. It's just long enough for your surroundings to come into focus that you get a whiff of the humid air–and in seconds your nose scrunches up, the foul stench of decay pervading your senses in the instant that it takes for you to take a look around.

Lying in droves around the cemetery, piles at the bottom of the hill, and strung in pieces all around your feet, are the bodies of the Ganados. The sight of it strickens you immediately with shock, but then nauseates you to the point of clutching your mouth to keep what little food you brought from coming back up.

The corpses have been strewn around like some sort of macabre dollhouse; lying in pieces splayed every which way, facedown in the grave dirt or strung up in the trees for the crows to peck at. Some have been gutted and others dismembered. A few have their heads missing. Intestines and gore lie in bloody wake around the site of the massacre, sticking to the soles of your boots from one step into the aftermath, and you want to vomit. God, how can you not want to vomit at the sight of it all? What god could be so cruel, even to monsters?

It's sickening to the point of panic–run, you just want to turn tail and run far, far away, but your destination hasn't been decided quite yet. Ideally you would have sat down with your map and plotted it out, found your next objective, maybe would've scoped out the closest place to rest once you're finished your search. You would've been thorough and confident like any rescuer should be.

But the cowardice in your heart screams louder than courage. In a moment, you're rushing down the path and running out the gate, frantic in shoving it open just enough to slide yourself through but too disturbed to look back towards the carnage. In seconds the church is far behind you, and in a matter of minutes you're on a new path you haven't yet considered the danger of.

All you know is that you want out of this place, you want to go home–even though home has been within arm's reach since you got here. It's never too far away, especially when you inevitably follow the road that leads right towards that infamous castle gate, and your destiny.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #plagas!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #yandere leon kennedy x reader #re4make #resident evil #resident evil 4 #spicy writing #ellie writes #series: retrieval #<- see this tag for chapter updates! #5k

[tumbleweed-run]

In the Light of Day

Kinktober 2023 Day 31 Free for all

“Are you sure this is how you want to fully test this?” Tav sounds as nervous as Astarion feels. 

Astarion does a much better job of hiding his nerves, though. He looks down at the gold band on his finger, glinting in the light as he flexes his hand. “It’s not like we don’t know it works,” he reasons.

“Yes, but that was through the windows. Maybe it doesn’t work as well in direct sunlight,” Tav looks nearly panicked. 

Astarion can’t have them both stressed, so he steps into her space and grabs her arms. “Pet,” he says sharply, and her mouth slams shut, “we know it works.”

They do. He’s spent the better part of the last three days standing in front of uncovered windows in the tower, unsinged. He just hadn’t been bold enough to step outside just yet. The memory of that day on the docks in Baldur’s Gate lingers like a bad taste in the back of his mouth. Every time he’d considered even stepping out onto the terrace Gale loves so much he would feel dizzy. But he can’t bear keeping himself locked up any longer. Astarion decided today would be the day he was going out. 

His hand hesitates on the door despite all his reassurances to Tav. 

Just because Astarion believes the ring and its protection works doesn’t mean he didn’t take precautions. His face is truly the only part of his skin exposed. Should something go wrong, it would be easy enough to flip up his hood for protection until he was safely back inside. When he finally brings himself to push open the door and walk out into the street, he’s easily the most overdressed person out there. 

His eyes slide shut as the full force of the sun beats down on him, and he waits. Nothing happens. Tav breathes a sigh of relief next to him. 

“See,” Astarion turns his head towards her, eyes opening, “it works fine out here, too.”

Tav nods, a small smile finally breaking out across her lips. “Thank the gods,” she breathes.

“Let’s keep that sentiment to ourselves,” he says with a wry smile, “lest our wizard get any more ideas.”

She laughs and grabs his hand, “we should get going if we’re going to find him by noon.”

Gale had disappeared not long after sunrise. He’d left them a map to somewhere outside of the city and told them to be at that spot by noon. Astarion wondered if the air of intrigue was to act as a further lure to get him out of the tower for the first time. He wasn’t about to tell the other man that it worked. 

As they traveled towards their secret destination, it was clear that this was turning out to be the first summerlike day they’d experienced since winter had slunk off. Astarion was a fan of the heat, his body rarely feeling this kind of warmth, but even he’d taken the cloak off by the time they’d reached the city gate. There were beads of sweat along the back of Tav’s neck that Astarion spent most of their journey distracted by. 

It wasn’t hard to follow Gale’s directions, which led them to a small clearing in a wood not too far south of the city. The wizard was sitting, leaning up against the trunk of a tree with a book in hand as they approached. 

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d be eating alone,” Gale announced when they got to the edge of the clearing. 

“Please,” Astarion sniffed, “we’re not even late.”

Gale stood and approached them. If Astarion had need for breath, his would have caught when the damn wizard stepped out of the shade. He’d forgotten how the man looked in the sun, and this was even worse. Perhaps without the orb eating him alive, the man appeared even more golden than he had while they traveled. Gale looked radiant with the sun, its rays highlighting both the silver and honey-gold strands of his hair. He would have made a glorious god if their paths had turned that way. Not that Astarion would ever reveal that thought to anyone. 

“I’m starved,” Tav announces, pulling Astarion from his thoughts. 

Gale grins, “well then, you are quite lucky to know a wizard both talented with magic and food. It’s all being kept fresh with ice.”

They sat on a blanket in the sun, eating far too much food. Gale had been prepared for an army, it seemed. There was even a bottle filled with blood for Astarion, but he took small bites of everything. It was something he often did to feel included in mealtimes. At home, he’d sit with his goblet of blood, the origins of which he’d never gotten around to asking about, and taste a little of everything Gale and Tav ate. The food would never satiate his hunger. Sometimes, it seemed to make it worse, but he’d found he enjoyed eating in the company of others. 

Once he’d grown bored of food, long before the other two did, Astarion laid back on the blanket, basking in the sun. It felt different from when he’d had the tadpole. He saw the sun's lights and was able to revel in its warmth, but something was missing. Likely whatever it was that the ring was protecting him from, an invisible shield along his skin. He could live with that, a tiny missing piece, in return for the joys of being a daywalker once more. 

“You are a filthy romantic,” he announces suddenly, turning to level his gaze at Gale.

Gale pauses midchew of something with an eyebrow raised. 

“A picnic in the woods,” Astarion clarifies, earning him an eye roll from the wizard. 

