#normal people who chose that life and chose to help people

[helloporcelain]

Doux

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/fem!Tav Rating: explicit (18+)  Tags: oral sex (involving period blood), piv sex, blood drinking, mutual pining, slow burn, orgasm denial, mentions of Astarion's trauma (but not graphic), there's also like the TINIEST mention of rimming & breathplay but i promise it's so mild, oneshot Summary: Tav seemed perfectly normal in their day to day, but Astarion knew that she was avoiding him. It had been that way since the last time he had fed on her. Read on AO3 if you prefer

Tav couldn't help but celebrate. 

The last couple of days had been grueling. Gods, it had felt so good to finally get back to camp. A dip in the cool river, followed by a change into the lovely dress Alfira had gifted her, had Tav feeling like a brand new person for the night. She had stuffed herself so full on a feast of cheese pies and grilled pork belly that she nearly threw up, and then after, she dramatically retold the story of the goblin slaying to the group of wide-eyed children. It felt like a massive weight was lifted off her shoulders – she and her companions had been awarded a win, one they really needed.

Grateful tieflings swarmed Tav the entire night, showering her with wine-fueled hugs of gratitude. She waved off their praises, insisting that it had been a team effort and encouraged the others to accept their share of recognition as well, because there was no way she could’ve done it all by herself. Eventually, Tav found herself sandwiched between Shadowheart and Karlach on a log. The two women were drunk and engaged in unabashed flirtatious banter with each other. Tav, however, kept her wits about her. She took a swig from a tepid mug of ale, her eyes locked onto Astarion across the camp. He was visibly annoyed by the children surrounding him, all clamoring to catch a glimpse of the bow he used to slay goblins.

In the midst of all the chaos, he caught her staring at him through the dancing tieflings. Astarion tipped his head sideways, as if asking a question. Startled, she choked on her drink, inadvertently spilling some on Karlach. 

“Oops,” Tav said, as Shadowheart leaned over her lap to wipe off the ale from Karlach’s pants before the sizzle of the burning liquid caused her to yelp and quickly withdraw her hand.

“We really need to fix that, don’t we?” Shadowheart muttered sarcastically, fanning her injured hand, attempting to cool it down.

“Maybe lay off the wine,” Tav suggested sarcastically. “I’m going to go make my rounds. The people need their gracious host.”

She set off to mingle with the others, and felt the stare radiating through her as she joined the nearby chatter. Lia and Cal, to be exact, were begging for Rolan to present some fireworks. Rolan conjured a rather underwhelming prestidigitation spell, prompting Tav to tuck her mug under her armpit and offer a polite clap after an awkward pause. Round and round, Tav meandered through the camp as she talked to everyone, hells, even Withers, avoiding Astarion as if her life depended on it. With each new person, they topped her mug off with fresh ale. 

As the night wore on and the ale warmed her cheeks, Tav found herself growing increasingly uninhibited. By the time she reached Halsin, she couldn’t resist flirting with him. Who could blame her? Halsin’s gigantic muscles had called out to her, and he was nothing if not good natured. The mountain of an elf laughed off her inebriated advances gently – his head was elsewhere, not that she blamed him. 

“There are many grateful people here who would want to spend time with you,” Halsin said, a glint in his eye. Tav wanted to follow the look, but chose not to, knowing where it trailed behind her. “I must not keep you all to myself. As enjoyable as that may be.” 

She offered something of an agreement before she wandered off to the nearby river, seeking solace and a moment to contemplate on her thoughts, away from the songs and dancing. 

**

The first time Astarion fed on her, Tav had accidentally fallen into a trance one night outside her tent. She had insisted the rest of her companions get some sleep while she cleaned up from the mess they made at supper. After washing the cauldron out in the river, she lugged it back to the fire and had meant to sit down for just a second of rest. Before she knew it, she had drifted off, only to awaken with Astarion hovering over her, teeth bared, wearing an expression she had never seen before. With a dagger pressed to his chest, the look was gone, replaced by a frantic attempt to explain why he had loomed over her so ominously. She couldn't fathom why he was scared; he knew her knife skills were almost as poor as Gale's.

When he confessed the truth, Tav's heart grew heavy – heavy for the way he asked for her trust, no, insisted that she could trust him. Every instinct in her screamed she would be foolish to, but she did.

But she was firm; he could feed on her this one time. After that, it was enemies only, or else. Companions weren’t food, they needed their strength just as he did, and he would not become accustomed to using her – or any of them, for that matter – to satisfy his needs.

Not that any of the others lined up to be his bloodwell... though the group tolerated Astarion, there’d been a sense of uneasiness among the others about the truth. 

Tav braced herself for discomfort at best (and suffering, at worst), but she was completely thrown when all she felt was desire. The unexpected pleasure took her by surprise, though it made sense in hindsight. If it were nothing but pain, vampires wouldn't have gained their notorious reputation for seduction. It felt as though Astarion had plunged his fingers into the depths of her chest and held her heart in a vice-like grip. The more blood he drew from her, the more she wanted for Astarion to take everything he needed, even at the cost of her own life. In the briefest second, Tav felt herself fading away to the gentle chill of her lifesource dwindling, her neck so numb she couldn’t parse out where his fangs were.  In the end, she barely pushed him off her, doubting his self control. Tav noticed the change in Astarion immediately – his face looked brighter, his eyes less dull. Before he left, he promised he wouldn’t forget the gift that she had given him. 

Two weeks later, Tav surprised herself by offering her blood to him a second time.

The camp was quieter than usual. It had been a long day and it had taken its toll on them all. Auntie Ethel turned out to be much more than they had anticipated – offering no cure, only trouble. Shadowheart had gone to her tent for her evening prayers. Gale blew his candles out early, claiming eight hours of sleep was necessary for his mind, body, and complexion. The rest sat by the fire, settling for a bit of relaxation before they retired for the night. Lae’zel, Wyll and Karlach were engaged in a very competitive game of cards while Astarion lounged nearby, engrossed in a book he had stolen from the hag’s teahouse.

Tav had been writing furiously in her journal next to him, when she reached down to her satchel, rummaging through to find an apple for dessert. She couldn’t help but peek at him through the corner of her eye. Astarion had been unusually silent since their return to camp. She had a feeling he was tense from their run in with the monster hunter earlier that day. During the exchange, she noticed a second of panic run across his face as Gandrel revealed who he was searching to capture. The monster hunter never did end up accomplishing his job – courtesy of Astarion and his dagger. 

“If you have something to say, Tav, darling,” he said, his eyes fixed on his book. “You should just say it. It’s ill-mannered to stare.” 

Tav turned the apple over in her lap, contemplating if it was smart to broach the subject, then began nonchalantly, “I don’t suppose you want to address what happened earlier.”

“You want to hear about Cazador,” Astarion said with a tired disdain. “My old master. Before the mind flayers took me from him. Before this strange, twisted freedom.” He slammed the book shut with one hand, and Tav listened intently as he painted a picture of Cazador. A cruel, paranoid master who tortured Astarion for two centuries. A monster obsessed with power, a monster of which it was very clear that Astarion would go to great lengths to never return to.

It was so much worse than Astarion had let on. 

“Why do you think he wants you alive?” she asked.

Astarion pursed his lips. “Maybe he wants to make an example of me. To show what happens to runaways.” He cast his eyes aside before giving her a solemn look. “Or, maybe, he thinks death is too good for me.” 

Tav had always known that Astarion wore a mask, but she had never realized just how often it was in place. It was a remarkably well crafted one, but every mask was bound to slip off at some point. From the very first day they crossed paths, she had found something about him to be perplexing, though she couldn't put her finger on it.  She had thought of him as arrogant, a little malicious, and selfish. Yet, in that moment, as his gaze drifted far away into the embers of the fire, she saw something else—a hint of fear.

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” she said with sincerity. There wasn’t much else for her to say, and she doubted he wanted empty platitudes. 

Astarion nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, but – this isn’t about sympathy. It’s about knowing what we might be up against. The mind flayers aren’t the only monsters out there, hunting us. All I’m asking is that you keep your eyes open, and watch out for anything lurking in the shadows.” 

Her hand inched closer to his fingers, an inhumane chill radiating from them. Tav thought about putting her hand over his in comfort, but thought it too intimate of a gesture for them. “As long as I’m around, I’ll watch your back,” she promised. “You will never go back to him. I won’t let it happen.” 

Astarion’s posture relaxed as he pulled his hand away from the warmth of hers, and gave her a smile – the one that never reached his eyes.  “What more could I ask for? Now, is that all?” 

His fingers tapped a restless beat on his book, as though they might start flipping the pages on their own. Tav studied his face. He had deep mauve bags under his eyes, and his gaze had darkened to the color of oxblood. She wondered how many animals he must have voraciously consumed to still remain so far from the vibrant state he had been in after she had shared her blood with him. Tav weighed the decision to offer him her blood again. She pictured Astarion feeding on rats as if daintily sipping tea from a tiny cup and it was somewhat amusing, but mostly it just made her pity him.

“I was thinking…” she paused, looking down to the apple in her lap. She brought it up to her face and peered at it, checking it for worms. 

“Oh no. That’s never a good sign.” 

Rolling her eyes, she continued, "...that you looked more weary than usual. Perhaps you might fancy a bite?" His fingers slowed their tapping as his eyes fixated on her mouth. Tav crunched into the apple and cocked her head at him.

"Well," Astarion replied, a hint of pleasant surprise in his tone. "I suppose if you're offering a treat, then who am I to turn you down?"

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Tav said, expression stern as she emphasized her words. “We won’t make a habit of this. But… we do need you strong for when we reach the goblin camp.” 

Astarion’s smile changed into the nefarious smirk that she was familiar with. “If you say so,” he purred, leaning closer to whisper in her ear.  “Come to my tent after the others have fallen asleep.” 

Two hours later, she cursed herself for picking the furthest possible area from him to lay down her tent.  Tav quietly crept across the camp to Astarion, pausing every couple of steps just to listen for snores. She just didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea; as the unofficial leader of the group, feeding Astarion was a purely strategic move.

Sneaking past Karlach was nerve-wracking – she had an open tent, explaining that she ran too hot in an enclosed space. Luckily, the barbarian slept still like a boulder. It was Scratch, who dozed at her feet, that made Tav pause. She brought her finger to her lips and gestured for the dog to stay quiet, his sleepy eyes following her until she reached Astarion's tent. She crouched and leaned against the closed fabric. 

Not knowing what to say, Tav whispered, “Dinner’s here.”

“Cute. Come in, darling.” 

Tav poked into the tent and found him reclining on his bedroll, propped up by an excessive number of pillows, more than anyone else had. He had stolen them in Waukeen’s Rest, grumbling about missing the comfort of a proper bed like a civilized person. It was her first time seeing the inside of his tent, and she couldn't resist taking it all in. The inside was dimly lit by a single candle atop a stack of looted books, and next to him was a tray hosting an array of colorful rings and necklaces he collected from both unsuspecting innocents and dead bodies. Even out in the wilderness, Astarion was opulent. He had changed into his fine nightclothes and looked at her with a raised eyebrow – she was still wearing her muddy, fight-stained cloak.  

“Ah, right.” She looked down at herself. “I washed up, promise. Just didn’t want to traipse around at this hour in my nightshirt.” She shrugged the coat off onto the ground, revealing a plain night outfit. “I don’t plan on being in here long.” 

"Well, make yourself comfortable nonetheless," Astarion beckoned, sitting up and gesturing towards the snug space they now shared. “Just be very quiet and our little midnight rendezvous will stay a secret.” He shuffled on his pillows, inviting her closer.

“I should’ve hoarded some pillows like you,” Tav remarked. “You’re resting like a little princess.” 

Astarion chuckled. "Oh, my dear, you'll be sleeping quite soundly after I'm finished here. Come, sit on my lap." She hesitated, making a reluctant face. 

"Now, don't be difficult," he continued with a playful grin. "It'll be far more comfortable for you this way. I wouldn't want to accidentally suffocate you again, as I nearly did last time." Tav inched towards him, careful to not touch anywhere but the bedroll. She knelt down and followed his request, straddling him while placing a hand on his shoulder for support. A sudden shiver ran down her spine as she felt just how icy he was, catching her off guard.

"Sorry," Tav broke the silence, "You’re so cold. I grew up with the chill, but you’re different."

“I have bad circulation,” Astarion replied dryly.

Tav shifted her body on him, hoping he didn’t realize how mortified she was. "Are you comfortable?" 

He responded with an earnest chuckle and brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. "You're rather adorable, aren't you?" He gently pushed her face to the side, positioning her neck at the perfect angle for him. "I knew you liked this more than you let on."

“Don’t speak nonsense,” she spluttered, her head snapping back to look at him. “I am doing you a favor.” 

Astarion adjusted her face to the side again, his hand now more firmly gripping her chin. “Don’t be coy,” he murmured, low and seductive. “Your body has already given you away.” 

He leaned into her neck, taking in her smell, lips hovering over her bare skin. “I could feel it, you know, as I was getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement.” Tav’s back stiffened and she felt the urge to leap and run out the tent, but his other arm tightened its grasp around her hip. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

Her body betrayed her when she gasped as his mouth pressed against her skin, goosebumps prickling her arms and the back of her neck.

“You don’t have to say a thing. I already know how you feel. I feel it too.” 

And then he sunk his fangs into the pulse of Tav’s neck, her fingers digging into his arm. Her stinging skin parted under his sharp teeth with frightening ease. Tav never thought of herself as delicate, but she felt as vulnerable as a little rabbit torn apart by a hound.

She jerked suddenly when Astarion bit down harder, willing her frantically beating heart to pump more blood faster into his mouth. He made a small noise, something resembling relief, as each droplet surged past his lips. Sucking away and lapping at the wound at the base of her neck, as if he were merely cleaning up a small mess he made, caused an electric sensation to shoot through her spine and then down to her groin. His hands dug a tighter grip into the sides of her body as he sucked and sucked and sucked. Black dots slowly speckled her vision as if distant stars were blinking into existence. She let out a choked whimper, her body quivering beyond her control.  Blissed out crimson eyes met hers as he pulled away briefly, his lips glistening with her life's essence. His gaze burned into her, the hunger swirling in his eyes.

“That’s a strange definition of quiet.” 

Before she could reply, Astarion placed a firm palm over her mouth. With his lips away from her neck, she felt her blood flow down her collarbones, dripping into the hollow of her chest. He tongued at the trail at the top of her shoulders, lapping up the burgundy rivulets. She shuddered as he went lower to her ruffled nightshirt, and he gently pulled down at it just enough to lazily clean up the remaining droplets at the top of her breasts. 

Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to control her breathing, and that was when Tav noticed the hardness pressed underneath her. “Just a little more, darling,” Astarion panted.

His tongue scorched on her skin as he licked up the trail, fangs grazing her skin on his way back to the puncture marks. His hand fell from Tav’s mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head as another gush of warm blood hit his tongue, coating every crevice of his mouth.

“Astarion.”

His name tumbled out from her in a moan, as she was painfully aware in equal parts both of the erection against her and the wetness soaking through her undergarment. He didn’t respond, but he did stop suckling at her neck. “You can stop now.” 

Then with a degree of reluctance, he removed his lips from her, mouth and chin so completely covered in her blood that it looked morbidly lewd. Tav looked up at him with wide eyes, heart pounding. 

“We could get some privacy,” Astarion murmured after a few seconds passed. His fingers traced down her back, sending a tickle through her backbone. She stiffened, keeping her eyes fixed on his, a reply trapped in her throat.  “To enjoy ourselves more. I know somewhere quiet, not far from here.” He shifted his lap and pressed himself against her, to show her what he meant, if he wasn’t clear enough. 

Tav’s resolve wavered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself and moved to push herself off him, though his arms behind her back kept her in place. “That– that's enough, actually,” she responded, her ragged breath catching up to an even pace. She wasn’t going to respond to his suggestion. Tav knew he was toying with her, that he thought her naive.

“You’re looking better already, for a dead man,” Tav said coolly. He huffed in annoyance and leaned back, granting her space to stand up from his lap. “Your eyes,” she observed. “They glow when you feed on me. A person’s blood does wonders for you."

Astarion lifted his hand up to his mouth, swiping off the wet, shining blood. He coated his fingers with what remained and languidly sucked, keeping a fixed gaze on her that made her want to run for the hills. 

“That is the understatement of the century, my dear.” 

Tav tried to hide the way her fingers trembled as she attempted to button up her cloak, haphazardly connecting the wrong ones. He watched her intently as she covered up his bite with the garment.  She opened the flap halfway and, before she left, turned to face Astarion, her voice firm. “Don’t expect this again.”

Astarion offered a wry smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**

Astarion didn't fancy himself a connoisseur of puzzles and riddles. He loathed prolonged attempts at figuring things out. Patience was a virtue he seldom possessed, especially if figuring out something – or someone – took too long. He supposed he'd grown accustomed to resolving things rather quickly, a skill honed during centuries of servitude to his demanding master, Cazador.

Well… former master. But Astarion didn't want to regard Cazador in past terms, not just yet. He didn’t feel he had the luxury. Not while the wicked vampire lord was actively searching for him. Astarion was skilled at deception, but he refused to lie to himself; fear gnawed at him relentlessly and he found himself barely able to meditate in peace most of the time. He was plagued by nightmares of Cazador finding him and dragging him back into his clutches. So, he conceived of backup plan upon backup plan. He didn’t entirely rule out Raphael – the devil potentially had the power to free him from Cazador, but it would undoubtedly come with strings attached. Would the worm wriggling behind his eye be key to his freedom? Perhaps, if he didn’t turn into a mindflayer first. 

Ironically, all of those possibilities just meant merely shifting him from one master’s control to another.

Astarion sighed, keeping a watchful eye on Mol. She thought she was being quite sneaky, attempting to pickpocket him. He flicked the child in the forehead as punishment, and sent her scampering away with a handful of rings he had deliberately allowed her to take.