Tav leans over him, blocking the sun from his face. “You’re enjoying it, though.”

Astarion doesn’t answer except to pull her down to him. She ends up lying across his chest, and he feels her stiffen for a moment. He knows why, they all do, but he won't allow it to ruin their day. So instead, he turns to his side so Tav’s lying next to him pulled tight against his body. She smells like the sun and her hair is warm to the touch. He buries his face in her neck and inhales. 

She laughs, “I thought you were full.”

“I have no plans to eat you,” Astarion assures her even as he lets his fangs scrape across her skin, no doubt also tangling in her hair. 

Tav shivers. 

“Unless you wish me to,” he adds, hooking one leg over the top of hers and pulling her even closer. Tav squirms a little, no doubt feeling the stirring of his cock against her thighs. 

Behind her, Gale clears his throat. 

“I think the wizard is jealous,” Astarion says loud enough for the other man to hear. 

“I think,” Gale says with a touch of indignity, “that the wizard wants to remind you he is also here.”

Tav giggles but pushes against him to roll away. Astarion lets her. He watches as she crawls over to Gale, sitting in his lap before pressing a kiss against the wizard’s lips. Gale pulls her closer until she’s straddling his waist, deepening the kiss. He reaches down to grasp his cock through his pants as Tav starts rocking against Gale. 

Astarion lazily palms himself as he half watches them. His eyes slip shut after a moment, and he turns his head back to the sun, enjoying the way the rays beat white against his eyelids. He groans as he hears sweet little sounds escaping Tav’s lips, still muffled against Gale’s. He’s torn between wanting to join them and laying like this in the sun. 

It’s a soft, slick sound that makes up his mind for him. Turning again, he sees that Gale has worked Tav’s pants down under her ass, and his hand has disappeared between them. Astarion watches the pale swell of flesh roll, no doubt in response to fingers buried within her, and is overwhelmed with the desire to bite her there, hard enough she’ll scar. While it’s unlikely Tav will tell him no, he swallows that down for another moment. Right now, he’s going to commit the way they look in the sunlight to memory. He hopes to see them like this a million more times, but he needs to remember today.

“Astarion,” Tav calls to him, voice inching near a whine.

He grins, rises up onto his knees, and moves to her. Once his front is flush against her back, Astarion trails a kiss against her neck. “Is the wizard not enough for you, darling,” he teases. 

Tav cries out. No doubt Gale has retaliated with his fingers to the barb. Astarion grins. 

“You’re insufferable,” Gale tells him almost casually despite what he continues to do to Tav. 

Astarion grins at the man over Tav’s shoulder. “But you love me that way,” it’s half a statement, half a challenge. 

Gale sighs. “Of course I do,” he sounds resigned to the fact. 

There’s a swell of giddiness in Astarion’s chest at the wizard’s affirmation. It seems to grow larger in the light until he can no longer repress the certainly appalling grin that’s broken across his face. Gale returns the look with a stupidly brilliant smile, one so bright that Astarion reburries his face into Tav’s neck.

He reaches around the front of Tav until his hand finds where Gale’s fingers are slowly moving in and out of her cunt. Astarion rubs gently against her clit until she’s whimpering, hips chasing after both of their touches in stuttered movements. 

“You make such pretty sounds,” he purrs against Tav’s skin. He feels, rather than sees, her skin grow hotter with a flush. 

Astarion allows his fingers to drop lower, and slowly he presses one into her, sliding it between the two fingers Gale is using. He allows the wizard to control the way they move, his position too awkward to take control. Tav moans and her thighs spread almost impossibly wider in an effort to accommodate the three fingers now inside of her. Astarion can feel her cunt growing wetter with each second. No longer is it just his fingers coated but a good part of his hand as well. 

When he pulls his hand away from her, Tav whimpers but it’s quickly swallowed by a moan. Astarion had little doubt the wizard has replaced his finger with another of his own. Astarion holds out his hand to Gale, who leans forward just enough so he can like a stripe up his palm. He grinds his cock against Tav’s ass as Gale eagerly cleans her from Astarion’s hand. Before he finishes, Gale presses a soft kiss against the golden band.

He grips onto Tav’s hips and lifts her slightly, away from Gale’s fingers. “Let’s take these off,” he says as an explanation. Gale is the one who ends up pulling them down completely. Tav just barely helps by moving her legs. Astarion scrapes his teeth against her neck in retribution before moving back off of Gale, standing. 

Gale quickly flips them so that Tav is pinned beneath him on the blanket, her head resting just before Astarion’s feet. She grins up at him and asks, “Are you fucking me?”

Astarion shakes his head, “I thought we were rewarding the wizard’s brilliance? Let’s let him have you today.”

Gale doesn’t need to be told anything further and makes short work of his own pants before dropping down to hover back over Tav. Astarion circles around behind them but stays standing until Gale’s pressing into Tav. Her eyes roll back and then close, which is when Astarion finally drops to his knees. 

He holds only Gale’s hips as the man begins lazily thrusting into Tav. After a moment, he moves his hold until he gripping the wizard’s ass, pulling him apart lightly. Gale’s rhythm suffers just a little when Astarion does this. He grins to himself about this. Then, without so much as a whisper of warning, Astarion leans down and presses his tongue against the ring of muscle. 

“Ah,” Gale yelps in surprise. He would have collapsed forward if it weren't for Astarion holding him in place. 

“No?” He asks, allowing the breath of his words to ghost across the flesh. 

“Just surprised,” Gale clarifies with barely enough time before Astarion returns to what he’d been doing. 

The wizard tries valiantly to keep thrusting into Tav, but around the time Astarion presses his tongue just inside, he all but freezes. Astarion allows himself to be sloppy as he fucks Gale with his tongue, the wizard doesn’t seem to mind judging from his moans and the way his hips try and push back against him. Astarion keeps him held in place. 

“Astarion, if I can’t watch, could I at least get fucked?” Tav asks in a voice Astarion knows is accompanied by a pout. 

“Fine,” Astarion relents and sits up. He quickly undoes the ties of his own pants and shoves them down just below his cock. 

“Are you coherent enough?” He teases, leaning forward so his hand is probably within Gale’s eyesight. 