Why had he been granted a second, well, technically third chance at life, only to be confronted with one grim option after another? What had he done in his previous life to deserve this? He had been so young when he turned, Astarion couldn't quite recall the details anymore. He remembered working for the government—and probably was not the most benevolent magistrate back then—but surely, he couldn't have been any worse than any other charlatan. It’s not like he kicked children or orchestrated an illicit gnome trafficking ring, right?

His chain of thoughts broke at the sight of Tav’s bright eyes locked on him from across the camp. She averted her gaze when he returned the look. After that, all he could see was the curtain of her hair veiling her face as she maneuvered around the camp, chatting with everybody else.

Tav seemed perfectly normal in their day to day, but Astarion knew that she was avoiding him. It had been that way since the last time he had fed on her. And she was right to avoid him; it was a foolish thing she had done, trusting Astarion like that. She just couldn’t help herself, could she? Anyone who batted an eyelash at her and cried a sob story got a helping hand from her, it didn’t matter who. She didn’t stop to think that it wasn’t how the world worked – some people weren’t destined to be helped, no matter how often they prayed to the gods.

Tav was good and it sickened him. 

Without her, Astarion thought, he would’ve been content to let the tieflings meet their fate, either slaughtered on the road or at the hands of the druids – it didn’t make a difference to him. In fact, he doubted the others really cared to resolve the whole Druids vs Tieflings dispute in the midst of their tadpole predicament. But Tav rallied them just the right amount that none of them could ever say no to her.

The others genuinely valued her opinion, and often looked to her for guidance, whether they realized it or not. Being on Tav’s good side was the intelligent thing to do, Astarion had quickly gathered. She had vouched for him when the others recoiled at his true nature – most would have stabbed a stake through his heart for what he stupidly attempted to do that night. He needed her on his side. Astarion wasn’t sure what would end up happening after reaching Moonrise Towers, and he was ashamed to admit he didn’t want to go at it alone. He didn’t know how to be alone. The entire concept of solitude unsettled him.

The men and women he was accustomed to manipulating for Cazador crumbled before him with little effort. Seduction had been his modus operandi for over two centuries. Honeyed words and enticing caresses were second nature to Astarion, always serving as a sinister means to a grim end – delivering innocent victims into the clutches of Cazador for torture, death, or worse.

This was precisely what made Tav simultaneously so magnetic and so frustrating. She hadn't succumbed to his charms as expected. Astarion had even briefly entertained the possibility that maybe she just wasn’t interested in men, but that idea was dismissed when he overheard a late-night conversation between her and Lae’zel, who had made quite an aggressive advance – one she promptly rebuffed. So, what would it take to make her more receptive to his advances?

“Sulking will ruin your pretty face, Astarion.” Shadowheart’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I thought you, of all people,  would know how to have a little fun tonight.”

He scoffed at her, dramatically eyeing her figure up and down. “If that were possible, then you would be the ugliest one here, my dear.” 

Shadowheart stared at him for a moment and then broke out into an uncharacteristic giggle. “We have a long road ahead – be happy that we are all still in one piece, and celebrate for just one night.  I know I am,” she said, waving a bottle of wine towards him. 

“Is that Marsember Blush?” Astarion narrowed his eyes, recognizing the fine vintage wine. “Where did you unearth that? I know that didn’t come from the tiefling’s sorry supplies.”

“You’re not the only one with sticky fingers,” Shadowheart replied, a sly smile on her lips. “And no, I’m not offering any to you. I already have someone to share it with.” With that, she made her way back to the fire near Karlach, who was engrossed in showing the tiefling children her burning Hellion heart. 

He scanned the area for Tav and he found her staring at Halsin with an adoring look. Astarion couldn’t help but feel envious that he wasn’t the recipient of the smile, so gentle that it betrayed the notorious reputation that followed dark elves. He frowned, thinking of Shadowheart's words – she was right. He would have a little fun tonight, and he would get Tav to adore him so thoroughly that she wouldn't ever entertain the thought of betraying him.

Astarion impatiently tapped his foot, waiting for Tav to approach him, but she continued on, disappearing around a corner and heading toward a waterfall beyond the camp. Deciding to follow, he snagged a bottle of wine from a passed-out bard and made his way to her. Astarion found her sitting against a boulder, her head tilted back as she gazed at the stars above.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Astarion said. “Done basking in the limelight, Tav? Got tired of having high praises sung to you?” 

She fiddled with the collar of the lovely dress that she wore for the occasion. “I needed a moment to myself. I don’t get them often lately.” Tav looked up at him, her slate gray skin glowing in the moonlight. Despite the mismatched eyes (thanks to her trusting Volo a little too much), she was beautiful, he noted, and he did have a fondness for beautiful things. Bedding her wouldn't be torture; it could have been worse.

“I’m glad I was able to help them, to show that we’re not all Lolth’s servants. It’s usually a little funny, but sometimes being looked at like a monster is tiring,” Tav confessed.

He blinked, taken aback by Tav’s unexpectedly sincere admission, wondering if he had picked a bad moment to approach her. However, she patted the ground next to her, inviting him to sit, and then she chuckled. "Sorry. Did I ruin the mood?"

Astarion settled down against the rock, bumping his shoulder against hers. Tav watched him intently as he worked on removing the corkscrew from the wine. When he tilted the bottle in her direction as an offer, she declined with a shake of her head, prompting Astarion to take a sip himself. He grimaced from the acrid taste. 

“Well, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one people would toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” he paused, taking another mouthful.  “I hate it. It’s awful.” 

“It’s not that bad. Think of all the nasty little goblins you got to kill.” 

“True…” Astarion smiled impishly, thinking fondly on the many different ways to murder. Regular arrows dipped in poison or set ablaze with fiery magic, the thrust of a dagger into vulnerable flesh. The memories were invigorating.

“That was fun," he mused. "Still, I would've liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine. All I want is a little excitement tonight, is that so much to ask? The good kind – not the 'we might turn into hideous mind flayers at any moment' excitement." He sighed dramatically and raised the bottle for another sip.

Suddenly, she swiped the bottle from him, and took a long swig. When she lowered the bottle, he watched as her face juggled through a few emotions, ultimately landing on disgust. “See what I mean? Awful.” 

“Absolutely dreadful," she remarked before bursting into laughter.

This close, her scent was intense, sending a thrill through his body. She had a distinct aroma, one that he could uniquely parse out from everyone else’s. Tav smelled of amber and spiced honey and pink pepper, even through the grime and chaos of their adventures.

“Well, you’ve heard the saying? Beggars can’t be choosers,” she slurred slightly, playfully hiding the bottle behind her back.  

“Look at you… my treat with her cheeks all flushed,” he tutted. Astarion peered into her eyes with practiced adoration. “I’m amazed you managed to keep your mind clear enough to fight. I’ve been thinking about our last night together ceaselessly, you know.” 

Astarion wasn’t lying. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the last time she visited his tent. 

He recalled vividly how she had melted under his teeth, the way her body went limp like a puppet cut from their strings. He had felt profoundly powerful, and she had tasted exquisite, nothing like the rats he had been forced to sustain himself on for centuries. An excitement he had never felt before coursed through his bones at the first droplet. Astarion told himself afterwards it was only because she was his first. He had hoped to have her then, to get the chase done with, as he could smell her arousal clear as day. She had obviously wanted more. And yet, she ran from him. Playing hard to get, he surmised.

“You could just ask for more blood,” Tav responded bitterly. “I knew the goblins weren’t for your refined palate.” The bottle was pushed back into his lap. “You don’t have to woo me with your—” She made a wild gesture with her hands. “—vampiric charms.”

He had hoped a wine-addled Tav would be easier to seduce. 

“Darling, you wound me.” Astarion put a hand to his heart dramatically.  “I saw you earlier, with Halsin. Well, everybody did. Subtlety is clearly not your forte. The way you looked at him had me positively green with envy. Well, I guess I can’t fault your taste, he is a fine specimen.” 

Tav’s ears flushed with embarrassment and she looked away, fixating intently at the fish nearby. They swam down the stream and it reminded Astarion of her, eager to get away from him. 

“That was nothing. Just laughter between friends,” she downplayed.

“Is it so hard to believe that hearing that brings me relief?” 

Another truth. She would be considerably easier to have if she wasn’t attached to someone else. 

"Is it so hard to believe…" He extended his hand to caress her cheek, his touch gentle and tender. “That I want you? That there’s not a single soul tonight, here or otherwise, who I’d rather be with.” When she met his gaze again, Astarion thought he might have caught his little fish by the hook after all.

“Such bewitching lies,” Tav marveled. “I almost believe them. Oh, you’re good.” 

“You don’t have to believe what I say, darling. You just need to believe how I feel .” 

He inched towards her, allowing the wine bottle to roll away from his lap and into the river. Astarion pressed a feather light kiss to her jaw, then her cheek. His fingers held her chin, guiding her to him. When their lips finally met, a sigh escaped her, and Astarion couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as her mouth willingly parted to welcome him. Despite the foul wine, she tasted sweet. And he found that he didn’t mind it, not at all. 

Tav grew more enthusiastic, deepening the kiss. He used the opportunity to slip his tongue in,  and clamped his teeth onto her bottom lip, drawing the flesh into his mouth. She moaned, muffled against him. He had drawn blood. He broke the kiss to lap the blood from her lips, and he felt his cock twitch. A natural reaction for any vampire, he told himself. Blood was simply too exciting. 

Tav drew away from him, breathless, her lip bruised.  “Are you…hungry, Astarion?” she asked. 

Astarion considered her question. He could tell her yes. He could answer that he was always hungry, that he could drink and drink and there'd still be something missing, gnawing away in his chest. It was an insatiable yearning, an emptiness that no amount of blood would ever fill—a bleak hunger that defined his existence, a constant reminder of the curse that haunted him.

Or he could choose to play pretend instead. That would be easier to swallow.

He put on a mischievous smile. “In what way?” 

"Don’t be cheeky," she said, a blush gracing her cheeks as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I had a feeling you might be. It’s been some time... and you always seem so much stronger and happier when you've had your fill."

"And your point is?" Astarion asked, though he already had a sense where this was going. He just wanted to hear her say it.

“That I can help you. That you might as well continue to use me.” She winced at her phrasing. “I don’t have to be a vampire to understand that animals aren’t the same. I suppose if we come to an agreement about it, the others will have to mind their business. Just tell me when you need it. That is – if you want to, anyway.” 

His eyes darkened at the proposition. “How delightfully pragmatic of you,” he purred in response. 

Tav had given him a refreshing game of cat and mouse, but she succumbed to his beauty, just like everyone else before her. Astarion wished he could say he was surprised, but it’d be a lie. This was how it always worked. You want something, you need to give something. He would shut his brain off, bed her and give her a night of earth shattering pleasure; in return he was not only basically guaranteed protection from Cazador, but was also given a reliable source of blood. Two birds, one stone.

There was nothing else he needed to hear, so Astarion swiftly pulled her into his lap, a surprised squeak escaping her lips. “Hey–”  

He pressed a finger to her lips and kissed behind her ear, then her neck. Tav let out a sigh of defeat and leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Astarion’s curled fingers traced at the healing puncture marks with admiration, thumbs pressing half-moons into her skin. He dragged the tip of a fang over her skin, slicing a neat line. Small beads of blood began to well up along the thin cut, and he closed his mouth over it and sank in. His third time, and yet it was just as exciting as the first – Astarion was well aware that anyone would be appetizing in contrast to his dismal vegetarian diet, but still wondered if others would be better, compared to her. 

If that was possible. He wasn’t sure at that moment. 

Astarion lost himself in an instant as he buried his senses in her neck, a haze of sensation enveloping him like an intoxicating fog. He had understood then Cazador's obsession—how could one not want to ensnare a person, to chain them in perpetual captivity, to render them an unwilling pet, when they tasted like this?

“Not too much,” Tav breathed heavily, her voice trembling. “I might –” She shuddered against him, and he groaned in response, but his hunger drove him forward. Astarion was starving, didn’t she understand? After two hundred years of shit, pure shit, he deserved something better. He was never going to return to the days of deprivation; he would do anything to ensure that pathetic version of himself was gone for good.

Tav’s fingers grasped around his curls, trying to pull him away from the shadow of her neck, but in her weakened state, it was no use. If anything, it spurred Astarion on. Euphoria clouded his judgement, eyes glazed over with sanguine lust as his fangs disappeared deeper into her tender flesh, blood bursting around him. He tugged at Tav’s hips, pressing her down against him, eliciting a whimper from her. His cock had swelled with arousal and Astarion tried to recall the last time he had gotten so hard of his own volition. He couldn’t.

You are still a slave, an unwelcome voice from the depths of his consciousness sneered. A slave to your innate desire. Why deny your true nature?

It took every ounce of willpower in his body to not drain her completely, to disregard the sinister suggestions. Astarion found the strength to pull away, his nose nuzzling against Tav’s jaw as he regained his composure.

"There's a clearing in the forest," he spoke with a steady voice, his fingers gently stroking her hair as she struggled to catch her breath. “I have been waiting to have you. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you.” 

Tav snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t you?” He looked at her with steeled eyes, masking the irritation that simmered in him. He kept the thorniness out of his tone. “I think you want to be known. To be tasted.” 

“And what do you want?”

Astarion’s voice hushed in a sensual murmur, the kind he found most weak willed people were prey to. “What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me.” 

“You act like you know everything,” Tav replied, finally looking at him. Her expression was inscrutable, but the smell of desire radiating off her was unmistakable. 

“A pretty man and his prettier words.” She cupped his face, as if she were to lean in and kiss him. But she didn’t. “I’m tired. I hope I was able to help you.” 

Astarion watched dumbfounded as she pushed up from his cradle and his arms fell limp to his side. She rejected him again, he thought incredulously. He didn’t look away until she had turned and disappeared back into camp. Then he wiped the remaining blood off his face with his fingers, fully intending to savor what was left. But then something stole his attention—a motionless fish floating in the stream. Without thinking, he plunged his hands into the water to catch it. Astarion had it for a second, until it wriggled its way out and plopped back into the water, swimming away in a swirl of crimson.

** 

They had been venturing through the labyrinth of the Underdark for countless days. It was a quiet familiarity that Tav was thankful for, despite the fact that she had left for the world above many years ago. After everything that she’d gone through recently, she welcomed something that still made sense to her. She understood it  – tricky paths to avoid, what poisonous plants you shouldn’t go near, the right grounds to make camp on. Due to the nature of the journey she was on with her companions, however, she grew to anticipate unwelcome surprises. 

Still, it hadn’t made it any easier to accept that her cycle had started – Tav had completely forgotten all about amidst the chaos of their tadpole predicament. Drow females only bled every three months and their cycles were extremely heavy and painful. It hit her one day as they were on the trail towards Grymforge, crossing paths with Filro the Forgotten and his hook horrors. The man hadn’t even let her utter a greeting before he attempted to murder them.

“What happened to hello? How are you? My name is?” Gale had complained, jumping out of the way.

Tav was in the middle of casting a fire spell when she felt a heavy gush in her underwear. She stuttered, registering the feeling, and attempted the spell again. This time, her aim was off, narrowly missing the wizard and instead scorching the hair on the top of his head. 

"My friend, have you lost your mind?" Gale shouted at her. "We discussed the value of my own life at length! To kill me is counterproductive!"

Her hand went to her abdomen instinctively as the cramps lurched through her. “My bad,” she stammered.  She took a few steps back, watching Karlach charge ahead with a hammer to whack the vulture-like monstrosity just a hair's breadth away from the wizard’s face. 

"To be sure, I am also averse to being bludgeoned!" he yelled at Karlach. A dripping, acid-coated arrow flew overhead from behind him and pierced the Filro’s right eyeball. Gale threw his hands up in the air with exasperation and quickly teleported himself away to higher, safer ground, muttering something about the stars not being in his favor.

Lae’zel probed at Filro’s lifeless body with her foot. “The elf is dead,” she confirmed, sounding disappointed. 

Astarion stepped up beside Tav, tucking his arrows away. “Did one of those wretched creatures manage to swipe at you?” His tone displayed concern, but his face betrayed a hint of intrigue. 

Shadowheart whipped her head around at his question. “Are you hurt?” she asked, scanning Tav’s body for noticeable wounds. “I’ll tend to you when we’ve set up camp for the night.” 

“No!” Tav blustered, causing Shadowheart to raise her eyebrows in confusion. She quickly clarified: “I’m fine . Astarion is mistaken. I think you might do well to take a look at Gale, though. I may have caused a bald spot.”

In the hours that followed, Tav maintained her distance from Astarion – as he had made it abundantly clear that he could smell her – while they all continued their search for a spot to set up camp. Eventually, they stumbled on an area with access to freshwater, a true blessing. By this point, Tav was simply relieved to have her long cloak, otherwise the others would’ve known for sure that she was bleeding through her trousers like a youngling. She diligently set up her tent, choosing a spot far away from Astarion and close to the lake.

Astarion had not asked to feed on her since they left for the Underdark, and Tav had no intention of offering, especially considering the situation unfolding between her thighs.

Their interactions had remained normal as can be, largely because Tav had bigger matters to occupy her mind than pondering her feelings for him, as if she were a little girl with a crush. Time was a valuable commodity lately and she wouldn’t use her precious free moments dwelling on a man who almost certainly didn’t give her a second thought, unless it was to take something from her. Tav scolded herself every time she found herself looking at him too long or when she thought she saw something softer underneath the shield of malevolence he wore. It was all just a game to him, she told herself, like it was to most vampires. 

After everyone had gone to bed, Tav finally snuck out to wash her clothes at the lake and go for a dip in the water. She wasn’t a prude – she had bathed many times with the women, but sometimes she just desperately needed a moment to herself. Even for something as silly as scrubbing the stains of her cycle out from her pants. She finished cleaning up and made her way back to her tent, dismayed that her fresh cloth was already getting ruined. Tav nearly jumped out her skin when she walked into her bunk and saw Astarion lying nonchalantly on her bedroll. 

“Are you mad?” she hissed at him. “You’re lucky I’m not human, or I would’ve had half a mind to stab you in the darkness.” 

“We both know you wouldn’t have been quick enough to,” Astarion drawled, sitting up. “You sorcerers leave much to be desired when it comes to your hand-eye coordination.” 

They looked at each other for a beat, both listening for any stirring sounds from the others. 

“Why are you here?” Tav demanded.

Astarion replied with a sly grin. “I happen to recall a certain somebody making the generous offer that if I ever got hungry, I could come to them.” 

Tav’s fingers combed through her damp hair as she reflected back on an offer she did indeed make.

“I did say that, yes,” she admitted. “But we can’t tonight. Not until I–”

She halted, a painful cramp pulsing through her.

“…Until I’m done with my bleeding. I’ve lost too much already, I’ll be too weak for you to feed on and Gods know if you end up draining me, you’ll have to wake a very cranky Shadowheart up.” 

Tav opened her tent and held her arm out, signaling for him to get out. “We can revisit this in a few days. I’ll let you know when.” 

“Revisit? What, like we’re discussing tactical advances?” Astarion bristled with frustration as he stood up.

"My dear, I don't believe you grasp the... gravity of the situation. Your scent–“ He accused, his tone growing more intense. "–has been tormenting me for hours. It has taken every ounce of restraint in my being to resist the urge to drag you away from the others and drink until I’ve drowned in your blood. I am utterly and maddeningly ravenous.”

Her hand faltered from the tent flap, closing them in the obscurity of her tent again.

“It won’t have to hurt like usual.” His pupils dilated wildly as he inched closer. Astarion looked feral. “No biting required. I’d hate to waste precious resources.” 

Tav’s face paled when she realized what he was suggesting. She didn’t think she was comfortable with the idea, and yet a warmth started blooming through her.

“And it might provide a distraction from the pain in your belly,” he hummed, latching her tent shut. “I’d say this benefits the both of us.”

“Who’s the pragmatic one now?” Tav answered, her toes tingling. It was a very bad idea, she told herself, way too intimate for what she originally offered.

But when Astarion kneeled down, his fingers tracing slow, teasing patterns up her thighs before he pressed a gentle kiss against her abdomen, and whispered, "Please, darling," she made up her mind.

It was the sensible thing to do. In fact, she reasoned with herself, if she gave Astarion perfectly acceptable, readily available blood now, she wouldn't have to put herself through any more bites for a while. His intense gaze met hers as he looked up, his eyes filled with a potent mix of hunger and desire. His nails gently scraped against the back of her knees, willing her to answer him.

“Be quick about it,” she finally relented.

Astarion wasted no time. He turned her around and pushed her onto her bedroll, tugging at the waistband of her pants, shimmying them over her knees. He fingered at the sides of her underwear, leaning down to kiss the top of her navel.  Tav’s insides fluttered from the sensation of him peppering her from top to bottom. His nose pressed against the dampness of the fabric and she nearly blacked out of embarrassment from the deep inhale he took. 

“You smell intoxicating,” Astarion groaned. “Like the very essence of temptation.” He nearly ripped her bottoms off, throwing them to the ground thoughtlessly along with her soiled rag. His cold breath tickled against her. "It's like I'm a moth drawn to a burning flame. I didn't know it was possible for you to smell even more enticing," he said, genuine bewilderment coloring his tone.

“No need to provide commentary…” Tav mumbled, averting her gaze.

Astarion pushed her legs up over his shoulders, spreading her thighs apart to reveal her slick mound. She started to drip with arousal, a stark contrast to the inky blood that painted her folds. 

“Like honeyed fire, so rich and delicious it ensnared me. I felt it – tasted it – in my throat before I came anywhere near you.” 

He dipped the tips of his index and middle fingers to spread her apart, dragging his tongue in one icey, long lick. The chill, a shock to her core, made her twitch as he licked her agonizingly slow from clit to tailbone. He lapped around her inner thighs, nipping at the flesh, forcing a shiver up her spine. Astarion let out a noise when she involuntarily jerked her body against his face, thighs clenching around his head. He swirled his tongue all around, his nose grazing her nub. 

“Oh,” Tav moaned. Her eyes widened in alarm at the unapproved noise, as if it was an admission of weakness, but it only seemed to encourage him to tongue her faster. Biting down on her knuckle was the only way for Tav to suppress the noise that threatened to spill from her mouth as he ate her like a savage animal having its final meal. The sounds of him lapping up and down at her cunt was obscenely erotic, and she felt herself dripping another gush of blood and arousal into his mouth. He slid his tongue as far as he could inside her slit, attempting to clean her inner walls from the nonstop trickle of blood.  She felt his thumb move to her clit to stroke it in slow circles and another whine fell from her mouth. 

Why didn’t he just get his fill and leave? What was the point of toying with her? Tav needed Astarion to stop, she thought foggily. 

He slurped up as much as he could of her blood, then shifted his attention on her swollen clit. Her legs shook against him, threatening to drop, but he kept her up like she weighed nothing. Tav finally mustered up the courage to look down at Astarion, and he must’ve sensed it, as his blown out eyes met hers. She gasped at the sight, her slickness painting his face so beautifully her cunt practically purred in response. 

“Please.” 

Her desire and uncertainty tangled in that one word. She wasn’t sure what she was pleading for. For him to go? To continue?

Astarion responded with a muffled, guttural groan. Her heels dug into his shoulder blades, urging him on, while his lips locked around her clit with a hunger that left her gasping. He suckled her so desperately that his teeth brushed against her, causing her legs to unconsciously spread further, surrendering to the feeling. Tav didn’t know how long they stayed like that; with Astarion dragging his tongue through her slick folds, alternating between frenzied licks and focused suctions on her clit. Before she knew it, an intense orgasm washed over her, prompting a bite on her own fingers to stop her from keening.  She yelped when she broke skin and her fingers shot to his curls as her sex throbbed. But Astarion didn’t stop – he had gone back to tasting her in lazy, drawn out strokes. 

“It’s sinful,” he muttered against her flushed skin. “It's divine.”

Tav pulled at his hair, hoping he would come off from her, hoping he would leave then.  “You’ve not had your fill?” she croaked.

“I would lay here drinking from you all night until I fell asleep, if I had my way. ” 

She watched him lick the inner corners of her thighs, fangs grazing against her flesh, threatening to bite down. Astarion moved up, trailing kisses under her belly button, then maneuvered her legs around his hips. His hands slid up her sides, scrunching Tav’s top up to show just a hint of her breasts, nipples hardened against the sheer fabric. He pulled away, baring a sharp smile, hair disheveled, teeth smeared with her blood, then pressed his clothed cock against her.  “You can stop your little charade now.” 

Before Tav could reply, he caught her lips in a deep kiss, rutting against her in his strained pants. The comedown from her orgasm had caught her with dull inhibitions as she couldn’t help but return the kiss, tasting her fluids on her tongue, coppery and vaguely salty. Tav couldn’t say she shared his sentiment regarding her blood, but she didn’t pull away, brain spiked with his tongue in her mouth. 

“Let me love you,” Astarion whispered tenderly.

Tav suddenly jolted, breaking out of her spell. She pushed at his chest, her body straightening like a lance.  She seethed with frustration. “Get off.” 

He stiffened, pulling away to meet her glare. “Did I do something wrong, my sweet?” 

“Enough with the fucking pet names,” she practically spat. “You don’t owe me. You don’t have to pretend to want me. I didn’t lie when I said I wanted to help you, so don’t lie to me and recite sonnets and play pretend lover. ” 

He peeled himself from her, and for once, Astarion didn't respond with a quip or a sly remark.

“I… see. I didn't mean to upset you.” 

Her expression softened, though she couldn't help but feel that if Astarion had wanted to pursue it, he would make a great actor. But Tav didn’t want to put herself through a show, no matter how much she had wanted to watch it. 

Tav sighed, her throat feeling parched as she spoke. "It's alright," she murmured, avoiding his gaze while she reached for her pants. “You know, sometimes, people just want to help you. Because they care about you, and they don’t expect anything back.” 

“Everybody wants something.” Astarion remarked.

“You’re right,” Tav acknowledged quietly, nestling herself in her bedroll and turning over. “I want to get some sleep. Good night, Astarion.” 

** 

Halsin's warning about the Shadow Cursed Lands had been clear: it would be a wasteland where even the animals would be too ghoulish for Astarion to feed on.

So for the rest of their journey towards Gymforge and beyond, Astarion gorged himself on as many creatures as he could. Bats, cave goats, owls, giant lizards – everything was fair game. He even contemplated the bulette at one point, but it smelled awful. He drank from anything and everything that moved, all in an effort to stave off the need to ask Tav for her blood. He didn't want to risk upsetting her again. Astarion was still a wanted man, and as long as she tolerated him, he was safe from Cazador.

Though he was satiated on animal blood, it was like eating plain porridge multiple times a day—nourishment, yes, but completely devoid of pleasure. But that was fine; Astarion didn’t want to grow used to Tav, he was disturbed by the way his body reacted everytime he fed on her. 

After the last feeding, he left for his tent with an aching cock. He had tried to will it away, but Astarion had felt too drunk on delirious bloodlust. Back in his bed, he tugged at himself feverishly, in need of the release that was denied to him. Her smell, taste, body – everything, everything about Tav made him throb with desire. It was only logical, a primal urge, nothing more than that. He had, after all, succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh in the past, no matter how unwilling. 

He understood all too well that the body could respond even when the mind wasn't fully present.

And yet, Astarion remained restless at night. When they all retired to their beds, his mind inevitably turned to think of her. He couldn’t shake the memory of how she ran hot against his bone cold body, hugging him like a furnace. His longing for her went beyond the hunger for her blood, and that realization left him uneasy, causing him to distance himself even more from her. However, he stole glances at her from time to time. Sometimes it happened when they gathered around the campfire for supper, sharing plans and stories. Astarion was particularly drawn to her smile, so sweet that her eyes wrinkled at the corners. He couldn't ignore the knot that twisted in his stomach when he saw her smile for anyone else.

"What will everyone do when this is all over?" Tav asked on one of the rare evenings when everyone remained awake.

“Whatever Lady Shar calls for me to do,” Shadowheart answered with determination.

Lae’zel scoffed dismissively. “Chk. It’s a waste of time to ponder.” 

“Well, I miss my Tara terribly,” Gale confessed sadly. “First thing I do, I would like to see her immediately.”

Karlach leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands. “Aw man… at least you have someone to return to!” 

Wyll flashed a grin at her. "You could always join me, Karlach. We could be the Blades of the Frontiers together, dispensing justice across the land of Faerûn." He dramatically extended his arms to illustrate the vision. Karlach smiled in response. "I'll hold you to that, soldier."

"I'm afraid the grove needs a fresh start without me," Halsin admitted. "I have a feeling I'll be required elsewhere, though I'm not entirely certain where."

Tav flicked her eyes to Astarion and then looked away while she spoke. “I should hope that no matter where we end up, that we all see each other every once in a while.” She rubbed at her arms and then laughed. “Gods, I know I sound so sentimental. But I’ve grown to truly like you crazy fuckers. And it’s going to be really hard to relate to people after this.” 

“You can say that again,” Wyll agreed. 

Astarion hummed, raising his wine goblet with a flourish. "Don’t fret, my dear friends. I’ll host the most extravagant of parties each season in my grand, opulent palace, and you’ll all be my honored guests. I'll personally hunt you down if you fail to attend or neglect the dress code."

“Hear hear!” Karlach cheered. They clinked their glasses together and Astarion’s breath caught when he saw the corners of Tav’s lips curling up. She was smiling at him. And his cold, dead, unbeating heart felt like it had swelled up so large he thought it might burst out of his chest. 

Fuck, Astarion thought. 

** 

The Last Light Inn was a welcome respite for their weary bodies. Each of them had their own rooms with real beds, and they had all ran to claim their rooms. 

However, as usual, trouble had a knack for finding them. Barely an hour into their stay, they were attacked, though they did manage to defend the inn and its people. Tav sat down hours later on a barstool in the tavern, tossing a coin to a tiefling child who was doubling as the barkeep. The little one handed her a mug, only filled halfway, and she chuckled to herself.

"Guess I won't be drowning my sorrows tonight.” 

She took out her journal and went over her notes. There was so much to keep in mind, so much to go over. Tav scribbled away for an hour or two, and as the common area gradually emptied with everyone retiring to their rooms, she remained absorbed in her journal until a familiar voice broke the silence. “You’re up late.” Tav looked up, finding Astarion standing at the edge of the dimly lit hallway. It had been a while since they had been in the same vicinity as each other alone, and she couldn’t help but feel nervous at the sight of him. He made strides to move towards her, stopping only to stoop down and give His Majesty a little scratch behind its ears.

"Says you," she replied. "Though... well, vampires are nocturnal, aren't they?" 

"Well actually, I’ve grown to quite enjoy watching the sunrise." Astarion said as he grabbed a cup from behind the counter. “Can’t wait to get out of this wretched place. I’m afraid the real reason I’m still up is a bit more mundane—I'm feeling a bit on edge." 

He dipped the mug into a barrel of wine and raised an eyebrow at her disapproving look. "What? Free ale is the least we deserve for saving this sorry little inn from destruction." 

Tav couldn't argue with that. She scooted over on her stool to make room for Astarion, and he joined her without a word. Astarion drank and she wrote in her book and they didn’t say anything to each other; it was a comfortable silence, one they both needed. After a while, Tav couldn't stifle a yawn, her eyes bleary from exhaustion.

"If you yawn any more, I'm going to have to toss you into your room," Astarion remarked dryly, his fingers curled around his fourth glass of wine. "You should get some rest."

She looked at him and noticed his cheeks were gaunt. There was no luster to his appearance, and he appeared more tired than she felt on the inside, likely due to a lack of nourishment. Tav had been waiting for him to ask to feed ever since they stepped foot into these cursed lands, but he never sought her out. There were no animals out in these lands, and most of the people they killed were tainted. Unless one of the others felt like offering, he was short on fuel. Astarion was probably starving, and that’s why he was restless.

Maybe she had been too harsh with him. Tav had been the one to offer blood in the first place, and then she had to go and make things awkward with her outburst. A pang of guilt washed over her.

“You too,” Tav replied. “You honestly look a little awful.” He tensed at the comment and she hurried to add: “You’re hungry. When was the last time you ate?” 

With a subtle lick of his lips, Astarion brushed off her concern. “I'm perfectly fine. I'll feast on some True Souls once we reach Moonrise, and you'll see, I'll be right as rain.”

"You're obviously not fine, Astarion," Tav insisted. "I'm not a stranger. I know you."

His eyes searched hers like he was looking for something, a certain melancholy to them that she couldn’t parse out. Then the look vanished, replaced by an empty expression. 

“I don’t think you do.”

She almost believed a few times he cared for her, in his own way. But it was clear now that her original instinct had been correct: it really had been a game for him, and now Astarion was so bored of her, he’d rather starve. Tav knew that if she were smart, she would feel relieved that he no longer wanted to use her, that he had backed off. But all she felt was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

**

Astarion still grieved for his past life, but any memories of family, lovers, or friends remained lost to him. At times, he preferred it that way. Ignorance, after all, had its virtues. Caring for others meant extending a piece of yourself to them, one you often couldn’t get back, and that was a risk he didn’t want to take. Not when he so desperately needed to care for himself. What was so bad about being selfish, he wondered. Astarion couldn't afford to put himself second, not after everything he had been through.

He had come into this world alone, suffered alone, and he would depart this earthly realm alone. 

The second night at the inn, Halsin had gone to find Thaniel, leaving the rest of them to defend his portal while they awaited his return. They hadn't expected the overwhelming forces drawn to destroy it. Wave after wave of undead assailants descended upon them, and they found themselves severely outnumbered.

Tav, determined to protect the portal, was casting a wall of stone when a wraith suddenly teleported and slashed at her, breaking her concentration. Her cry pierced the chaotic battle, and Astarion whipped around at the sound. She crumpled to the ground, clutching her stomach in agony.

"No, no, Tav! Get up, damn you!" Astarion shouted. Without hesitation, he lunged forward with his daggers and tore into the wraith until it dissipated into a shadow of smoke. 

"The portal—" Tav choked out, blood spluttering from her throat. He knelt down and pulled her up against him.

“Fuck the portal,” Astarion grit his teeth. “Shadowheart!” 

Shadowheart, engrossed in protecting Karlach and Lae'zel from cursed Harpers trying to break through, couldn't hear him. He yelled for Shadowheart again, but her attention remained focused on the women. Tav had made a promise to Halsin to keep the portal open, and the others were determined to honor that promise. Astarion cursed them all.

As he looked down at Tav, he saw her eyes dimming, her hand outstretched towards the portal. 

She mouthed, "Halsin."

The druid had come back with the child. 

Astarion would’ve turned back time and seen Halsin dead and the Shadow-Cursed lands forever damned if it meant that he would never again have to feel the fear that struck his heart when Tav went slack in his arms.

** 

“She’ll be alright,” Shadowheart assured, the back of her palm against Tav’s forehead, feeling for her temperature. “She just needs some rest.” 

Astarion had been pacing at the end of Tav's bed, unable to leave her side since their return to the inn. "How long?”

“Can’t say. Maybe a few hours.” Shadowheart put the rest of her scrolls and potions away into her bag. “She’s tougher than she looks, Astarion. Don’t worry too much.”

“I’m not worried,” Astarion huffed, fixing his face to a smooth nonchalance. “But… I’ll stay here with her. Just in case. You should get to bed. You know, vampire and all, we're creatures of the night and whatnot.” 

Shadowheart gave him a knowing look before she left.  “Let me know if she still feels poorly.” 