The words are muttered spitefully, and the oil appears, even if it’s a little more than usual. Astarion quickly slicks it against his cock before swiping the excess down the cleft of Gale’s ass. He presses in with little warning, moving slow, yet relentlessly until he bottoms out. It takes a few shallow thrusts into the wizard before he begins moving again. Tav sighs happily on the ground, one leg raising up until Astarion takes hold of it, allowing Gale to thrust into her deeper. 

It’s not quick or frenzied as they fuck. Gale’s hips are rolling languidly, forward into Tav and then back against Astarion. The only noises for a while are each of their pants and the sound of the trees rustling overhead with a breeze that doesn’t reach them. Astarion allows his eyes to slide shut, again tilting his head towards the sun. It feels like his whole body is glowing in the light, the warmth growing low in his belly, each thrust of his hips making him grow brighter. This is something he’s never experienced and something he swears he will a hundred times more. 

Astarion’s orgasm takes him by surprise. His body folds over Gale as he comes, hips pinning the other man motionless again. Gale doesn’t complain, only grinds back against Astarion. Astarion pulls out of the wizard but keeps his face buried against his back. It’s not terribly comfortable as Gale begins to move, his own hand holding up Tav’s leg now, but Astarion remains anyway. He reaches around and lazily swipes his thumb against Tav’s clit until she cries out, thighs clamping tightly against Gale. The wizard comes not long after. Astarion feels the other man’s release roll through the muscles of his back. 

“You seem happy,” Tav says tentatively a few moments later as they’re lying side by side on the picnic blanket.

Astarion opens his eyes and looks over at her, and then at Gale, who’s resting his head on her stomach. 

“I am,” he says truthfully. 

#bloodweave x tav #bloodweave #Gale x tav #Astarion x tav #kinktober 2023 #Happy Halloween everyone #and a happy last day of kinktober as well!

[queenvidal]

Welcome To The Sanctuary

Negan x Reader (Rick’s Daughter)

Chapter 1: Something Eerie

Chapter Summary: It was supposed to be just another pickup day - not a nightmare. Rick is ready to strike against Negan, but all war efforts come to a complete stop, when the life of the woman both men care about the most is on the line.

Wordcount: 2157

Era: Season 7

- Part 5 of the The One And Only Series -

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

It’s late in the morning, when a small convoy of trucks makes its way down the deserted roads. 

The Saviors are heading to their bosses favorite community. Negan is almost mindlessly driving behind one of the trucks, watching the all too familiar suburb passing by his windows. Today is pickup day for Alexandria and he can’t wait to see what Prick’s people got him this time. It better be good after all the trouble his son caused last week. 

It probably won't be much, he muses. Not that he cares too much about it but the town is now short of three more people. It certainly has to put their scavengers under even more pressure. But then again, Rick and especially his Sweet-Thing had to deal with even worse conditions in the past, when coordinating their teams and if anyone can get shit done, it’s her.

After the events of last week's pickup, Negan had to think of her constantly. She must have known about Spencer's plans or at least had to have a suspicion, given how stressed she was, when he first approached them. What a slimy asshole and a coward on top. There is no doubt in his mind his Sunshine would have killed him for what he tried to do. Luckily she didn’t have to lift a finger, she is already close enough to getting exiled as it is and also Negan was more than willing to lend a hand in that matter. 

As much as he can't stand Rick, he's got to admit that he's doing a good job - that is keeping his people alive and scavenging good stuff. Also he is well experienced from his years outside of that town and kept so many people alive during that time. That knowledge is priceless in times like this and Negan actually respects him for it. That Spencer really thought he'd not just be as good but even better than Rick as a leader is not only astonishing but also downright pathetic. That asshole got what he deserved. 

Still, there is one thing from this whole ordeal that’s still leaving a bitter taste in Negan's mouth and that is the death of the fat woman. He disliked her and was never subtle about it but he knew she was somewhat close to his Sunshine and although it was Arat’s decision to take her out, he still feels sorry for Y/N. 

He can’t forget that burning anger in her eyes, when she glared at that bitch that tried to shoot him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit turned on by the sight of it, as out of place as it was. After all his Sweet-Thing is hot as hell when she’s pissed and she’s been seething. 

Negan can’t help but smile at that memory. He’s so excited to see her again. It surprised him how much he actually enjoyed their little game of hide and seek. It made the whole affair even more enticing. Still he’s glad people somehow found out eventually. Hopefully this will result in more time with her than rushed quickies every now and then. Given the new circumstances, Negan decided to retire his RV for the time being and left it in The Sanctuary. There is no need for it anymore and her bedroom will do just fine. He really can’t wait to take his time with her.

Finally the high walls of Alexandria are slowly coming into view and the head of the Saviors  focuses back onto the road ahead of him. Slowly the gate opens up, making way for the convoy. Negan scans the guards standing on the wall but his Sunshine is nowhere to be seen. She’s not on duty right now it seems. 

The trucks drive through the gate onto the parking lot and Negan stops his car right on top of the convoy. The Saviors gather around their vehicles, ready to go through today's pickup. Negan jumps out of his car, shutting the door shut. 

Uncomfortableness is creeping up his spine immediately - Something is wrong. 

Somehow he has the feeling that something is off but Negan just can’t put his finger on it and it's making him feel quite uneasy. Suddenly on high alert, he's looking around the area. Usually around this time Alexandrians would roam the street, watching the activities but the streets are empty. 

Except for one person. 

“Ah, Rick!” Negan calls the approaching man with a bright smile that quickly dies again. The closer Rick gets, the more his sorry state becomes visible. The man looks like he’s seen a ghost. His skin is pale, only accentuating the redness of his sunken eyes. The hell happened to him?

Once he’s reached the Saviors, Rick greets them with a weak nod of his head. “Negan. Your stuff’s at the pantry.” 

A frown settles on Negan's face. Rick’s not meeting his eyes and while that’s nothing out of the ordinary, in fact it’s quite welcome, it still seems off. The other man’s not avoiding his gaze like he used to but is just staring into the void. What the hell is going on here? After another quick glance around the area, still not seeing his Sweet-Thing, Negan asks, “Where’s Y/N?”

Rick swallows hard. After a moment, he states. “She’s out scouting.”

This statement only adds to the distressing feeling in Negan’s gut. Rick is so obviously lying. She would never go out scouting with a different car than her stupid Mini. The Mini that is clearly sitting in the far corner of the parking lot. 

Negan takes one step closer to Rick, his eyes narrowing. But before he can confront Rick about his observations, he sees a woman appearing in the corner of his eye. She’s stepping out of the infirmary. That’s one of Sunshine’s team, he realizes. The woman is crying and wiping her tears. Blood is dripping from her hands.

Negan’s eyes switch between her and Rick. Something is going on. After one final glance at the other man who’s still not meeting his eyes, Negan gets moving. He pushes himself past Rick without a word, heading for the infirmary. Rick’s about to say something but when he sees Sasha standing on the porch, he keeps his mouth shut, following Negan with his head down.

Knots tighten in Negan's chest. The air feels tense, almost eerie. There is not a single person in sight and the whole town is silent. Only the sound of boots moving over the gravel can be heard. It’s quite goosebumps inducing. The head of the Saviors tries to calm himself down, he can’t have his nerves get the better of him. 

When they reach the porch, Sasha moves out of their way to the side. She looks at Rick, even more tears are running down her cheeks when she slowly shakes her head at him. Negan can’t see Rick's reaction but at the moment he doesn’t care. All he wants is to find out what’s going on. With the unpleasant feeling in his gut quickly growing, he opens the door and moves inside.

Once through the door, the man is being hit with the pungent smell of blood. His nose crinkles to its own accord and he is met with another puffy red eye. Rick's boy is sitting on a chair next to a cot, looking up at him with a tear stained face, holding the hand of the person lying there. 

When Negan's eyes eventually wander to the cot, he stops dead in his tracks. Sunshine. Negan almost forgot how to breathe. There is so much blood. 

"It's been an accident." Rick's small voice sounds behind the boss, but he barely registers the other man. Negan moves forward, coming to stand right next to Carl. The boy doesn’t say a word, only holding the hand of his sister in silence.

Negan’s eyes roam over her. His Sunshine is almost unrecognizable, the way she's lying there, completely still, unconscious. Her skin is so pale, almost gray. Bandages are wrapped around her exposed middle but there is still so much blood on her, the cot, the equipment. A rusty metal rod on the cart catches Negan's attention briefly but he quickly moves his eyes back to the big crimson red spot on her belly.

"It happened so fast." Rick tries to explain, "We couldn't-"

"Got a doc or something?" Negan cuts him off immediately, his eyes not leaving her.

Rick’s just looking at his daughter. "She's… she’s our medic.”

Negan’s clenching his jaw. A quiet fuck is leaving his lips as he’s running his ungloved hand through his hair, still taking all of this in. 

She’s dying. 

Once that thought passes his mind, Negan snaps back from his spinning mind. He moves his attention back to her father, “Prepare her for transport. I’m taking her with us.”

“No-” Rick is about to argue, but there is no room nor time for a debate right now.

“I see you still don't understand what your daughter means to me, Rick.” Negan states in a serious tone, towering over the other man. “I’ve got a doc and a clinic. She’s coming with me.” 

“I'm coming with you.” Surprised, both men look at the boy. “So she won't be alone.” 

After a short moment of consideration, Negan agrees and nods at him. “Fine. Pack her some things.” Carl carefully places his sister's hand on the cot again, before quickly rushing out of the room. Negan turns his head back towards Rick again. “You get her ready,” he orders, before brushing past him, getting his car.

Rick watches him leave before moving his attention back to his daughter again. Slowly he comes closer, taking her hand in his. His eyes well up again as he looks at her. He raises her hand to his lips, praying to any God who cares to listen, to make her stay, to not take her away. “I love you so much,” he whispers against her skin. It pains him so much to see her like that.

After a new wave of tears are threatening to stream down his face, Rick realizes he has to get going. With as much care as he can muster, he puts a blanket around his daughter, wrapping her up into a cocoon before slowly lifting her up into his arms. Cautiously he hugs her against his chest. “Please don't leave us, Y/N.”

Eventually Rick starts moving, bringing his daughter outside. Sasha is sitting on the railing, still fighting the tears, trying to take a breath and calm down. She offers to help him but Rick doesn't seem to notice her as he’s passing her by without a word. Negan parked his car right in front of the house, Carl is already waiting next to it with a duffel bag in his hand. 

Rick walks down the steps attentively, going towards the car. Negan, who just finished instructing Simon to carry on with the pickup, comes closer, ready to take over but Rick moves past him. Carl quickly opens the door before helping his father to slowly and carefully lay his sister down onto the back seat of the car. Rick tugs her in one more time, whispering to her to keep fighting, to please wake up again, before he has to reluctantly let go of her.

As much as he hates Negan and as much as he distrusts him with every fiber of his being, if that man can save her, he will swallow all his hatred up. He’d do everything in and beyond his power for her. All he wants is for his daughter to open her eyes again.

Negan comes to stand next to Rick, looking at him with something close to compassion in his features, “Whatever happens, either way, I’ll let you know.” He's reaching out his hand, offering the other man a two-way radio.

Rick only nods silently, taking it. After one final look at his daughter, he's moving away. Negan lets out a sharp whistle, gaining Carl's attention. “Jump in.” The boy does as he’s been told, hopping into the passenger seat while Negan hurries onto his. 

The engine roars to life as they quickly take off and hit the road. Rick watches them drive out of the gate. His heart is shattering into a million pieces. This feels way too much like a last goodbye.

Sasha’s slowly approaching him. She puts her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, but there is nothing that can console him. 

Negan is racing down the streets as fast as he can. Adrenaline is rushing through his veins. Please, let it not be too late. It’s dead silent in the car. Now more than ever is he afraid of noises. 

Dreading to hear the tell-tale sound of quiet groaning. 

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

Taglist: @starry-night-20 / @joceymoo / @srhxpci / @ladykxxx08 / @sunneeflower / @frombloodandflesh / @aleeeesa /@lanamiller / @fanfic-n-tabulous / @noirfan12 / @abbiesxox / @elinafresk / @obsessiveformiyatwins / @kokushibosgirl / @syrma-sensei / @oceandolores

#ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #the walking dead #negan / reader #negan smith #negan x reader #twd #negan #rick grimes #Carl Grimes #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #The Walking Dead #negan x oc #twd negan #carl grimes #daryl #daryl dixon #twd fanfiction #sasha williams

[the-dixon-effect]

Daddy Issues

words: 1.1k

Nobody knew about your past.