Astarion quietly pulled a chair closer to Tav's bedside, taking care not to stir her. As he sat there, he wondered what he would say when she woke up. He hadn't planned beyond his initial rush into her room. Hours passed, marked by the gentle rise and fall of her breathing and he never got up from his seat. The exhaustion of the day slowly overcame him and though he tried to fight it, Astarion drifted off into a trance.

Tav woke up after some time, groggy and disoriented. After she checked her body and found nothing out of place, she blinked a few times, surprised to find Astarion sitting nearby.

“No,” Astarion mumbled, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair. “No. I'll never come back.” 

In his nightmares, Cazador taunted him — to his master, he was akin to a mere child who had simply gotten carried away with the infantile joys of freedom. His relentless pursuit haunted him through the forest, and no matter how far into the void Astarion ran, he could still hear him. Oh, how foolish of him to dream of a life that was his own — he would never escape. No matter how far he fled, Cazador would inevitably find him...

"Please, no, Master —" he cried out.

Tav reached her hand out to gently cover one of his. "Astarion," she said, her voice soft and soothing, despite her sore throat. 

His eyes fluttered open, the rims around them inflamed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. 

"Cazador," he sputtered, still caught in the grip of his night terrors. 

"You're safe. He's not here," she reassured him, trying to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly. "You were having a bad dream."

Astarion nodded. “Yes.” His eyes closed as took a deep inhale, calming himself from the remnants of his nightmare. “I didn’t intend to wake you.” 

“No, no, it’s okay. I woke up on my own.” Tav replied, her expression equally laced with concern and suspicion. “Um. Is something wrong? What are you doing here?”

Astarion was quick with his answer. He didn’t want to tell her that, no, actually, he had gone sick with worry and had practically barked at everyone to clear the way as he rushed into the inn with her injured body. “Everything is fine. We just wanted to make sure you were alright. Everyone else is asleep right now.”

“I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings,” Tav frowned apologetically. “I didn’t mean to worry you all. But Halsin came back with Thaniel, didn’t he?” 

He scowled, recalling how his forehead vein nearly burst when Halsin confirmed that Thaniel was of no use until they located his missing half. "I could've strangled Halsin for taking as long as he did. All for some comatose child."

Her eyes bore into him. “I would’ve gone through the pain a thousand more times to help Halsin cure this land. You can’t blame him for anything.” 

Tav was light and goodness and hope and everything Astarion was not and he wanted to throttle her and tell her that this miserable, revolting world didn’t deserve her. 

“I can, and I will. But thankfully, you’re okay. No need for anyone’s head to roll.”

“Ugh. You are so dramatic,” she laughed, her hand splaying under him. His finger rubbed a circle on the back of her palm. Then she paused, and they stared at each other, and Astarion almost shrank from the intensity of her gaze. “I appreciate you watching over me. I’m good, really. I can take it from here. You can go now.” 

“If that’s what you want,” he replied. 

”I…” She hesitated, her eyes shifting slowly between his, searching for something in them. "What do you want?"

Tav had asked Astarion this question once before, and he had delivered his answer, every word rehearsed and refined countless times with various people.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he confessed. His eyebrows furrowed as he pushed himself to continue. "I… want to free myself from my constant thoughts of you.”

An unfamiliar tightness gripped his throat. Astarion had always thought of her softness as a horrible weakness, but now, with Tav before him, he understood that to be soft was a terribly difficult thing to do.

“I want…” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “... to kiss you.” 

Tav echoed his previous response. 

"Well, if that's what you want."

He was careful, the way he rose to caress her cheek, and agonizingly slow as her lips parted and his cold thumb brushed against them. Astarion closed the gap and pressed a kiss on her, so gentle he thought he only imagined doing it. He tilted her head up, the kiss deepening with a swift graduation of intensity that made Tav cling to him as if he were the only solid thing in her dizzying world. 

This was different, Astarion marveled — this felt like undeniable need.

“I can’t summon up any clever words,” Astarion breathed against her lips. “Just that I want you.” 

“Then shut up for once and have me.” She twined her arms around his neck and his tongue glided past her lips to taste her, eliciting a sound from her that redirected all the blood in Astarion’s body in a sweet rush. Every movement of her lips sent a jolt through his body, fanning the blaze that was shared back and forth between them. 

How maddening was it, that one second Astarion was afraid to falter, and the next she reduced him to desperation.

He devoured her with tongue and teeth, pushing her back into the mattress, only stopping when it felt like they would die from lack of oxygen. Astarion broke away from her embrace, peeled his shirt off and hurled it to the ground, then tugged at her pants; she clumsily arched herself up to help him strip her clothes off. Next was her top, then her underwear; his eyes swept over her, committing every detail and every curve to memory. 

“You, my little dove, truly are a vision.”

Tav laughed with embarrassment, but her laughter dissolved into a moan as Astarion's lips met hers. She kissed him like she was untangling him, and he kissed her like he wanted to own her from the inside out. Then she gasped, the sound shooting straight to his cock. “I’ve wanted you. Everytime. But I was scared.”

He groaned and released her from his mouth, then captured her lips in his again. Astarion had never wanted so hopelessly to see someone come undone under him. 

“I know darling. I’m always right,” he chuckled against her lips, the arrogance hiding the relief he felt. She tsked at him and his fingers gently wrapped over her throat, as the other hand thumbed at her lips. “I’m jealous of your neck,” he mused. “It gets to hold your lovely head up, when it could be my hands instead.” 

It was sickening, Astarion thought, how unbelievably, excruciatingly hard he was, and he had barely even touched her. Tav watched him curiously, her eyes raking over his body with lust.  “I want to taste you,” she pleaded breathlessly. “Let me.” 

“Not tonight,” he said simply, wanting nothing more than to see her pretty lips wrap around his cock and to see her struggle for air. But he’d be lying if the simple act of denying her didn’t turn him on. Astarion prodded at her lips with his fingers, knocking at her teeth, slipping two into her mouth. “You can work for that.” 

She opened her mouth without further complaint.  He pressed down on her tongue and she sucked as he slowly twisted his fingers around. Astarion lowered a trail of kisses down her face, peppering her jaw, neck, collarbones, the dip between her breasts. Then, he took his spit slicked fingers out with a plop, saliva trailing out from her lips, before moving down to spread open her wet folds. Tav was dripping with arousal, eyes fluttering in anticipation of pleasure, and Astarion thought he’d like to keep her like this forever. He pinched at her clit then rubbed firm and slow; her hips twitched against him, silently asking for him to go faster, harder, anything, to make her cum. 

But Astarion wasn’t going to let her, he had never intended to let her cum – at least not yet, it was too soon, not when he wanted to unravel her more.

“Get on your knees for me, darling.”

Tav had no choice but to roll over and prop herself up on her elbows. She looked back at him, her eyes glassy with frustration. He could barely hold himself together to whisper sweet nothings into her back, something that had been so vile to do before and so easy to do now. Astarion ached to have her: anywhere, in every position, in every possible way, to mark her and make it so that everyone would know that Tav was his to have. 

He tried to shake away the obsessive thought but it burned through him so deeply that it nearly pushed Astarion to rage. His kisses dragged lower and lower until his hands squeezed at the undersides of her ass. Astarion spread her thighs apart and opened her up like ripe fruit with his thumbs, watching her drool drip down her folds. He lapped his tongue up from her glistening folds to her rim and Tav’s knees buckled under the sensation.   

Astarion wasn’t just eating her out, he was tonguefucking her; he delved deeper, groaning against her as she pushed back into his face and her musk clouded his mind. The taste of her constant, dripping wetness was intoxicating, second only to her life-giving blood. It threatened to drown Astarion, like a violent wave crashing at the shore of his senses. 

He snaked in and out of her puckered hole, back to her cunt, everything growing slick and sloppy and sensitive, wet sounds mixing with moans spilling from both of them. The contrast of the cold of his tongue and the hotness of her cunt was exquisite, and he thought Tav deserved the gift of his fingers again. His index and middle fingers slid through to part the lips of her sticky cunt, then disappeared, quickly thrusting in and out of her. 

“I need–” She made a strangled sound before she buried her face into her pillow, not wanting to make any more noise should the rooms next door hear.  Then, she nearly sobbed at the sudden loss of his lips against her, though his fingers were still deep at her base. He reached forward to tug at her hair abruptly, bringing her head up from the bed. 

“You need what?” Astarion feigned ignorance, not slowing down the pace of his fingers fucking in and out of her. Tav reached down with her hand to press against her clit, grinding her palm flat against her pubic bone. She humped against her hand and back into his fingers, again and again until he released her hair and snatched her hand and held it against her back as he buried a third finger into her cunt. 

“Fuck, Astarion.” 

The way Tav cried out his name made Astarion want to drag this out, to deny her the way she had done to him for so many weeks. Until she was a sobbing, pleading, pathetic mess. He pressed a wet kiss against her cunt and barely held back a wicked smile when she shook as his fingers curled, pulling and pushing in her.

“Sorry pet, I can’t hear you.” 

“Fucking...“ Tav grit her teeth, her temper rising when she realized he was playing with her. “All this time you've been accosting me and now you want to tease?"

"Little known fact about me, I'm actually hard of hearing in one ear," he lied, pushing a fourth finger into her squelching cunt. Tav pushed her face into the pillow and groaned in frustration, before picking her head back up, choking out the words.

"Astarion, I need you to fuck me." 

“Oh,” he replied, like the answer hadn’t been so obvious. “All you had to do was use your words.”

He withdrew his fingers from her. Tav strained her head to see him tugging his pants down, cock springing out, beautiful and veiny, precum leaking and turned on to the point of agony. Astarion gave himself one firm stroke from root to tip and back. She bumped against him, but he pushed her back down and dragged the tip through her cunt. 

“So wet.” He slid the head between her slick folds, rubbing up to her clit, and back down. Again and again, each time dipping closer to where she needed him most in a torturously unhurried pace. “You’re always so wet for me, aren’t you, my sweet?” 

She moaned an agreement into the bed and ground herself against him, hard enough that Astarion felt relief all around his painfully erect cock. It was truly difficult to stop himself from fucking her deep into the mattress, but the novelty of how much he enjoyed seeing her squirm under him was too new, too enthralling.

“Looks like you enjoy the pet names after all.” 

“Astarion,” Tav cried, rutting desperately on his cock. She looked like she would either break down in tears or hit him. He thought he would enjoy either option. 

Astarion flipped her over on her back and summoned the best of his self control to kick off his pants. Then he kissed her deeply and pushed in, slowly, stretching her out; mesmerized by the needy look on her face and the way her lips parted in a gasp. He wanted to savor this, to paint a picture in his mind to look back on in case it never happened again, but it only lasted a few seconds before Tav wrapped her legs around his waist, willing more of him into her. 

“Tav,” Astarion stuttered, grabbing hold of her hips roughly. “Cheeky little pup — so desperate.”

He slowly dragged out of her until only the tip of his cock was left, holding her legs apart so he could admire the view of her taking the entirety of his length as he pushed back in leisurely. 

“Astarion, fuck me, please, I can’t breathe until you do.” 

Would he ever tire of his name being used like a prayer? Astarion growled in response, pulling and burying himself at the hilt of her cunt. Then he fucked her faster - the pace brutal and unrelenting - and her walls clenched so tight around him that it hurt, a smooth and velvety pain along his cock. When Tav’s eyes rolled back he freed a hand to grab her throat, forcing her to look at him.

“I would tear myself open limb from limb if you could only see the mess you’ve made of me,” he panted. 

Tav choked around his fingers, unable to reply, eyes wide in disbelief; Astarion released her throat to grip the back of her thighs and pin her knees to her chest with bruising strength. He lost himself, he didn’t stop moving, didn’t let up. Fucking her felt both sacred and like sacrilege, like being eviscerated by divine rapture, like something he simply didn’t deserve. He would have chained himself down at her altar and would've ripped through his own ribcage with his bare hands to offer his lungs as sacrifice if that's what she demanded. 

“Yes, it’s so good, Astarion—” Tav babbled incoherently under him, her breasts jiggling with each thrust. “You’re so good. So fucking good.” 

Astarion lurched forward with a groan and buried his face into her juncture between her neck and shoulder, inhaling sharply as his nose nudged at her fading wound. It was wholly unnatural to resist biting her, but he did. He wasn’t good, he had probably never been good in any lifetime. But he wanted to be – would try to be – if that’s what she wanted. Astarion fucked her to the ragged rhythm of his name, hard and deep and devastating, hissing everytime her walls flexed and gripped around him. 

“Bite me,” Tav begged, her arms sliding around him, one slipping into his hair and the other clawing at the scarred skin of his back. “You don’t have to ask. Never.” 

Astarion wavered, but only for a second. His teeth dragged over her skin like the point of a knife and she leaned into it, the pounding of her heart echoing in Astarion’s ears. Tav let out a needy pant of encouragement when he sank in, nothing careful or gentle about his bite. Hot pulsing blood rushed into his mouth; it poured into every vein in his body, exploding everywhere at once.

Tav thrashed under him, threading her fingers through his curls and holding him in place.  He drank and sucked until the skin underneath him spurted so much blood that it spilled out past the corners of his mouth, drenching their chests as they rocked against each other. He dragged a finger through the rain of blood and when it was coated he smeared it on her swollen clit, working frenzied, clumsy circles on it. His arm grew tense with the speed and intensity of it but he didn’t stop. Tav’s sopping wet cunt sucked him in messily in the silence and a dark satisfaction curled through Astarion’s gut, knowing that it was impossible to not hear them throughout the inn.

“You’ll be my undoing,” he told her, less of a statement and more of a promise. Astarion kissed her through the film of blood that coated the inside of his mouth, wet and metallic and sweet. He groaned when she licked the taste of her off his lips and he fucked into her like an animal, spurred on by the cries she tried and failed to stifle. When Tav came, she clamped down so blindingly tight on Astarion’s cock that an orgasm ripped from his body forcefully, shooting through him and spilling into her as deeply as her cunt would allow. 

**

"You'll stay here?" Tav's words were a barely audible request, masked as a question. The persistent voice that had carved out an unwelcome home in his brain urged him to get up and leave. But Tav curled around him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he couldn’t find the strength to listen. 

Maybe she would ruin him. Maybe they’d consume each other. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and pretend tonight never happened. Or maybe some things just burned brighter in the wake of destruction. Astarion was drawn to the fire now, even if it meant risking his wings. 

Astarion pressed a gentle kiss to her damp forehead and drew her closer to his chest. Tav hummed a satisfied sigh, the heat from her body radiating and wrapping him like the thickest blanket in the dead of winter. In that fleeting moment, he wondered if there was a way to bottle her warmth and tuck it away for his loneliest hours.

He chose to settle for a simple truth.

“Yes.” 

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion/tav #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #astarion x mc #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #astarion/tav fanfic #astarion baldur's gate 3 #porcelainfic #astarion fanfiction #oneshot #tav #astarion/mc #tav/astarion #tav/astarion fanfic #tav x astarion #astarion baldur's gate #astarion x you #astarion x reader

[narumi-gens]

dreams aventurine x f!reader

18+ minors/blank/ageless blogs dni, 2.1 spoilers, pregnancy/parenthood

aventurine has never thought of himself as a man who dreams of the future, not beyond a certain point. but there's something about you that makes him doubt himself.

because when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, he can't help himself. he thinks about what would happen if he didn't pull out and cum across your ass, your tits, or your stomach, painting your skin in white spurts like he usually does. he thinks about what would happen if he buried himself deep enough for you to feel him in your throat and spilled himself inside of you for once.

what if he didn't climb off of you as soon as he caught his breath. he thinks about what it would be like if he instead stayed there even as he softened, cradled between your thighs, while your arms wrapped around his trembling form to hold him close, your fingers gently running through his sweaty strands, your touch alone doing more to calm his mind than an orgasm ever could.

there are times when he allows himself to imagine beyond even that, but only in his weakest moments when he decides to spend the night, always under the pretense of the late hour, or the bad weather, or how comfortable the bed he bought you is. it's a pretense that you see through, but never challenge him on as you know that doing so would make him leave.

it's only once he's sure that you're deep asleep and he can turn his unguarded gaze to your features in the dark that he dares to let his mind wander beyond the bounds he normally sets. he imagines your stomach swelling as the months pass, of your hand grabbing his to press his palm to your belly to feel the fluttering of new life from within.

he imagines a small bundle pressed to your bare chest, skin-to-skin. you're crying, but so is the newly born infant that you hold so dear. so is he. sometimes, the sunlight shines through the windows of the hospital room, and other times the rain is deafening against the glass.

likewise, sometimes when the baby in your arms opens their eyes to take in the world for the first time, their color mirrors yours. but more often than not, it's his own pink and blue irises looking back at him, promising a life of good luck.

he imagines the feeling of a small palm pressed flat against his own much bigger one, as a young, tiny voice stumbles over the words he tries to guide them through.

he pictures the smile on your face, both adoring and soft, as you watch with tear-filled eyes as he teaches your child the blessing of their people.

as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry.

no matter how many years have passed since he was taken from sigonia in chains, he'll never forget his sister's final words to him. but when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, they feel like more than just a memory.

it feels like she's speaking to him across the years, to him now, trying to guide him towards this single future with you instead of any of the infinite other futures he bets everything on.

maybe, if he chose to listen to her, there could be another avgin for gaiathra to bless. maybe, if he ever chose to give in to his weakness, to your warmth, to your softness, to your love, the avgin wouldn't have to live and die with him.

#I AM A MESS AFTER FINISHING 2.1 #literally wrote down that line about the blood of the avgin for future use as soon as it came up in game #this is the future use #tw parenthood #tw pregnancy #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #aventurine drabble #hsr x reader #hsr angst #hsr drabble #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail drabble #mel writes

[sttoru]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 '𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒, CHAPTER II: you smuggle the wounded man into your dorm room and nurse him back to health in secret. a fragile bond forms between you and the stranger - whose name you learn is toji - as you spend your first night together.

word count. 6.6k-ish

tags. assassin!toji fushiguro x college student!female reader. sfw. bits of angst. mentions of blood, knives, murder. reader gets called 'woman'. general warnings: size difference. age gap (reader early 20's, toji early 30's). chapter one here

Three. Two. One.