Not even a bit. Your presence in Alexandria was regarded by the suburbanites as the disposition of a survivor, someone who had really been shaped by the cruel world outside the gates. Even the members of your own group, your family, didn't dare delve into the rocky landscape that was your life before the fall.

Despite the distinct mystery that followed you wherever you went, some could still sense the trauma you had ensued before. It was in the way you walked, the way you carried yourself, in your defensive impulses and your kind nature. And by 'some', this meant a certain archer who you had taken an interest in since the start.

Daryl Dixon was a man of few words, but since the beginning, you knew there had to be something else underneath his thick skin, a hidden treasure of sorts. And how right you were. You two remained by each other's side at all times, never once leaving the other in fear of losing them. If Daryl had lost you, oh God, he would have lost the one thing keeping him going, the light in his life, the oasis in the vast desert that was this harsh world. You had been so kind to him, and seeing you and your perfect smile was like medicine, and of course, he couldn't help but fall for you. He practically knew everything about you, or at least, he thought he did.

"Ya' alright?" he spoke. The two of you sat side-by-side in the front of a truck, heading out on a run. He had noticed your quietness and how it differed from your usual animated, cheerful manner. He rested both hands on the steering wheel and looked over at you. It had not been long since your father had died, out on a run, not unlike your current mission. Eaten alive by walkers, it was a terrible sight to witness for all involved, especially you, who remained silent for days after.

"I'm fine." Quite the opposite. Such a strange feeling, the man who had abused you your whole life, emotionally and physically, trapped you in the ghetto of Atlanta, and forced you to humiliate yourself to make a living, died at the hands of the new natural world? Did he get what he had coming? Did he deserve it all along? Were you supposed to be grateful, or satisfied? You always imagined that your father's death would feel like a gratifying weight lifted off your shoulders, but for some reason, you were never able to shake the trauma, the anxiety of it all. It was as if the world couldn't let you go, and you were being held hostage in your own dark memories.

Daryl might have been the most observant person you knew. You really thought you'd be able to keep the truth from him and he wouldn't know? Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let it all out. After all, if you were going to confess to anyone, it would have been him.

"I can tell you're not, ya know," he drawled.

"You remember my dad, right?" you spoke, softly and quietly. Even with his eyes fixed on the road, Daryl could sense that you were frowning.

"Ya, I remember tha' prick. Shoulda knocked him out while I had the chance." He also remembered your strong feelings against him, and how he had made a scene in the prison once by ordering you around with a less-than-polite tone. Daryl had obviously stepped in to defend you, which practically began your friendship. You thought of this often, and couldn't help but see Daryl as your protector from then on.

"Well, it's just that- I don't know, it's stupid," you began. "Can't stop thinking 'bout him. The way he died. It just- It seems wrong."

"Shit. I'm sorry, I shouldn't 've said-"

"No, it's okay. He was a horrible man." He was indeed, and though everybody shared your feelings about your father while he was with your old group, not one of them was aware of what he had done to you before the fall.

"There's- there's things I haven't told you. About him, and, about me." Daryl furrowed his brows. Of course he knew there must have been something deeper within your relationship with the man, but he never expected himself to be one whom you would share it with.

"It's alrigh'," he drawled. "Take your time."

"He hit me. All the time. Whenever he was mad or depressed or drunk, or even happy." The words came so easily, and you had underestimated how good it would feel to release some of this pressure build-up, especially to Daryl. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes glass over as the memories came flooding back. You weren't sure, but despite the horrific things you had endured, it felt right to let it out for once.

He simply stared at you, and even with his brown hair falling over his eyes you could tell he was in shock. How could someone do something like that to you, the most beautiful person, in all ways, that he'd ever met?

"I'm- I'm so sorry Y/N. I never knew 'bout any of it," Daryl was at a loss for words.

"You wanted to know what I did before the world went to shit?" you paused for a moment, understanding that right now, you could not take any of this back.

"I was a- I was-" tears began to stain your cheeks. "I had to- I was a hooker." Silence.

Shit. How could he maintain a friendship with you after that? You were in total disbelief at your confession. Things will never go back to the way they were, you thought.

You sat there, shaking in your seat, forgetting where you were and paying no attention to your surroundings.

It was true, every part of it. You had been a hooker living in the hood of Atlanta before the fall, and you hated it. Every part of it. But there was no escape from the ghetto, and the route you had chosen to survive was safer and steadier than a life of crime. Still, every day you dreamt of a man who could take care of you, love you for your mind and soul, somebody to treat you right. Had you been shaped by the apocalypse, or had you always been like this?

"It's okay. I'm gon' take care of you. Ya don't have to worry 'bout anythin'." Daryl's soft words came like the arrival of the man you had always imagined late at night. You didn't need a man, of course you didn't. But Daryl, maybe you needed him.

#brandy writes #angst #twd angst #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon smut #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn in BG3: Chapter 2

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 2: Now that all the companions are gathered it's time to move on to the druid's grove.

Link to AO3

A/N: Thank you to everyone giving part one love! <3 The more I write this the more I fall in love with my own Tav lol.

Lae’zel was just as arrogant when rescued as she was in the game, but surprisingly she was the one to suggest ditching a couple of party members.  It’s too conspicuous to travel with so many, so Tav made the decision to send two on to make camp nearby.  And of all the people to send, he sent away Shadowheart and Gale.  They each questioned the decision but headed off soon enough. 

You wonder why he chose to keep you, clearly the weakest link.  You wonder those thoughts aloud when you approach the Emerald Grove and hear Aradin demanding entry, and the goblin assault begins.

“Hardly the time for those questions,” Astarion answers.  

“Just stay back,” Tav warns.  “And get your dagger out.”

You stand atop the small hill across from the gate, two goblins on the stair-like cliffside and climbing up, while Tav and Lae’zel jump down to help those at the gate.  Astarion has his bow drawn and sends an arrow to the closest goblin’s face—it goes down with a heavy thud, body tumbling into the other one knocking him down long enough for the vampire to pull out a dagger and start stabbing.

You do as Tav says and pull your own dagger from your boot..  What once felt large in your hand now seems incomparably small when facing a group of goblins.  

And there’s no turns here.  The goblins aren’t about to wait patiently for you to stick your blade into them.  The fray is nothing but chaos until a young man in a red coat jumps down from the top of the gate, rapier in hand.  That stills the goblins enough for you to make sense of some of the battle.

Tav and Aradin have taken down two goblins themselves while Lae’zel thrusts her sword into the bugbears chest—another two goblins are felled by Astarion and the female archer, and then the last of them are taken out by Wyll’s Arms of Hadar.  The green and black tendrils erupt from the ground, draining the nearest creatures of life before fading back into the dirt.  All the while you stood behind Astarion holding the tiniest dagger known to Faerun.

You take careful steps to the edge of the cliff, avoiding any spilled blood, and look at the carnage below.  Astarion moves up to the ledge below where you stand, saying something that sounds like “good to have you in the group” but you don’t pay him any mind.  There’s too much blood rushing in your ears to hear his snark, and that phantom limb has grown friends as it reaches towards the dead that surround you. 

Take, something whispers, take what is yours.

Take take take take! 

It repeats in your mind as the body nearest you twitches, legs twisting as if alive but stills as soon as Astarion pulls the arrow from its face.  The squelch of sputtering blood is enough to draw you from your trance, facing Astarion.  

“What did you say?”  Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“A sheltered one, aren’t you?” he asks.  He thinks you’re scared of the bodies, the violence.  You nod, because he’s not technically wrong.  Those limbs retract and that little voice that demanded something of you vanishes.  Let them all think you’re scared of the blood, because that’s what the trill in your chest was, wasn’t it?  Fear.

“I’ll get used to it,” you say more to yourself than Astarion.   You stow your blade back in your boot, noticing that Tav is leaping between the goblin bodies and searching them for loot.  His tail wags in the air as he bends to scavenge each corpse, eagerness on display.  

“I would have almost guessed you were excited by the way you gripped that dagger.”  Astarion holds a hand out to you.  He’s a ledge below you, waiting to help you down despite the attitude you hear in his tone.  Or maybe not attitude but…accusation?  No. That doesn’t fit him.  But neither does helping a stranger down a rocky cliff, yet there he is holding out a hand.

You stupidly stare at his pale hand, pondering its purpose.  He sighs with a roll of his eyes before he grabs your hand and tugs.  “Come along then, all the scary goblins are dead.”

You let him lead you down the cliffside, his hand actually…warm?  Well, nothing llike the heavy warmth of Tav, but still comforting as you pass the dead.  Astarion swaps holding your hand with his left rather than right as you reach the bottom, placing his now free hand on your back to guide you on the last large descent.  

“There now,” he says, all fake smile and fake emotion, “safe and sound.”

His words are directed at Tav, who is still searching the last body.  Ah, he’s endearing himself to Tav.  Help the person the leader is helping, because you’re stuck with them anyway, and you’ll look better to the group overall and be less suspicious should anything unsavoury happen to them.   The memory of critically failing your rolls when he fed on your Tav comes to mind and you make a mental note to keep your dagger very close at night.

Astarion lets go of your hand once Tav deems you safe enough.  You give him a small thanks and receive that fake smile in return.  You can’t bring yourself to smile back, knowing what you know.

“Hurry inside!” a tiefling shouts from atop the gate.  Zevlor.  “Before more of them come!”

“Here,” Tav says excitedly.  He pushes his hands towards you, a staff laying gently on both palms as if this were an offering to his better.  The top of the staff is decorated with some poor creature's skull and assorted bones.  A fox, maybe?  No matter, its bones have now been shaped and tied together along the smooth wooden staff like some sort of talisman.  As you take it Tav adds, “It may not be what you’re used to, but it should help you channel your magic.”

Your brows raise—he was more perceptive than you thought a barbarian would be.  Even if he was assuming you could use magic, and were having trouble doing so.

You notice there are small clear crystals dangling from some of the stones, and two large cut pieces of amethyst within the eye sockets of the skull.  The more you look at the staff the more you see how finely it’s been crafted—hardly the work of goblins.  

“Thanks,” you say.  You twirl it in your fingers, watching the crystals sparkle in the light and feeling a comforting chill fall over you.  Almost like stepping into the shade on a hot summer day. 

Tav’s tail swishes back and forth at your approval.  “Let’s get inside before they change their mind.”

Inside the grove Aradin and Zevlor are already arguing.  Like with Astarion’s false cries for help, Tav is quick to move ahead and get into the thick of things.  You can hear a woman crying above the gate—Arka, mourning the loss of her brother.  You block it out as much as possible, along with the voice in your head that whispers, Take.

You watch Tav settle the argument without any fists flying, then Aradin and what’s left of his crew storms off.

Zevlor and Tav exchange a few words, but your attention is on the spaciousness of the grove itself.  It looked so small on a computer screen, but now you can appreciate the majesty of it; the smell of the forest, the way the wind comes from down in The Hollow and wraps you in a safe cocoon.  It would be so peaceful if not for the scared tieflings, and the angry druids, and of course the rats you know aren’t really rats.

“Goblin got ya?” Zevlor says to Tav with a bit of surprise.  “You should talk to Nettie—she’s not as profound as Halsin but she can take a look at you.  While you’re there maybe you could talk Kagha out of this Rite of Thorns.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tav replies.

“We’re messengers now?”  Astarion has no qualms complaining directly in front of the one making the desperate request.

Without thinking you give him a quick elbow to the ribs.  You hiss, “Be nice!”

Astarion is so taken aback by your assault he can only baulk at you, eyes wide.  You try to keep your face as neutral as possible while you stand next to him, ignoring his stare in your peripheral vision.  Tav snickers at your actions, and that in itself is enough to keep Astarion at bay.  You imagine a die in your mind, the big number one mocking you as you try to push away the thought of Astarion feeding on you in the dead of night.  

You felt a glare directed at the back of your head as you followed Tav and Lae’zel down the hill and into The Hollow. It could be your imagination, but there was a particular weight to Astarion’s gaze whenever you looked back at him.  Still, you stood by your decision and kept your chin up.  

Tav stops to talk to the three siblings, successfully convincing them to stay and help the other tieflings.  You all take the boarded path towards the back of the cave where Aradin and his crew sit, and there you spot Meli, a young tiefling refugee, about to pickpocket Barth for his mothers locket.  You wonder if you should stop him but it’s Tav that steps up and sets a hand on the boy's shoulder, surprising Meli and you.  Tav squats down and whispers something in the boy's ear—whatever it was it has Meli smiling and darting off, locket all but forgotten. 