You accept your miserable fate with a gulp. You prepare yourself for the unbearable pain that awaits your body until the last breath leaves your lungs. You hope the anguish lasts for a second or two before your vision turns pitch black. Before your soul meets its maker. Or before it gets lost somewhere more peaceful than this life you've led.

Closing your eyes, waiting for the impact, and uttering your final words in your head felt like eternity. Maybe the man is playing with your emotions before he decides to make an end to your life. Perhaps he is such a nasty psycho. And you can’t believe that out of all people who could’ve met him tonight on the street, you did.

You sniff. Life is unfair. Even at your final moments, you couldn’t help but feel you got the short end of the stick. You wait and wait, but your death doesn’t arrive. You sigh and ask whoever can hear your thoughts to make it quick.

“Shit,” Your ‘murderer’ coughs. It sounds like a painful cough, one that came out the back of his throat. You hear metal clattering on wet concrete not a second later. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise, your vision instantly filling with a frightening sight. You watch as the injured man starts to cough up blood. He’s unable to lift a finger in that state of his.

This is your chance to make a run for it. The voice in your head is screaming at you to move and get yourself to safety. It’s a perfect opportunity to get help. But something inside of you is urging you to stay.

Any normal person would have escaped by now.

‘I must be out of my mind,’ you silently think. You don’t loosen the grip you have on your scarf, the one pressed against the man’s open wound. Your body is yelling at you—begging you to move away—yet your heart is pleading to stay put. There is no way your body wins over the strong will of your heart. Your soul, that’s strangely connected to his, a man that threatened to kill you without hesitation.

You surely have lost your mind.

“Sir, oh my god,” you panic. You chose to stay, however have no clue what to do. You’re trying your best to think of a solution to all of this. Your eyes catch a glimpse of your now wet phone laying in a puddle of rain. You hope it still works. Well, even if it does, you surely can’t call an ambulance for the man. He had stated that he didn’t want any help.

If you consider the possibility of him being a murderer, you’d understand that he wouldn’t want an ambulance to be involved. You shake your head as your body desperately tries to continue fighting against your heart’s desires. ‘Sympathizing with a possible murderer. God I really must have gone insane,’ you curse yourself out in your head.

The sound of heavy breathing brings you back into the current moment. You catch the way the bloodied man is trying to regain his strength. You try to coax him into staying still, “sir, please don’t move. It could worsen your injury.”

You voicing your worries only causes the man to try and push you away. Despite his weakened state, the little push he gives you is enough to make you lose the grip on your crimson stained scarf. You watch in pure horror as more blood pours down his black shirt, onto his white pants.

“No, please. Please listen to me,” you don’t know why you’re begging a grown man, a killer, to listen to you for his own sake. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be back in your dorm room, in your cozy bed, watching a series while it pours outside. You shouldn’t be playing the hero to a stranger.

You think quickly. The only option you have aside from an ambulance, is to try and help him out to your best ability. You don’t have anything with you that could help, but you do have some rubbing alcohol in your dorm. That could work as a disinfectant. Stitching his wound up is the real challenge.

“Okay, uhm,” you try to think of a way to do this as smoothly as possible. You quickly grab the knife from the ground and shiver at the sight of the blood on the handle. Time is ticking and it won’t be long until the man in front of you loses his consciousness and possibly… dies.

You take off your coat, making haste to do so. Your hands are trembling, and your heart is stammering. You hiss as you tear apart the material of your coat using the sharp knife. The leather should help slow down the bleeding. Even if it’s only for a little bit. That’s all you really need.

“Here,” you quickly replace the scarf with the cut piece of your coat. You wrap it around his waist and fasten it, making sure it doesn’t slip off. The man does not say a word nor does he fight you off. All the resistance is gone from his weary body. That should tell you enough; he’s barely holding on. His heavy yet faint breathing is the only sign that reassures you that he’s not fallen unconscious.

You collect your bag and all the other things scattered on the dirty ground of the alleyway. You don’t want to leave any evidence of you being here, helping an alleged killer with getting away. Your heart tells you it’s fine, but your body is telling you that you’ll regret all of it. Time will tell which is the truth.

You stand up. Barely. Your knees are nearly giving out on you because of the stress and anxiety, though the adrenaline pumping through your blood is helping you stay composed. Your eyes follow the flow of the man’s blood as it mixes with the rainwater on the concrete. You can’t clean that up. The only thing you can do about it is pray—pray that the rain will wash all of it away. Down the drains.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, checking in on the stranger. He doesn’t answer. You crouch down in front of him, a worried expression on your face as you carefully move the hair from his eyes. They’re closed. You freak out and your initial reaction is to gently tap his cheek for any sign of life, “sir? Sir? Don’t tell me he’s—"

“Shut up,” his gruff voice echoes in your ears. It seems like he still wants you gone, though is not trying to actively shoo you away anymore. Not like he can in the awful state he is in.

The stranger coughs again, his eyelids opening just halfway before closing again. You sigh in relief and move next to him. You lift his arm so that it loosely sits on your shoulders. You grunt softly—the muscles in them makes it a tough job. You try asking him for his compliance, “I’ll help you stand up, okay?”

As expected, you’re met with silence. You take it as an agreement and use all the strength left in your limbs to get up on your feet. It’s a struggle, with you nearly toppling over thrice, but you eventually get the co-operation you’re looking for. The bloodied stranger slowly but surely manages to stand up straight with your aid.

You’re shocked by his large stature. He was intimidating enough when seated, but now that he’s towering over you, his aura is reaching high levels of unsettling. You hope he’s got enough drive left to move his feet. You can’t expect your frail arms to half carry a six-foot-something man.

“Hang in there,” you mutter, trying to cover the anxiety you’re internally facing. You look ahead and move forward in small strides, the steps you’re making are wobbly, as are his. You look up and try to gauge the man’s reactions, though his eyes are once again covered by his wet bangs. All you can make out is the slight twitch of his scarred lips. He’s in pain.

You manage to escape that damned back alley. Your bag is soaked, as are your clothes. You take one quick glance back before you turn the corner and once again pray that the rain washes the blood away. You take the quietest and fastest route back to your dorm.

A couple people pass you by. They don’t look at you funny nor do they bat an eye to the man you’re helping keep balance. They have their own lives that they need to take care of first. The pouring rain makes it harder for them to concentrate on anything else as well. Besides, the material of your coat wrapped around the man’s waist covers up most of the blood. It’s not visible to others.

If someone were to describe the image of the stranger and you from an outsider’s perspective, they’d think you’re just helping your drunk partner back home. It’s not an uncommon sight in the busy streets of Tokyo, especially in the evening.

“Where...” The stranger speaks up, his deep voice hoarser than before. He unexpectedly grips your shoulder. His meaty fingers digging into your flesh makes you wince. He’s only using a small bit of his actual strength and you’re already in pain. You push through and continue helping him forward. “Fuck,” He cusses. He’s starting to become deluded due to the blood loss and pain, “where ‘re—”

The tall man coughs, interrupting himself. You cringe at the sound of that excruciating sound. You could see the lights in the distance. The ones you’re used to seeing when coming back to campus after a night out with your friend. Now, you’re coming back with an unknown man. An alleged killer that you’re bringing into the building. You don’t even want to think about all the lives you could potentially put in danger.

You try to avert your attention. Now is not the time for that. Your gut feeling says so. You need to figure out a way to sneak this man inside your room without anyone finding out. Not the security guards, hall monitors or students: No one can know. You answer his question with clear doubt in your voice, not knowing if you’ll both even make it, “safety. To safety.”

All the thoughts about your poor life decisions get pushed to the side. You grunt and try to increase your speed, having difficulty dragging the man with you. You’re sweating. The amount of strength you need to put in to take only one step is severely draining. You remember that there is one path that doesn’t have much surveillance cameras hanging around. It’s the one you and a couple others use to sneak back into your dorms very late at night.

“Almost,” you try to encourage the stranger, who’s silent is quite eerie. You hope he’s holding on. The way he’s dragging his feet over the bricks tells you that he’s trying to keep conscious. You hurry up and get to the hidden exit at the back.

It’s locked on some days, so you let out a breath of relief when you manage to push it open. That spares you the trouble of having to go through the main entrance and risk getting caught. Plus, you don’t have to use and show your student card now that you’ve infiltrated the building. You hope that there aren’t many people around this side, praying that they’re all eating dinner somewhere.

The creaking of the door is ten times louder than it is usually. Or it could be the fear in your body restructuring your thoughts. Luckily, your dorm room is only one flight of stairs up. You can’t take the elevator because of the cameras in it. You look over at the man leaning against your shoulder, his head tilting to the side in exhaustion.

“Christ,” The stranger grunts. His head sways a little closer to yours unintentionally and your breath hitches. For a split second, he rests the side of his head against yours, too tired to move away. It makes your heart stammer for a moment. To have this coldhearted man lean on you, depend on you, and lay his life in your hands.

You’re filled with another rush of adrenaline. “Are you still holding up okay?” your quiet voice snaps the man out of his disoriented state. He only then realizes that he’s leaning his heavy weight on your small stature. He grumbles and tilts his head the other way again, away from yours. He clearly hates to be vulnerable. Especially around a random girl he does not have any business with.

Without getting an answer back, you carefully make haste to your dorm room. Your room is the first one in the entire row, located the surveillance camera's dead zone, which works out in your favor again.

You hold in your breath and try to fish the keys out of your pocket. Your fingers move the old and now wet receipts and garbage to the sides, pulling the desired object out from between them. You fumble with the keys, your fingers trembling as you try to grab the right one.

The intimidating stranger looks down at your hand through a blurry vision. You’re in a hurry to open the door and avoid being caught. Someone could turn the corner right now and you’d be busted. He huffs in annoyance, though voices no audible complaints. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows you’re helping him and that you have zero ill intent.

“Sorry,” you whimper before finally unlocking your door. You hurriedly get in an shut it behind you. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Figuratively in this case, since you still have a whole man leaning on you. You help him over to your bed and carefully assist him down.

You’re ignoring your own boundaries for the nth time. The ones you are so adamant to follow in any other situation. You would never let someone sit on your bed with their outside clothes still on, especially not if they’re dirtied and wet. You’re tolerating it for now. All for this man that you have a sudden, unfathomable attraction to.

You don’t have time to think. You rush to your wardrobe and pull the drawer open. You search for a first aid kit. You had it laying somewhere—though never used. Your parents had given you it in case of an emergency. Which is right now.

You find a whole bunch of gauze rolls and a bottle of antiseptic liquid along with bandages, scissors, and pain killers. You have zero clue on how to treat a wound. You only saw such stuff in action movies and cartoons. You grab a needle and thread that you had laying around. A towel and a tissue box as well. Just anything that’s redeemed relevant for the situation.

You drop everything on your bed and fiddle around on what to use first. You’re tempted to grab your phone and look up some instructions on the internet, but you quickly get interrupted by a bloody hand reaching out for the disinfectant. You watch with worry as the man gets to work—not expecting any help from an oblivious girl like you. He’s gone through this before.

“Get some water.” The man huffs, undoing the coat around his waist slowly. You only have a few seconds to act. You look around frantically and find an old water bottle on your nightstand. You hand it to him, and he nearly yanks it from your hand, still showing that stubborn reluctance around you. There’s not a thank you in sight as he gets to work.

You can tell that the stranger has stitched up his own wounds many times before. It makes you think back to your initial thoughts. The thoughts about his occupation. His skills would be self-explanatory if he were to be an actual murderer. Having to deal with these types of wounds would be an everyday experience.

Yet, instead of being alarmed at the possibility, you manage to feel bad for his situation. You helplessly watch as he pours nearly the entire bottle on his wound, getting rid of any debris that’s got on it. He clearly does not care about the wet stains it’s created on your sheets. They’re messy anyway. “Give me that,” the injured man comments and nods at the needle and thread with his head.

You do as told, staying silent as you let the professional do what he knows is best. He cleans the needle with the antiseptic fluid and prepares the wound some more. You want to advise him to at least use some pain killers before he goes to work on it, however they’d take too long to take effect. There is no time to do all of that.

“Ah,” you hiss, like you’re the one experiencing the pain, as you notice how he’s starting the suture near the edge of his wound. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head to the side, not wanting to witness the gruesome scene. A few occasional grunts and groans sounding from the man leave you nauseous. You can’t imagine what he’s going through at the moment, cleaning and stitching up his own injury. He seemed to know what he was doing, so you don’t comment on it any further.

After a couple seconds pass, you hear another pained hiss. You can’t stand it. You’re just sitting at the edge of your bed, hoping for the best. Hoping that he could make use of all that you provided him with. “Can I help somehow?” You breathlessly ask, your voice a quiet whisper.

“Yeah, by shutting up,” The older man answers bluntly. He’s fixated on healing his wound the best he could, and your voice is disrupting that focus. He’s made some progress with the suture. It isn’t done under perfect circumstances, but he’s used to it. His body has been through enough since childhood to have built up a resilience to most things. The pain and discomfort are nothing he isn’t familiar with.

You bite your lip and apologize for asking him something, “sorry.” His deep voice makes you shiver. It only reminds you of the fact that you have a grown man in your room. A possible killer on the loose. You don’t push your luck and just remain silent. You don’t want to end up as another victim.

Though you have a feeling that he wouldn’t hurt you. Where that feeling came from, you have no idea. It could be your delusions, however you’re sure he wouldn’t harm a hair on your head. Maybe it’s due to that little moment of vulnerability he showed in the halls moments ago. Your body warms up at the memory of how his head laid against yours for a split second.

The man finishes off the suture with a firm surgeon knot. He cleans the remaining blood with the tissues he’s drowned in disinfectant. You look his way again when you hear him shifting in his place. Your baffled as you notice how he’s trying to stand up. You don’t know much about wounds, but you know for certain that someone cannot stand up after getting an injury stitched. It could reopen the wound.

Your hand moves on its own. You firmly grab the man’s wrist and tug him back down on your bed. The stranger lets out a surprised grunt and instinctively slaps your hand away. He wants to leave.

To him, it’s nothing serious. This is just another day in his life. He’s used to ignoring his body’s pleas for rest. Vulnerability does not look good on him. He hates it.

The older man parts his lips to defend himself, yet quickly decides on the opposite. He shuts his mouth once his eyes met your pretty ones. They’re glimmering with tears. He does not realize why you’re suddenly so upset. Nor does he actually care... He thinks.

He just wants to leave before you ask too many questions. It’s best to act like you two have never met. For his sake and yours.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. The silence creates an undeniable tension between you both. You don’t exchange words, though you think he knows what you mean with that look you’re giving him. You’re indirectly begging him to stay still and rest. You know he needs it. He secretly knows he needs it as well, though does not want to acknowledge that weakness.

The stranger sighs in frustration. He looks down at the wound he’s worked hard to patch up. His head hurts. His eyelids are heavy. His limbs are unresponsive. He has no other choice but to lay back. He promises himself that he’d leave after an hour or two. He wants to have nothing to do with you.

A college girl helping him. Who would’ve thought that day would come. Did he become that weak? He has always refused the help of others, so what would make this any different? He can leave and deal with the consequences of that poor decision on his own. However, his body doesn’t move an inch.

The man frowns as he realizes that his cold and distant attitude would get him nowhere this time. His body is actively resisting the urges to leave.

You cautiously ascertain his reactions. You notice the way he slumps back against your pillows with a curse word leaving his lips. You can’t help but feel relieved. You don’t know why, but you’re happy that he’s staying with you. Even if it’s just for a little longer. You want to make sure he’s going to be fine.

You nod silently and don’t say a word for a good while. You don’t want to annoy the man more than you already have. You get up, knees buckling as the adrenaline wears you down. You’re glad you haven’t been caught and that the man you saved didn’t die. You’re tired from everything that went down in the last hour or so.

Though, you cannot rest.

You clean up the mess around your bed. The used, bloody tissues. The rain that’s dripped down your clothes and onto the floor, making small puddles on the surface. The piece of leather you had used as a temporary solution for the stranger’s bleeding. After you’ve gotten rid of all that, you finally take off your coat and shoes. You want to take a bath as soon as possible. And dry your hair.

You don’t take your eyes off the man on your bed. He’s starting to stir again, which could mean one of two things. He’s either trying to escape or trying to change his position. To your surprise, you catch him pull his shirt over his head. The older man’s ripped physique comes into view. Faint veins run down his beefy arms, his abs are perfectly defined, and his waist compliments his bulky stature.

You’re staring. You only realize it when your eyes catch the way he’s attempting to wrap some gauze around his lower abdomen. You can tell that he’s struggling, but he does not ask for help. Nor does he even look your way—acting like it’s just him in the room. It’s easy to conclude that he’s never depended on anyone in his life. It saddens you.

You walk over to your bed and sit down at the edge. You wordlessly reach out to grab the roll of gauze from his hand. Your fingers brush against his palm while you do so, and you can feel the rough calluses on his skin. You don’t comment on it but make a mental note of your discovery.

You carefully wrap the gauze around his waist once. You’re as cautious as you could be, not wanting to inflict any more discomfort on the stranger. He doesn’t resist. He’s too tired to do so. Alhough, that doesn’t stop him from showing his complaints about the situation through his distant body language. His eyes are staring at the nearby wall, his expression as stoic as ever.

You go around with the roll of gauze once more. You lean a bit closer to his torso to properly do your job. You can’t help but feel a tiny bit embarrassed by your proximity. Neither of you says anything about it. He doesn’t move away, and you take that as a sign to continue tending to him.

The older man can’t help but feel that urging desire to push you away and leave. He doesn’t want to be involved in any of this. You weren’t supposed to find him. You weren’t supposed to help him. You weren’t supposed to bring him back here. He hates the idea of letting someone – you - get close to him. He hates letting others in his personal space.

 “What’s your name, sir?” Your soothing voice breaks the silence. You’re still visibly nervous, but also a lot less panicky. He finally looks down at you, seeing you put the gauze in place before grabbing a roll of bandages. He hates your touch.

The stranger clenches his jaw. He had to have scared you away in that back alley. He couldn’t and that’s what got him in such a predicament. One that triggers his many internal issues and struggles. He hates having to talk about himself to others. That’s how most bonds form.

“None of your damn business, girl,” The older man growls. His tone is harsh and cold, but you don’t back away nor even flinch. That only serves to irk him more. You’re meant to cower in fear, leave him alone and never turn back, but you do the complete opposite. You don’t know him and yet still choose to take care of him.

You nod, not pushing the matter any further. The injured stranger narrows his eyes for a second. Nothing seems to work on you. His intention is to scare you off, though the more he tries, the more you seem to get closer. It’s got the total opposite effect and he despises it.

He hates it all. Your closeness, your need to help him, your eyes that stare up at him with such worry, your hands bandaging him up. He promised himself, the day his wife died a couple years ago, that he’ll never involve himself with people if it isn’t for business related matters.

He’s managed to live all by himself for all those years and reached a level of independence that others could only dream of. Now it’s shattered. It feels like he’s back to square one because of your choice today. The choice to help a total random stranger.

The older man closes his eyes for a second and sighs deeply. It’s foolish of him to think of such unimportant matters. He’ll just use this to his advantage. He’ll use you, your kindness and everything you have to offer for his own sake. He’ll exploit you like he’s done to many other women before. That’s the way he’s used to treating others.

He’ll indulge your need to help him and try to act nice to satisfy those innocent wishes of yours. Just for his sake and his sake only, he promises himself.

The older man eventually speaks up again after you managed to bandage him up properly, “…Toji.”

You raise your eyebrows. You guess that that’s his name. Your lips curl up into a faint smile, feeling thankful that Toji decided to reveal that little detail about him. You grab his bloodied shirt and put it with the rest of your clothes that you need to wash. Your eyes wander over his exposed upper body for a split second, looking for any other possible injuries, only to find none. You nod in satisfaction as you grab a washcloth and wet it with some water, “that’s a nice name.”

That’s a first. Toji didn’t see the significance of complimenting someone’s name. Everyone has one, it’s not special, so why would you tell him it’s nice? Maybe he just doesn’t understand sentimental stuff like that. He’s not made out for such things. “Hm,” he lets out a small hum in acknowledgement and that’s all you get.

You walk towards him again and brush his bangs to the side. Toji holds himself back from moving away from your touch, but then remembers the decision he made mentally just moments ago. He’ll use that kindness of yours to his advantage until he’s all healed up. Then he’ll leave for good.

You place the cold cloth on his forehead. You know he’ll have a fever throughout the night because of the wound he’s suffered. You’re simply preparing him for that. You grab the painkillers that are scattered around the bed and place them on your nightstand, along with the water bottle. If he needs it, he’ll grab it, you think.

“Ah, sorry,” You snap out of it and realise that you haven’t introduced yourself properly. You might as well, considering you’ll be having Toji as your roommate for a couple days. Or at least you hope he stays that long until he’s all healed up. You continue, “my name is..”

“I already know.” Toji cuts you off before you’re able to reveal your name. You’re dumbfounded for a second. What does he mean by ‘he knows’? You tilt your head in confusion. You try to figure out how he could’ve possibly learnt your name but are unable to make any assumptions.

Toji easily notices your bewilderment. He admits that that could’ve come over as extremely creepy. He looks at the nearby wall and points at the decorations with his chin. You follow his gaze and instantly recognize what he’s staring at. It’s a picture with your friends that you have framed. They gifted it to you some time back and had engraved your name in the frame.

Toji must have cautiously examined his new surroundings whilst you were busy finalizing the treatment for his injury. You understand the need for that. Anyone would be wary in a new environment. “Hehe. Right,” he’s quite observant, you think to yourself.

You look outside of your window and close the tiny gap between your curtains. Even if you’re on the second floor, you don’t want to risk anyone finding out about what you did tonight. It still hasn’t properly processed in your brain; the fact that you have smuggled an alleged killer into your dorm. Maybe it will hit once you sleep and wake up tomorrow.

You look down at Toji with great concern. Even if the wound has been taken care of, you’re unsure if it’s even enough. A doctor would’ve been the safest option. But seeing how great Toji is handling the pain, you guess that it’ll be just fine. You glance at your hands. They have some dried blood on them. You also reek of the rain since you’re still uncomfortably soaked from before.

You decide to go take a shower. Before that, you make sure Toji has everything he needs. You give him a towel to dry himself off and make sure he can reach the first aid kit if needed. You stare at the pile of bloodied and wet clothes in the corner of your room. Both his and yours. You’ll take them to the laundry mat tomorrow.

You avert your attention back to Toji. He’s lying on his back, head turned away to the wall so he wouldn’t have to see you or look you in the eyes. It’s like he’s in his own world. You speak up again, this time a little louder, “are you gonna be alright now?”

Silence again. Toji doesn’t face you and keeps his eyes closed for some peace of mind. He sounds indifferent and distant as he answers you, “who knows.”

The ambiguous answer certainly doesn’t help ease your anxiety. You don’t want the older man to regress back to a state of near unconsciousness again. Despite your wishes, you can’t do much about it. Calling an ambulance or asking for help from others is a big no-no. For you as well, since you’ll be dragged into a big mess if anyone were to find out you gave shelter to a murderer.

“Uhm, all right. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You announce quietly, not expecting a response. You would’ve preferred it if Toji did respond so you could leave your room for a couple minutes in peace. Without worrying about his condition. You know that you’re annoying him with the constant questions and comments, but you can’t help it. You’re worried. Even if he hates the attention and would love to have as less interaction with you as possible.

“D-Don’t move, ‘kay? I’ll be back.” You add quickly. You take a few steps towards the exit and place your hand on the door handle. Your limbs won’t take another step forward. You’re worried sick that Toji’s going to grab his chance and leave the moment you’re gone. You don’t want him to go. On one hand, it’s selfish of you, but on the other hand, it’s out of consideration for his situation.

You turn your head and glance at his still figure on your bed. His bulky stature nearly took up the entirety of it. You can’t help but ramble about your worries to him, hoping it’d convince him to stay, “If they find you, I’ll get in trouble and god knows what will happen to yo—”

“Just go, woman.” Toji’s deep voice rings through your ears. It’s the second time he’s cut you off. You’re pissing him off, clearly. You immediately zip it and do as told. You decide to put your trust in him and believe that he won’t take the opportunity to leave behind your back.

Without another word, you sneak out of your dorm room, making sure to close your door behind you. You act normal in case anyone walks by and finds your behaviour suspicious. You make a beeline towards the communal showers with your toiletry bag and pyjamas in hand.

Meanwhile, Toji is finally experiencing some real peace. He empties his mind, though cannot seem to get rid of your voice. He still can’t comprehend why somebody would be this worried for him. A college student who’d be at risk of being expelled if found out. You’re taking such great risks for a man like him? He doesn’t understand.

Toji rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and groans in aggravation, “unbelievable.” Why he’s thinking it through is also something he cannot grasp. The man decides to enjoy the quiet atmosphere for now. He’s still somewhat disheveled from the entire ordeal and if he were to keep his brain running, he’d lose his mind completely. He drapes an arm over his eyes and lies there silently on the soft mattress.

A couple minutes pass. You feel like you’ve taken the quickest shower ever. You avoid as many students as possible while you make your way back to your dorm. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. You open the door and peek through the crack. It’s pitch dark in the room. The sun had fully set a while back and your curtains cover any light from outside.

You lock your door and step forward carefully. You squint and wait for your vision to accommodate to the darkness. You approach your bed and finally let out that breath you’ve been holding in. He’s still there. Toji’s still where you left him. His chest is slowly moving up and down, his breathing steady as he rests.

You quietly turn on the nightlamp in your room. It casts a faint shadow over Toji’s face. He seems to be asleep. You can’t quite tell for sure since his bicep is nearly covering the entirety of his face, but you judge based on his breathing patterns. You sit on the edge of your bed and feel tired yourself after that eventful evening. You’re sleepy. The adrenaline has worn off and exhausted you to no end.

You glance down at the bandage around his torso. You’d have to change that for him tomorrow. For now, you’re content with the outcome of it all. You shift in your seat, which causes your hand to brush against Toji’s on the bed. You feel the warmth creep up to your head. His veiny hands still had stains of blood on the skin.

Now that Toji’s asleep, he won’t refuse your help. You grab a spare washcloth from your wardrobe and wet it with some water. You carefully lift Toji’s left hand. His palm touches yours and you find yourself enjoying the physical contact. His hand is heavy—bigger and rougher than yours. There are faint scars on his fingers which reminds you of his unknown identity.

All you’ve discovered until now is his name. His background is a mystery, and you have the feeling that it’s going to stay a mystery. You’ve realized by now that Toji does not open up to just anyone. You diligently clean the crimson stains from his left hand and move to do the same for the right one. You’re as careful as you can be, not wanting to wake the injured man from his well-deserved rest.

Once done, you put the washcloth away. You yawn and look at the clock. It’s nearly midnight already. You can’t sleep on your bed since it’s occupied, and it doesn’t fit two people. You look down at the soft carpet below your feet. That’ll have to do.

You grab an available pillow and a spare blanket, setting up your own little sleeping bag on the carpet right next to the bed. You lay down and stare at the ceiling. The ticking of your clock and the occasional sound of traffic outside of the building are the only loud sounds that distract your mind from any turbulent thoughts.

All you want is to sleep. What’ll happen tomorrow or the day after that is a problem for later. You’re safe for now. For today, you can relax. Your door is locked and the man you saved hadn’t left just yet. You feel a strange form of comfort having him with you. Even if he may be a bad person, his presence somehow soothes your tired body and mind. You feel like you’re safe with him. No harm shall come your way tonight.

And with that decisive thought, you close your eyes and give in to the slumber. You turn to lay on your side, facing the frame of your bed. Facing Toji.

You smile and utter your final words for the day, “good night, Toji. Sleep well.”

You drift into the land of dreams and discard your eventful reality. Little did you know that the man on your bed had been wide awake the entire time and is now left unable to sleep. . .

to be continued !

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk angst #toji angst #please give it lots of love :)

[sanjisprincesswifey]

valentine's day

summary: spending valentine's day with the monster trio

notes: sanji, zoro, & luffy x implied female reader (separately), pure fluff

black leg sanji

sanji may know your favorite flower or candy, but he remains a teddy bear, roses, and box of chocolates kind of guy 

for sanji, it’s the idea that you deserve love in its purest form; that all he wants to give you is the love people see in movies or read in books

it’s about the sentiment; he could give you your favorite flowers or candy any other day (and he does). today, on valentine’s day, it’s about him and how he wants to show you he loves you 

he’ll plan a nice, romantic dinner that includes a sweet wine, dimly lit candles, and a meal perfectly curated for your palettes

again, to sanji it’s his way of proving to you that he loves you; he’s so in love with you, in fact, that you’re worthy of the love that others only dream of having. so tonight’s meal has been in preparation for weeks before the actual date 

he can’t help but stray from the basics and put his own touches on everything. 

sanji gets all giggly and flustered while he leaves small presents around the ship for you to find. small is a loose term though, in actuality the presents probably cost thousands of berry 

finally, he pulls a couple all nighters to write you a handwritten love letter. it obviously starts off as a proclamation of his love and obsession with you, but around the second page he begins to explain just how much you mean to him. how he’s changed for the better and learned to love both himself and life so much more now that he has you. 

the day consists of being wrapped up in your boyfriends long limbs practically every minute of the day, so many kisses you swear his lips must be tired, and words even sweeter than the candy he gives you

roronoa zoro

zoro gets lost walking on a straight path, you think he’ll remember a holiday? 

i don’t know if he even knows what day it is normally 

since he doesn’t even know what day it is, that most likely means he doesn’t even have a gift for you

sorry babe, but if you want to have a nice date you will have to plan it yourself 

however, if you mention your concerns to someone who is more situationally aware (cough, cough, nami, robin, or sanji), he may remember to get you a gift 

albeit, it won’t be wrapped and will most likely still be wearing the price tag, but it is a gift regardless

that being said, roronoa zoro is incredibly sentimental in his gift giving. just because he may be a bit forgetful does not mean that he doesn’t love you

he loves you so much he doesn’t need a day to remind you of that; he tells you every day in the way that he interacts with you 

considering how much he loves you, remember to give him some reassurance about his airhead-ness. he doesn’t want to admit it, but he was actually a little worried it might jeopardize your relationship 

monkey d luffy

knows valentine’s day is important to you so he’ll celebrate with you, but otherwise doesn’t really care much for the holiday besides all the candy, of course

luffy can’t be trusted with any money nami gives him as he’d spend it solely on meat, so he must resort to handmade gifts

but do not be fooled by the name! your captain is incredibly sweet, the handpicked flower bouquets contain all your favorite colors and all your favorite flowers. he insists on adventuring to a flower field and picking each flower individually claiming that it’ll only be right for you if he’s the one who does it

usopp, robin and nami then wrap it up all nice and pretty for that extra special touch

in classic luffy fashion, he’d also give you a box that has the appearance of a box of chocolates but inside contains a bunch of cool looking seashells or rocks that he, again, hand chose for you

no outside planning is done besides this though as dinner with luffy only sounds fun in theory; he’s a human vacuum cleaner, you wouldn’t get very far in your own meal before he’s swallowing up your food too 

he’d love for you to join him for a dance under the moonlight though

his long, rubber arms wrap around you while his body sinks into yours as you rock back and forth to the music 

and, of course, he is telling you he loves you every second of the day and every other day for the rest of your lives

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#black leg sanji #sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #sanji headcanons #zoro headcanons #luffy headcanons

[bioethicists]

beer killed my father . he had a disease which destroyed his body and strained his relationships with his wife, his friends, and his children. Alcohol destroys everything it touches, theres a reason you see so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods. don’t be fucking obtuse. Prohibition obviously doesn’t work, but I wish alcohol was taxed higher. And i want the CEO of Heineken on the guillotine right after Jeff Bezos.

before anything, i want to let you know that i am incredibly sorry about your father. alcohol has decimated entire generations of my family, played a crucial role in the neglectful family structure i spent the first 19 years of my life suffering under, + played a minor but not insignificant role in my brother's death. i would never undermine or dismiss that in anyone.

i used to feel very similarly to you, in large part because my mother is a recovering alcoholic who raised me to believe that alcohol is a magic poison which turns people into monsters + i, being her child, probably inherited a disease which would also turn me into a monster if i chose to drink. it's a deeply painful + understandable response to the pain that alcohol can cause.

my first question is, does alcohol really "destroy everything it touches"? are there not millions of people who engage with alcohol, in varying degrees of recreational use, who experience minimal or no negative impacts? or do you believe that everyone who drinks alcohol in any capacity is experiencing severe destruction in their lives as a result? does the existence of people for whom alcohol enriches their lives (or is a neutral presence) at all invalidate your experience, or your father's?

my second question is, you've identified that there are 'so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods' (i would add there is a lot of alcohol in rich neighborhoods, just distributed in less stigmatized ways, like boutique wineries + fancy bars), do you think that companies are strategically attempting to create alcohol dependencies among poor people, or do you think that poverty creates the pain, hopelessness, + desperation which can fuel an alcohol habit (which is then exacerbated by intergenerational trauma + community alcohol culture).

i feel no allegiance to liquor companies- they absolutely do make the bulk of their profits off of people who are drinking in a way that is destroying their lives (unsure if i trust the exact scope of the research in that link but i trust the gist). however, liquor companies love the disease model, because it exempts them from responsibility. if alcoholism is truly a genetic disease, then liquor companies, bars, package stores hold no fault in the development of destructive drinking habits + community norms (natasha Schüll discusses this in her book about gambling addiction)- the people were already sick + would be getting it somewhere else, anyway, right? but as you have correctly identified, liquor companies help create the structures which turn alcohol use into an accessible + normalized mode of self-destruction.

my third question is, will taxing liquor help the real problem? yes, it reduces alcohol consumption, but does it reduce addiction? or does it make cheapskates like me say "i'm not fucking paying for that" while individuals who consume alcohol compulsively either eat the cost or turn to more illicit ways of obtaining alcohol. or, rephrased, is the problem that alcohol is too accessible? is alcohol a magical poison which turns 'normal' people into 'alcoholics'? alternatively, is alcoholism a genetic condition, unrelated to any outside circumstances, which is triggered by drinking?

or: is alcoholism one of many ways in which people who are experiencing hopelessness, pain, grief, poverty, trauma, etc use to numb themselves, harm themselves, + make life feel more bearable? at this point, i do believe there is at least a temperament factor which makes people more likely to use substances over other forms of escape (hence why my brother used substances while i turned to anorexia + do not struggle with substance use). are we actually addressing the problem if we make it more expensive (thus, mind you, further impoverishing people with alcohol addictions!)? or are we shifting the pain these people are experiencing to either other avenues (opioids, other drugs, totally different ways of coping which are often just as destructive) or an unregulated, underground alcohol market.

the way you are viewing alcohol, alcohol is a unique substance which is manufacturing or feeding illness in people in order to make them behave in ways which destroy their lives + the lives of others. the way i am viewing it, alcohol is a presence which can fill a void that is being created in people's lives as a response to structural, communal, or social suffering. when alcohol is painted as the cause of this pain, we are able to look the other way from a which world is structured to cause an immense amount of people to suffer needlessly. at the same time, the common sense observation that many of us engage with alcohol in ways which do not destroy our lives, as well as the knowledge that prohibition does not work, prevents the erasure of alcohol from public or private life.

who benefits from the belief that alcohol is a uniquely corrupting substance? what lessons did we actually learn from prohibition- is trying to do it to a lesser degree (make alcohol less accessible) actually going to do anything? when the price of opioids went up due to dea crackdowns, did people stop buying opioids or did the market flood with cheap + deadly fentanyl? is the problem that people are drinking or that they are suffering?