“What was that?” Barth asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Just telling him he should challenge himself,” Tav answers.  He doesn’t elaborate and instead goes right into questioning the trio about Halsin.  

You listen as they discuss the wizard in Baldur's Gate and the Nightsong when you feel the faintest touch at your hip.  You glance to your right to find Meli dashing off, and the weight of the bag beneath your coat gone.

“Hey!” you shout.  Meli doesn’t even turn around as he runs out of sight beyond the bend.

Astarion chuckles.  

You spin towards him standing behind you, where he would have had an uninterrupted view of you getting pickpocketed.  

“Really?” you question.  

Astarion shrugs in response, one arm crossed over his torso while he waves his other hand up as if to say, “What can you do?”  

You don’t even know what you lost but the embarrassment of being robbed, with witnesses, brings a heat to your cheeks.  Frowning, or maybe just pouting, you hurry after Meli.  At least you know where they are.

You pass by the siblings that have made their way down, past Dammon, and the two older women of which neither were human, to get to the kids’ hideout.  You wonder if Mol would be kind enough to return your things as you go over the different events that could give you her favour.  

You’re ready to beg, honestly, for a look at what you lost at the very least.  For all you know your entire identity is in that bag that you haven’t had a moment to investigate. But that gets put on the back burner when you hear a woman yell, “Shut up!  Just shut up!”

“Arka, please,” a man says.  You turn to your left, spotting Arka and a male tieflings whose name escapes you in the makeshift prison.  She’s already got her crossbow aimed at the goblin Sazza.  You swear under your breath as you look back at the others, Tav still engaged in conversation with Aradin and Lae’zel talking to Remira.  The only one that watches you now is Astarion, all the other tieflings around you minding their own worries.  You bounce on your heels, unsure if you have time to get Tav before Arka takes her shot.  When you hear the goblin taunt her about losing her nerve you decide you can’t wait, and dash into the prison.

“Here it comes you little—“

There’s a lot you could do to stop Arka.  You could shout, “Stop!” or “Help!” or hit her with your new staff.  But none of that happens.  Instead you let out a puff of air that’s supposed to be words, drop the staff, and dive to stop the arrow from penetrating the goblins skull.  It works…mostly.

You see blood splash onto Sazza’s face before you feel the pain.  When you land, the collision with the ground vibrates through your body before you feel the shock of the arrow that now penetrates through your right hand.

If it wasn’t for your plush coat, you would have felt the gravel digging into your hip.  You can certainly feel it on your right thigh, the small slide along the ground enough to grind the rocks against your body.  Your right arm is bent at the elbow with your hand in the air, head down as you try to take stock of all the different things you’re feeling in that moment.

Embarrassment from being robbed, pain all along the right side of your body, a piercing burn in the palm of your hand, and more embarrassment that you didn’t just smack Arka with your staff because that is literally what it is for.

The three beings that surround you stay silent, as if they too cannot believe you just did that.  You’re lucky the arrow is thin and crudely made—a stronger one would have probably gone through your hand and into Sazza’s eye.

“Oh, my,” comes Astarion’s lilting voice, “it seems I missed the show.”

Weakly, you raise your head and turn to face him, body relaxing onto the ground.  He stands in the doorway of the prison, a finger to his lips as he grins at your valiant display of courage.  Not everyone would do what you did!  Not everyone was so reckless as to risk their life for a goblin that would kill them just for fun.  Yes…that was a special kind of stupid.  Your face burns again as Sazza laughs loudly.

“Looks like the Absolute sent me a saviour,” she says, voice scratchy and mocking.  It’s directed at you just as much as it is Arka.

Arka growls.  “Why did you do that?!”

You cough away the dust you’d been breathing in and straighten on the ground.  There are a few responses you can give, but the honest truth isn’t one of them.   You’d let her kill Sazza before, multiple times—sometimes you skipped the scene all together!  But…when it’s no longer a game something in your soul drives you to stop it.  All you’re left to do is shrug and shake your head.

Arka glares at you as you lift yourself to your feet.  You’re shaking again like when you’d first woken up, except this time there’s a clear reason why.  The arrow through your hand is forcing your body to pump out heavy doses of adrenaline, and if not for the arrow you’d probably be bleeding profusely.  It still drops down your forearm as you hold it above your waist.

“She’s a prisoner,” you finally relent, “she’s not here to be killed.  She could have useful intel on the goblin camp.”

Sazza huffs at the idea of her giving up her tribe.  You ignore the goblin and watch Arka bite her bottom lip and storm away.   The male tiefling—what the hells was his name again?— bows his head as thanks before following her.

Astarion moves out of the way to avoid any misdirected rage from Arka.  As he approaches you he says, “I see you’re one of those self-sacrificing types.”

“No, just stupid,” you reply.  

A sudden puff of a laugh comes from him and when you try to meet his eyes you find him looking away from you, a smile hidden beneath one hand.  “That’s another way of putting it.”

He doesn’t come too close to you as you observe the wound.  While it hurts, it’s not as bad as you thought a piercing wound would be.  Not that you thought much about that, anyway.  You flipped your hand around, observing the wound carefully—should you just pull the arrow out?  You recall how difficult it had been to get Gale out of the sigil and think better of doing the task yourself.  You hold your bloody hand towards Astarion.  “Do you mind? I won’t be able to do it myself.”

Whatever he’s thinking is kept to himself, his mouth still and eyes unwavering as they survey your face.  

“Why don’t we find you that healer?” he suggests.  “I’m sure this Nettie will get you fixed up and ready to dive in front of a fire arrow in no time.”

When you only nod Astarion adds, “I feel this should go without saying, but don’t jump in front of a fire arrow.  Unless it’s to save me, at which point, follow your instincts, darling.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide your growing smile.  He called you darling.  It sounded so much sweeter with those red eyes on you than it ever had in game.  You let the smile out and laugh.  “No promises, but I think I’m okay with losing a bit of blood for you.”

“Oh my goodness!” 

You and Astarion look to the doorway to see Auntie Ethel standing there, mock worry on her face.  It really did look genuine though, if you didn’t know what she is.  She is a much better actor than Astarion.

“You poor thing,” she says, hurrying to your side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, observing your injury.  “What happened?  Oh, no matter, I’ll get this treated.  Come with me, petal.”