#substance use #harm reduction #drugs // #alcohol // #death //

[flamingo-writes]

A/N: i am back from the dead after months. And it should’ve come as a surprise that I absolutely loved Hobie. Looks like a rockstar and is an absolute punk. My type in a nutshell.

I’m gonna be using some of these headcanon for future

Gal in The Chair — Hobie Brown x Artist!Reader

I think Hobie would be the kind of guy to fall for someone who he’s known for a long while, that being said, you’d perhaps known him all of your life

Having grown together, the two of you shaped a lot of each other’s beliefs. So no wonder the two of you were so compatible.

After the spider bite, you saw the whole journey from Hobie freaking out at first, to him figuring out how to use his new abilities.

He designed his web shooters, being the genius he is with technology. You helped him with his suit, specially his mask.

You became his Gal in the Chair

You liked to fix up and personalise clothes. All of your pieces of clothings came from second hand shops and you gave them a make over doing all sorts of stuff on them to make them unique and yours.

You also did this with a lot of Hobie’s clothes. As well as teaching him how to use your sewing machine.

After graduating high school, you opened a small alternative clothing shop in with unique pieces, doing the same thing you did for your clothes on this one. As well as doing hand made jewerly like bracelets, necklaces and earrings. You also had a talent with plants, managing to almost magically bring plants back to life and reproduce them like crazy, you added selling plants into your small business.

As Spider-Man gained traction, he low key promoted your work to his followers and people who agreed with him. This in order to keep negative attention from falling on you, and keep bad guys from thinking and theorising that maybe you knew Spider-Man.

As a side gig, you educated yourself on coffee making, and learned about the different processes and types of coffee beans there were. It started as a hobby, but soon you also implemented that into your shop.

The fact that you were so versatile, made Hobie feel incredibly proud of you. You seemed to be so independent, and creative and that never ending curiosity and passion made him harvest feelings for you.

Eventually, the close friendship, and companionship grew into affectionate and romantic feelings.

Hobie was always flirty, but it wasn’t until now that you started behaving differently. Normally he played his electric guitar but now you found him playing his acoustic guitar more.

He showed you a song he wrote. And while it was unusual —however, not imposible— to hear a romantic song coming from him, it wasn’t until the first minute that you realised the song was about you.

That’s how he chose to tell you about his feelings.

He didn’t intend for it to be this romantic, he simply one day word vomited the song and used one free afternoon to add the music.

After hearing his song, it was actually you who grabbed him and kissed him.

More than satisfied with the outcome, he kissed you back, put his guitar down and pulled you over his lap.

You two became inseparable since. You already were, but now it was more evident.

You worked at home, doing all the creative things you did, selling them, helping Spider-Man with art shows and gigs.

Those who paid close attention, they were able to determine you were some sort of associate to Spider-Man. However, all of them were also punks and anarchist so of course they kept their mouths shut. Spider-Man was always looking out for those in need. They were going to help a brother back and not tell anyone whenever any authority or weird-looking threat asked if anyone knew Spider-Man, or someone close to him.

You became widely known between Spider-Man supporters, although none of them would ever dare to snitch on you.

After Hobie met Gwen, she brought her over, you two became close friends right away. Letting Gwen crash at your place more often than not. She even offered to help you with the dishes and the groceries as thanks for letting her stay.

“You’re Hobie’s friend, you’re welcome whenever you want,” You’d told her.

Pav was also a frequent visitor. He loved your coffee, he taught you how to make chai. And you had chai ready for whenever Hobie told you Pav was going to be there.

Pav also bought plants from you all the time. Most of them for his mom. He once asked you if you could make a set of earrings and a necklace for his mom.

The set was a success and Pav always told you how much she loved them,

Eventually Miles also came around. And it wasn’t until Miles met you that his suspicions of Hobie and Gwen dating dissappeared.

Miles saw the absolute pure love with which Hobie looked at you. He still made the same sarcastic and cheeky jokes while talking to you. But the way he looked at you was completely different to the way he looked at anyone else.

Hobie convinced Miles to buy a plant and some earrings for his mother.

“Listen mate, this is what my girl does for a living. Plus the world needs to learn to appreciate the handiwork of an artisan,”

Miles was even surprised at how Hobie still looked cool while being mushy and cheesy with you as he hugged you, kissed your head, or played with your hands or hair.

Hobie had zero fucks to give about what people think about him, he doesn’t give a shit about PDA. Gwen thinks it’s gross, Pav thinks it’s adorable, Miles is simply puzzled as to how he is still cool when seeing his parents doing the same thing would make him cringe so hard.

Hobie is amused by the different reactions he gets. Especially Gwen’s grossed out face.

He still loves kissing you every chance he gets. Whether if it’s kissing you passionately. A subtle peck. Sweet kissed on your cheek or your forehead.

#hobie headcanons #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown fanfiction

[firstfirerebel]

𝕳𝖎𝖘

Sumary: Tom Riddle is obsessed with reader and won't tolerate her being somewhere else than his side (Reader is against the hate on Muggles or Muggle-Born wizards)

Pairing: yandere Adult!Tom Riddle/Voldemort x fem! reader

Warnings: Dark content, obsession, mention of the three Unforgivable Curses, implied kidnapping, death, yandere, toxic behavior

Time: First Wizarding War (meaning Voldemort/Tom is still a normal man)

English is not my native language!

I DO NOT SUPPORT OR ROMANTICIZE YANDERE BEHAVIOR!!!

"Why won't you just understand that all I want to do is create a new world, a better one. One were you, and I will rule together!"

"But I don't want that! In fact, I don't even want to be near you! I'll never join you nor support you. Just give up already and let me free!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another day in the Malfoy Manor where you were captured by none other than the dark lord himself. And another day, where you just hoped to escape or die. Sounds harsh? Listen to your story first...

You have known Tom since your Hogwarts time. You weren't in the same house but in the same year, and even though you weren't close, you did happen to have some lessons together. Never you would've considered him a friend. He was just a classmate who sometimes helped you with potions, and in your free time, you sometimes met him in the libary by coincidence, but that was it.

Yeah, you did find him attractive, but you would have never thought to date him or something like that. After all, he always wanted to be alone and didn't like company. You also preferred being alone, to be honest. Still, he somehow scared you from the beginning. His eyes hold no emotions, but in his actions and his aura, all you felt or saw was pure hate. Tom didn't talk about his past, but he didn't have to for you to figure out that it must have been no good one.

Once you were in sixth grade, attacks on muggle-born students happened, and in the end, Myrtle, who was a friend of yours, was killed.

Yeah, she was very difficult , but she didn't mean any harm towards anyone. Besides that, she was bullied by so many students that you just felt pity for her. You were also bullied in your first years at hogwarts until the students stopped out of nowhere. Since then, you have had problems with being social. Most people who were close with you ended up using you for their own benefits or saw you as their therapist or something like that.

Okay, Myrtle was known for being over sensitive, but still, if people knew she would cry because of mean comments, then why make them? She was in her third year when she died, and she only flew to the girls' toilet because Olive Hornby made fun of her again, which made you more sad about her death. It's not like she chose to have glasses. What was wrong with some people?

In the end, Riddle accused Hagird of being responsible for her death. Only you and Proffesor Dumbledore were convinced that it couldn't have been Hagrid. He was way too nice and kind-hearted for such a terrible crime as murder. Though you didn't think it was Tom either.

But it didn't matter. Hagrid was suspended, and that was the end of it.

Since that time, you didn't trust Tom Riddle anymore. He was the one who made everyone believe that Hagird was guilty. And somehow, since the incident, Tom's aura has become even more intimidating and dark. At least that's how it felt to you...

Once you graduated, you didn't hear of him again, which didn't bother you at all. You lived a peaceful life for a long time. You loved your job. You had true friends. You could do your hobbies. And sometimes you even went on a few dates.

But, if it would have stayed that way, you wouldn't be at Voldemorts' side against your will, would you?

The day that ruined your life was a rainy day. It wasn't too cold nor too warm, so you decided to take a walk in the nearby woods. You loved to spend your time there. All the creatures and plants fascinated you every time without fail. Sometimes, you even saw unicorns, which felt like a miracle everytime Besides, it was one of the last peaceful places left.

War would soon come. It was only a matter of time. Everybody knew that. Maybe you only had two months left, or you still got two years. No one knew except the ones on Voldemorts side.

At that time, you only knew that 'The Dark Lord' was a user of the dark arts. And he hated Muggles and Muggle-Borns. Which was enough for you to despite him. Dark magic was never something you approved, and you didn't care about the blood status of anyone. What mattered to you was always the person.

Usually, the woods were filled with life and joy, but that day was different. The forest looked intimidating from the outside, and you even thought about going back home.

Sadly, you didn't listen to your inner voice. But, it wouldn't have changed your fate...

Once you entered it, you didn't hear the happy cheers of the birds like always. And you didn't see any nifflers running by or other creatures in general. Something was definitely wrong.

But you continued to walk, which would soon turn out to be a fatal mistake. As soon as you reached the river, that was in the forest, you realized why everything was so different than usual.

Death Eaters had chased and killed a Muggle-Born witch with her family. They were on a camping trip, as you could tell from the scenery. But there was still a girl, most likely two or three years old, still alive.

Without a second thought, you hid behind a big tree and some bushes around it.

It seemed like the Death Eaters didn't know what to do with her. Maybe she wasn't part of the plan? At first, you thought that this was not an important mission for them, but then you saw Bellatrix. She was very well known as Voldemorts' right hand. She personally learned dark magic from him and was definitely the most loyal Death Eater there ever was. So this must be a really important matter.

You couldn't stand her guts and wanted nothing more than to just slap her even if you didn't know her in person. Dark magic wasn't something you supported. But still, you couldn't deny that she was dangerous and powerful. Her madness didn't lower that fact.

Since dying wasn't on your to-do lost today, you ran away as fast as you could. Since they were arguing so loud, they didn't hear you. Of course, you wanted to help the little girl, but it was simply impossible to get her without getting caught. And against a whole troup of Death Eaters with one being BELLATRIX, you didn't stand a chance.

But luck wasn't on your side...

As you ran away from the horrible scene, you ran into a Death Eater. They wore their typical black clothes and their mask was on, so you didn't see who it was.

Before you could grab your wand, you heard an angry mumbled 'stupor'. You fell onto the ground and blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you awoke, you didn't dare to open your eyes. After all, you got caught by a death eater, so you being alive was a miracle. You didn't hear any voices around you. It also wasn't cold and wet around you, so being locked up in a cellar wasn't the case as well...

Beneath you was a comfortable mattress. It was soft and made you want to fall asleep on it. But what the hell was this all about?!

If you're caught by the bad guys, you normally don't wake up in a soft bed. Did they bring you back home? No, that would be too risky. Maybe they wanted some information, but you weren't really someone well known in the wizarding world.

Patiently, you waited a few more minutes, but still not even the slightest noise. So you opened your eyes.

You were in a dark room. The main colors were black and dark green. Black wardrobes and black walls. The bed was made of black wood, but the sheets were dark green, the big carpet on the floor as well. No one was with you in this room. Desperately, you wanted to know where you were. From the colors, you would have guessed that it was a Slytherin Dormitory in Hogwarts. But kidnappers don't bring you to your old school!

Scared you inspected the room once again. Nothing was familiar...

You took a deep breath and stood up. If you would die, fine, but as long as you had the slightest chance of escape you would take it.

The carpet felt also really expensive beneath your feet. By the way, your kidnappers were so nice to pull off your shoes before laying you into bed...

Everything in this room seemed to be just made for this specific room. Which frightened you even more.

Suddenly, the door was opened, and you saw a pretty woman (walking down the street 🤣) in the doorframe. She was slim and tall, had long blonde hair that was tied up in a bun. Her tight dress was rose gold with a black cloak over it. All in all, she looked like a wealthy woman. Her face was pretty as well, but she looked like she got a dung under her nose. Weird.

"Get up and follow me, My Lady," her cold and clear voice told you.

"Uhm, I'm not your Lad -" but she was already on her way to your goal. You had no clue where it was, but following her was better than sitting around, right?

"I know this must be really confusing, but our Lord will explain it to all of us soon. I was just told to get you and call you that. Now, please, don't make this harder for us than it already is,"

You managed to catch up to her. Now you also saw that her eyes were ice blue. Matching her cold voice.

"Who are you?" you asked softly. Kowing her name could be a good hint to where you were.

"Narcissa Black, soon to be Narcissa Malfoy," the woman didn't look at you for one second, her eyes were focused on the walls. So you were still in the claws of the death eaters. Family Black was well known for their puryity, not a family you would have gotten along with.

The corridor was huge by the way. Dark colors still dominating. Only the chandelier was white. Did this belong to one person or was it the headquarters of Voldemort and his minions or what? Instead of getting awnsers you only got more questions as you walked after Narcissa.

Downstairs. A few steps upstairs again. Left. Left again. Right. Straight forward. The second right.

Was this a house or a Labyrinth?! How were you supposed to find your way in here? You even got lost in Digeon Ally!

But after what felt like an internity, you both reached a large black table, people gathered around it. A tall man stood up from his chair as he heard you two enter. As he turned around, you saw your old classmate Tom Riddle, but if he was here, he wouldn't help you. If he became a death eater, he was behind after everything you swore to fight. He wasn't an ally or a friend anymore. He was a danger and a threat to you and many innocent people who weren't here.

You tried to hide behind Narcissa. After all, she was the only person who seemed at least a little trustworthy, and she was another woman. Maybe she knew how unsafe you felt because mostly men were in this room. The only other woman was a mad Bellatrix, never ever you would trust her.

"Ah, there they are. Come in, " Tom spoke. His voice had changed, and it was more intimidating than it was before.

You didn't move an inch, but Narcissa started to move forward. Being all alone without someone to hide behind was more scarry, so you followed her, but you were still behind her.

"Oh no, don't be afraid. No one here will even dare to glare at you, my dear. They knew the punishment would be worse than death," You couldn't recognize Tom anymore. The hate in his presence, his voice, his appearance, everything scared you. Back in school, you didn't fear him, at least not for his house or his roots. Just because he was a Slytherin, it didn't mean that he was evil, but now? His opinions were completely different than yours, and this was not a stupid novel of the stereotype enemies to lovers cause he was just plain and simple wrong with his thoughts on muggleborn or muggles in general.

[Funfact: I don't get the hype on this topic, see, for being autistic I got bullied for many years and than reading a story about two people hating each other's guts and than falling for each other just feels wrong for me, you can read whatever you want ofc, this was just my unpopular opinion]

Still, you hid behind Narcissa, but as she tried to go towards a man with long blonde hair and her crazy sister, you felt completely defenseless. The only person you used to know seemed to be the head of everything here, and Narcissa wasn't at your side anymore. Sadly, Tom saw your fear. He went towards you and pulled you in an unwanted hug. Softly, he petted your hair and whispered sweet nothings. As soon as this horror hug ended, he smiled at you and turned towards the others.

"If anything should happen to her, everyone will be held responsible! You know the punishment, now go! We are done here!" As the last word fell, everyone disapparated, and only you and him were left.

And then you realized it. If he could order the death eaters around, he must be the dark lord himself. Tom Riddle, your old classmate, was Voldemort.

You backed away from him but regretted it soon. Tom didn't take rejection good...

"Why are you scared? I won't harm you. In fact, I am the one who has kept you safe since I saw you!"

"Are you mad?!" You yelled back into his already mad face. Wrong choice again. In full rage he stormed through the room and kicked everything in his way. Chairs and even the whole table practically flew through the room.

"Who protected you from those bullies back in Hogwarts?! Who kept you safe from all filthy boys who just wanted to break your heart?! Who killed the mudblood Myrtle so you were safe from her?!"

So Dumbledore was right... Tom opened the chamber of secrets all those years ago. And killed your friend.

"Myrtle was my friend! I never asked for your personal protection, Tom!"

Somehow that calmed him down! Yep, that man was a complete psychopath...

"But you didn't have to, my dear", he ran towards you and cupped your cheek while looking into your eyes.

"Keeping you safe will always be my priority. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you and I knew that I would always protect you. Look around, here in our mansion you will always be safe. No one will ever harm you again. We'll be safe here! After I've won this war you and I can live here in peace. Just imagine it, I'll make us so many horcruxes that we won't ever die. Here we will raise our kids and they'll never go through the pain of being an orphan like I was", pain and hate was in his voice at the simple thought of 'death' and 'orphan'. But having a family with this insane man? Hell nah, you'd flee the moment you got the chance!

"I know now this is scary for you, and you might think of escaping, but this whole mansion is surrounded by death eaters, the moment you even think of fleeing you'll be brought to your room and trust me, I know how to punish or torture someone so that no mistace will ever happen again",

And that's how you ended up here. Behind you was the man that claimed to love you fast asleep. Yet he was the one who made you go through all of this. Most traumas you had were because of his action. If this was love, than you could already drown in it.

You had no idea if you could ever escape or if even the try of escaping was a good idea. This man wasn't well known for his kindness or his patience.

Maybe playing along would make it easier, but would your mental health take that well? Or would that make him do worse things 'out of love'?

Still, you rethought your first actions towards Tom, trying to figure out what made his obsession start. Was it your look? Your hairstyle? Your body language?

Or was it just being unlucky?

#Tomxreader #reader insert #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #voldemort #voldemort x reader #yandere #dark themes #yandere x reader #harry potter #harry potter universe #first wizarding war

[marvelmymarvel]

Not Special

Kakashi Hatake x NarutoMotherFigure!Reader

Synopsis: Before Naruto, you were a feared kunoichi who killed thousands before the age of 14. Naruto didn't know any of this, which is why you weren't anything special to him. But that all changes after the Hokage asks you to pick the sword up again to protect the village against an impending threat.