Despite her frail appearance, Auntie Ethel is able to strong-arm you out of the makeshift prison.  She makes a fuss the whole way to her little cove within the cave.  You’re careful to avoid looking for Arka, and to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as the woman makes a fuss over you.  You can’t hear Astarion’s steps but you know he’s following, if only by the icy grip that reaches out from the back of your head.

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#bg3 #reborn into Baldur's Gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #badger's gate 3 #astarion #tav #lae'zel #gale dekarios #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fallen {Chapter Two}

Alastor x (fem) Reader

My eyes slowly opened, a soft groan left me. I slowly sat up, this time feeling more comfortable. My heart raced as I memories replayed in my mind. I had fallen from heaven into hell with no explanation as to why. I got badly injured. I even made a deal with a demon. "Finally awake are we?" Speaking of. I glanced over at the bedroom door, in the entry way was Alastor.

"How are you feeling?" He asks. I look back at my once injured wing, it was healed over.

Though, a few feathers were missing from the now scar that was left from the protruding bone. I look down at my legs next, they were healed as well. I wasn't as sore as I was before, thankfully. I look over to Alastor before speaking. "I'm fine." I tell him.

Alastor approaches the bed to look over my wing. "I see I haven't lost my touch." He says smugly. I avoid his eyes, unsure of what to say. What was there to say? My eyes trail to a window across the room. I could still see the pentagon, ever bright in the crimson sky.

And far up above past it, would be heaven. "Alastor?" The demon hums in response. "I can go back now right? I can fly again, can't I?" I asked. "You could try." Alastor began. "However, I advise against it. I might have set the bone back into place and healed it, but I can't say if it wouldn't break again if you tried flapping your wings. Hollow bones can be very tricky. Flying might not be the best idea at the moment." I didn't like hearing that, and yet he went on.

"But let's say you could fly right now. How would you escape hell?" I look at him, trying to answer, but couldn't find the words.

Surely I could have just flown up couldn't I? But now that I really thought about it, if the winged demons have not found their way into heaven by flying upward...How could have I?

"Not even Lucifer himself can leave this place. There is only one person who can grant you entrance into heaven. And I think you know who."

"God." I sigh. "I don't even know why I'm here. Surely god has not casted me out purposefully." Alastor only shrugs. "Who can say? But I did promise I'd help you find a way, and I intend to keep my word."

"Not to offend. But how are you going to pull that off?" I asked. "Perhaps I could convince your god to reconsider?" Alastor says with a laugh. Right, like god would listen to a demon of all people. "You're going to convince god to let me back into heaven? I don't think that will work." I say, clear hesitation in my tone.

"My dear, you'd be surprised by just what I can do." Alastor said lowly, the static in his voice sharpening for a moment. That put me at such unease, a shiver ran up my spine.

"I do believe I should do a bit of explaining. It might make things a little easier. We will be apart of each others afterlife for a while, might as well get to know each other." Alastor then went on about just who he was and what his status meant in this place.

He was an overlord, well known for all the terrible reasons, and feared by all. When he was gone talking about himself, he waited for me to tell him about myself. "Um well. I was quite the boring person while I was alive, I must admit." I started.

"I grew up in a small town, worked a simple job, and attended church every week." I tell him. "I never did drugs or drank. I tried my best to keep myself in god's light. Be the best version of myself I could be. And I was given paradise after death as a result. It was my devotion to god that allowed me to enter the gates of heaven. That only further confuses me as to why I ended up here. I was a good person. I was...Wasn't I?" I trailed off, not realizing the silence that followed until Alastor spoke up.

"Afraid I can't answer that." He says with a shrug. "But I can't say this much. While you're here, you might as well forget that "good person" behavior of yours. That means nothing in this place. The sinners out there will eat you alive." He smirks.

"And your appearance won't help you either. An angel like you? You'll be hunted down and then who knows what will happen to you then. Well, I can think of a few things. You wouldn't like it if I told you though."

"No...I don't think I would..." I muttered. "So, am I suppose to stay here then? Hidden?" I asked. "Perhaps." Alastor says before falling silent to think. After a minute his grin widens. "Or perhaps not! I can disguise you, that way you can blend in with the rest of the scum out there." My expression turns into one of confusion.

"You can? How?" I asked. Alastor took my hand and stood me up off the bed. "It's a simple trick I know. This won't take long at all, just..." Alastor waved his hand, and just like that a necklace appeared out of thin air.

I took it from him and stared at it for a moment. It was pretty, I admit. "Go on then." Alastor insisted. I glance at him before looking down at the necklace one more time before finally putting it on.

I gasped as I felt my body change. It was painless, but still felt odd as it happened. After a few seconds the feeling subsided. "My, get a look at you!" Alastor looks me up and down. He leads me to a full length mirror, and once again I felt air leaving my lungs as I stare at my own reflection.

My skin was now a pale blue, that blended into black on my arms and legs, down to my hands and feet. My (color) hair, now an inky black. My white feathered wings, now dark bat wings. I wore a knee length black and white dress with long puffy sleeves. And my eyes, the whites of them were filled black, only broken by my white pupils. As I spoke, I could see sharp teeth peaking out from behind my lips.

"I look so...demonic." I mutter. "But of course! That's the point isn't it?" Alastor pats my shoulder. "Now, I have matters to attend to. I hope you don't mind tagging along." I turn to face him. "Just what matters exactly?" I ask warily. "Tending to a hotel along with a few colleagues of mine." That...That's it? Working at a hotel? "Oh um. Ok, sure. I'll try and keep out of the way."

"Then let's be off!" Alastor takes hold of my hand before snapping his fingers. And within seconds, we were at the doors of a hotel. I look up at the building. "Hazbin Hotel? How...fitting?" Alastor chuckles before leading me inside. Right away we're we're met with a demon, a rather cheerful one at that.

"Welcome back Alastor! We could use all the help we can get to...day. Oh, hello." The looks to me. She was around my height. She had long blonde hair, and wide red eyes.

Her rosy cheeks defined as she smiles. She straightens out her red pantsuit uniform trying to look a bit more presentable. "What's your name?" She asks politely, which I was surprised by. "Y/n." I tell her. "Nice to meet you Y/n. I'm Charlie." She holds out her hand for me to shake. I take it, her grip was shockingly gentle. "Are you here for a chance for redemption?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, blinking owlishly.

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #charlie hazbin hotel