Naruto Masterlist: Here

“My mom isn't anyone special. She's just normal!”

Kakashi’s eyebrow shot up at that, eyes landing on the blonde as he talked adamantly to Sakura about how cool the other kid's parents were - and how uncool you were. He pursed his lips, fighting back the urge to spill the truth about you and your past, but he knew you wanted to keep it a secret. You weren't proud of it; it was much bloodier than his was. You gave it up for Naruto when he came along. Your time in the ninja world was short, yet many feared you.

All things Naruto didn't know.

But Kakashi couldn't stop his questions from coming out, wondering why Naruto saw you as a ‘weakling’ in the first place. “You say Y/n isn't special? How come?” Naruto stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at Kakashi. “Well, she’s not a shinobi, first off. Secondly, all she does nowadays is help out at the daycare-”

“So that makes her not special?”

“Come on Kakashi-Sensei. You know what I mean! She's just not as strong as we are… Ya know?” 

The silence that hung in the air made Naruto shift on his feet, unnerved by his Sensei's sudden change in attitude. It was almost like he was challenging him to say another word. But Naruto knew better. “You don't know anything about who she was before you came along, Naruto….” 

“Wasn’t she 14? Kakashi-Sensei, I’m not sure she could have done much damage by the time she had turned 14-”

“That's enough” Kakashi’s sharp tone had Naruto shutting his mouth from fear; he didn't know how or why, but his statement cut deep. Kakashi wished you would have told Naruto about your past, why you stopped fighting, and why you kept it hidden. He wouldn't have to continuously hear about how ‘weak’ you were if you had just told Naruto everything.

“Now, let's begin our mission, shall we?”

Days had passed since Naruto left for his mission with the rest of team 7. You made Kakashi promise to keep him safe, which allowed you to focus on other ways to help the community. You had just handed off the last toddler to their parent and headed into the daycare to clean up your room. A figure in the middle of the mess caused you to jump in your spot - “Lord third! You scared me.”

He hummed at that before leaning against a bookshelf, pipe in between his teeth as he took in the chaotic room. The Third Hokage was against the path you chose; he’d have you as his personal guard if it were his way. He respected your wishes and respected them for 12 years, but now, as the threat of an enemy loomed over the village, he was coming back to you with a new offer.

One you simply cannot refuse.

“It is quite a shame that you gave up the Jonnin life at 14. You were a fine student, almost, if not better than Kakashi was,” He started as he moved through the room, his old eyes scanning over the arts and crafts drying on the tables. 

Your lips pursed at the sound of the Third Hokage’s words. You’ve heard this rant before; it was his specialty. He’d build you up with praise and acknowledgment, making you feel like you were the only person who could save the village before throwing an offer for you to return to the ninja life. You couldn't deny you missed it but didn't miss the blood. Didn't miss the death. Raising Naruto was more rewarding than killing hundreds of people for the village's sake.

Yet, you listened. Soaking up every word he told you as if you needed to hear them. He continued, recounting all of your successes before stopping to look at a particular picture on the wall. It was of you and your classroom, all in the picture, smiling. Did he want to do this? You sighed before bending down to pick up the toys on the floor.

“You don't just give praise without a request. Get on with it, Lord Third. I have a classroom to clean up.”

His eyes flicked to your figure. Your tone alone told him that your walls were up, and you wouldn't let him easily throw his suggestion over them. You would put up a fight, but maybe if he added Naruto into the mix, then you’d listen.

“You care about Naruto’s well-being, yes?”

Your body froze as your fingers hovered over a toy, your heart lurching in your throat as you braced yourself for this new approach. This was a sick, twisted way of getting what he wanted. He’s done this to you many times before, and while you know it's a trap, you always walk into it. You don't answer him, but your silence does.

“There's a threat looming over the village… I’ve gathered my best men, but I’m still missing the greatest one of all….” You sighed at that, eyebrows crinkling in pain as you felt the guilt creeping up your neck, practically strangling you with its cold bony fingers. “Naruto won't be safe if you can't help protect the village.”

There it was. 

Your e/c eyes flicked to his as you stood up straight. He was right in a sick, twisted kind of way. If you were involved, the threat would be easily avoidable. But how would you tell Naruto? You never once told him how many you’ve saved and never how many you’ve butchered in the name of the leaf village. He didn't know of the nightmares you shared with Kakashi or the vomiting due to the stress your young body was under.

He didn't know any of it. 

To him, you were just a daycare teacher. But to the village, to your Hokage, you were more. 

“I would like you to join the ANBU. When the threat passes, I will let you decide if you want to stay in the ANBU or return to this lifestyle.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears, and you fought the panic in your chest. You’ve been on a couple of missions with the ANBU; they were more ruthless than you were. Your teary eyes drifted to the picture beside the Hokage, lip pursing as you took in the smiling faces of the children you cared for daily. It wasn't just about you or Naruto; it never was.

“What do you say?”

You looked back at him before nodding slowly, “I will join the ANBU, but once this is over. I will never be picking up a Kunai again.”

Naruto bounded back into the village as their mission got cut short. The news spread like wildfire that a threat was coming down on the village, and all ninjas had been requested to return for backup. He raced to the daycare despite Kakashi’s yells. He had to get you to safety. You were the only person he cared for the most in this entire world. If anything happened to you, he would lose himself.

Naruto screamed your name as he ran up to the daycare, flinging open the doors as he flew down the hall. The lights were off, and a cold breeze flew past him as his eyes landed on the sight of your daycare room. Bodies lay everywhere, causing his eyes to widen at the sight of the enemy ninja strewn along the floor with jagged stabs in their chests. He backed out of the room; breath growing labored as he thought through where you may be. Naruto wasn't thinking clearly as he flew out of the daycare building. He would have known that the trap was set just for him if he were thinking clearly.

And he walked right into it.

A bag was shoved over his face as he was tackled. He called out for help, kicking and screaming for the men to get off him. The sound of slicing filled the air, and warm liquid splattered all over him; bodies were shoved off him one by one. Before long, he had freed himself from the group and ripped off the face covering. The sight before him made him stare in awe - A female ANBU officer was slaughtering the ninja one by one without breaking a sweat. It was as if they were nothing to her, almost as if she could take a hundred of them all at once and never falter in her movements. Finally, her sword drove through the chest of the last remaining ninja.

Naruto’s mouth hung open as she ripped the sword from the man's chest, sighing as she looked down at herself. She was drenched with blood. It was on her uniform, on her mask, in her hair, on her hands. The only thing she could wipe off was her sword. 

“Wow! That was, uh… Thank you” 

Her head snapped to the side to look at him before she once more let out a sigh. She slid the blade against her pant leg, trying to wipe off the blood she had accumulated in the past couple of hours. She put the sword back in the sheath on her back before storming towards him; reaching down, she hauled him back onto his feet.

“Why are you here?! Where is Kakashi?!” 

Naruto’s eyebrows furrowed at her words, the voice sounded familiar, but his brain refused to connect the dots. “You know Kakashi-Sensei? You’re starting to freak me out, lady.” The woman froze before him, realizing she had made a deadly error and there was no going back. She sighed before lifting her hand to her mask, “You can't tell anyone, Naruto.”

Naruto’s jaw dropped at the sight before him, “Hey… What the hell?!”

You shot a warning glare, silently scolding him for his language, but he didn't care. You were the ANBU lady??? The one he just saw brutally murder the 20 men lying around you. His eyes wandered around your face, brows crinkling in confusion as his brain caught up to the fact that you were in front of him, wearing an ANBU uniform and covered in blood. Lots and lots of blood.

“But, you’re not a shino-”

You sighed at his statement before he even finished, “A shinobi, yes I haven't been one for years” Naruto grew more confused at your confession. “For years? You were a shinobi before?” A small laugh flew from your lips as you face-palmed yourself. The blood on your hand smeared onto your face, making you cringe at the feeling and smell. Your heart started to race as you brought your hand from your face, eyes wide as you took in the crimson staining your skin. It made you feel sick; you didn't miss this at all. 

“Didn't I tell you to stay by my side Naruto?” Naruto jumped at Kakashi’s words as he landed beside you, slowly approaching you as if not wanting to spook you. “God, I hate this, Kakashi,” you whined out as you tried to look away from the blood on your hands. Kakashi quickly wiped it away with a small rag, reassuring you that you were doing something good, even if it meant killing people. There had been many nights where he’d have to reassure you in such a manner. The guilt you felt drove you mad; in a way, you were thankful for Naruto, who gave you a way out.

“How many did you kill, Y/n?” Kakashi whispered as he looked around the daycare. He was trying to gauge how many angry men would come after you. “About 70” 

Naruto gasped at the number, eyes widening as you turned into Kakashi. “So we should prepare for 100 more coming your way?” 

You nodded as your lip quivered - “I don't want to kill them. I can't do it anymore. I’m so tired.”

Kakashi nodded before starting to take off your vest. If he could get you out of the recognizable outfit and away from the fighting, he could quickly finish off the 100 angry men for you. “I can handle them; it's fine-”

“70?!” 

Your eyes shot to Naruto’s, and you froze at his awe-struck face. You didn't know if he was amazed or disgusted, but both reactions would have made your stomach churn all the same. Kakashi felt your sickness by the way you swayed in his arms, “Naruto, now is not the time-”

“I mean, how badass are you!? And you didn't even tell me?!?!”

Your eyes grew wide as you scanned the tree line for incoming intruders; suddenly, your fear-stricken face turned hard. Snatching up the mask from the ground, you shoved it on before drawing your sword. Kakashi held his breath. Your hearing was much sharper than his ever was. Before you knew it, 100 ninjas surrounded you three. You’ve fought more in one go; it was a simple task compared to other things you’ve had to do.

But doing it in front of Naruto made you falter. 

Did you want him to see the beast inside of you? The beast you hid from him as best you could. You let him believe you were boring to conceal that you were a kunoichi feared by many nations. You killed many men without mercy because you were instructed to, just as a good soldier does.

One of the ninjas looked toward Naruto, causing you to jump into action. You screamed for Naruto to run before slicing your sword to kill them quickly before they could get their hands on him. Naruto, for once, listened and ran to hide behind the building wall, far enough from the fighting to stay safe but close enough to watch you fight through the group. Kakashi did help a little, but you did most of the work. He was amazed and felt slightly guilty at his previous assumptions about you being weak. The display before him was anything but weak.

Within minutes, you had thinned down the group until the last one remained. Naruto expected you to kill him, but you did something else entirely. Your fingers gripped the bleeding man's collar, ripping him up so he was face-to-face with your ANBU mask. “Who do you take directions from? Who was the leader of this attack??” Your words were icy and full of hatred, not full of the warmth and love Naruto was used to. A shiver ripped down his spine as he watched you cock your head at the spluttering man. “Who. Is. In. Charge.” your snarl made the man break as he screamed out the name of the person in charge of the entire thing. You scoffed at him before driving your sword slowly into his chest. It was deliberately pushed in at a location that would  ensure a slow and painful death. It was then that Naruto realized this was the same ninja that looked his way at the beginning of the fight.

You ripped out your sword, letting the man fall to the ground as you watched him gasp for breath. Blood bubbled up from his throat before spewing from his mouth, he wouldn't die from internal bleeding, but he would die from drowning in the blood pooling in his lungs. Your head turned to the side, and while Naruto couldn't see your eyes, he knew your gaze was locked on him. You scared him and amazed him at the same time. He was amazed that you had taken down so many men without a worry in the world, but he was also scared at how fast you turned off your emotions when you went into killing mode.

You weren't the same. He didn't like this side of you.

A sigh flew from your lips as you read him like an open book. He was always so easy to see right through. You saw the fear radiating off him, causing you to drop your sword and rip off your mask as if trying to show him it was still you. That you were still the mom he loved so much. 

That you were nothing special.

But that wasn't true anymore; at least the last part wasn't.

You stepped towards him, head cocking as he cowered behind the wall. “Naruto, honey, I won't hurt you.” He didn't budge, didn't dare to, as you walked closer to him. “You aren’t my mom. I don't know who you are, but-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom,” you stated firmly as you dropped into a crouch feet away from him. He jumped in his spot, flying back as you startled him. You smiled at his jumpiness but knew that this reaction was warranted. His lips trembled at your statement, and you realized your mistake. “No, no, that's not what I meant. The mom you know is not the mom in front of you. The person standing in front of you is someone that hasn't existed for 12 years. Naruto, I hate this person more than you would ever know. I let this person go so I could raise you, and after tonight, she will never come back.” You moved to sit cross-legged before him, hoping the childlike position would reassure him that the one he was talking to was his mom. 

The old you was far gone.

Naruto’s blue eyes flicked from you to Kakashi, who stood quietly behind you, hands in his pockets as if all this was old news. Because it was. Kakashi was the one that got you out of this mindset, and it silently terrified him just how easy it was for you to slip back into it. He knew he needed to bring it up later but now was not the time.

Seeing that his Sensei was calm and collected, Naruto nodded at your words before crawling towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed as he approached you, but they soon relaxed once you realized what he was doing. Naruto climbed into your lap, forcing your arms to wrap around him and cradle him in your embrace. You bit back a chuckle and pulled him in more, the blood smeared all over his clothes, but he didn't mind. He just needed to be reminded that you were his loving, carefree, warm-hearted mom. He didn't want a mom that was special. He didn't want a mom that was a renowned shinobi. He just wanted you. As you held him close, you decided then and there that you would never pick up a sword again, because caring for Naruto was more rewarding than wearing a mask and protecting the village. 

And nothing would change that.

#Kakashi imagine #kakashi imagines #kakashi hatake imagine #kakashi hatake imagines #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #naruto imagine #naruto imagines #naruto x reader

[voidpetrova]

a little less lonely — jj maybank x reader

part 2 can be found here

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, alcohol consumption, adultery mentioned, rebounding, one-sided feelings, explicit sexual content under the cut: unprotected sex, creampie, tit play, overstimulation, squirting — angst, smut

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: what better way is there to heal a broken heart than over-complicating things with just a few glasses of wine to start things off?

✧.*

things had never been so complicated. under any normal circumstances, people found themselves drawn in by the beauty of the carolina coast. so eager to strip themselves of their everyday stress, all they seeked was a temporary sense of peace—an artificial promise that everything would be alright. maybe not right then and there, because all those problems found a way out the minute sunny, warm skies and salty waves came into the picture. the people were friendly, despite the tension. the food was great, as was the company. there was no better example of the perfect place.

however, bad luck had a way of clinging to those who found themselves with no way out, not even on earth's paradise.

you were never able to figure out where it all went wrong with john b. no matter how many hours you spent thinking about it, let alone distracting yourself from it, you failed to point out where exactly the bridge began to shake. the possibilities were endless. did it have anything to do with sarah's sudden presence amongst the group itself? did it have anything to do with growing tensions between him and rafe? he could've been drained, you could've just grown apart. in the end, he offered no explanation when he chose to end things with you. it was a swift, clean cut.

to be frank, you were feeling quite zen with the entire situation. despite having spent two full years with him, it truly didn't affect you as much as you expected. if you were asked about it two years ago, you'd have thought your life would fall apart. when the moment finally came, you accepted it with a gracious heart, no matter how much you truly yearned for him. you loved him, there was no denying it, but you knew you had no say in the decisions he made. you knew that from the second you met him.

you found yourself in front of his doorstep, offering a few quiet knocks to the wooden door. up until that point, he had returned a two full boxes of a few of your personal belongings he had grown to collect throughout your relationship. a third box with your name on it was waiting for you, just on the other side.

when the door opened, you found yourself face-to-face once more. you offered him a kind smile, gazing up at him. it was impossible to read his expressions, to tell what and how he was feeling. perhaps stoic, maybe sympathetic, even. his eyes were almost soulless, despite the smile he returned.

“hey,” you broke the silence, clasping your hands together. “you have the box, right?” he showed no interest jn accompanying your dialogue, offering only a small nod in response before turning on his heel, heading towards the box. you bit your lip, as if ashamed for giving in so fast, it definitely chipped away at the zen you were feeling just a few minutes prior. thankfully enough, your thoughts didn't offer much consolation for long. loud, angry, familiar voices pierced your ears, you couldn't help but turn in the direction of the source.

the last person you had expected was to see jj, someone you had spent a good portion of your life dating despite the messy ending. you had spent a decent five years with him, no matter how bad the last few months were. he was somewhat of a childhood best friend, with the two of you growing up in the same area, both of your fathers being best friends. after a while, perhaps just before puberty, you grew distant, but when the growth spurts finally hit, you were inseparable. he was your first boyfriend, and you were his first girlfriend. you had gone through so much together, teaching each other the rights and wrongs of a relationship, and you truly expected it to last. everybody did. all of that joyous hope went to waste when he met kiara, leading to the ultimate decision of throwing five years in the water for a cheap one-night stand, which eventually led to a serious relationship over the course of a few days. needless to say, no matter how angry and heartbroken it left you, you remained civil—for everybody's sake.

much like every other day, he wasn't alone. you squinted your eyes amidst the sun's beaming rays, making out kiara's frame trailing behind him, down the stairs of the house's front porch. there was all too much screaming from her side, frantic arm waving, long strings of curses. however, jj wasn't hesitant to retort. you couldn't tell what the argument was about, but the way he stormed off and climbed into the white, worn-out travel van could only tell you one thing—whatever they had going on, was over.

you turned around once again, only this time, returning john b's stare. he had come back, arms wrapped around the box. you didn't know how long he had been standing there, you were more focused on the way the top of the box was sealed shut, your name written atop in big, black letters. “damn, at least we aren't acting like them.” it was your subtly unsubtle attempt to lighten the mood, but no matter how subtle you could be, all john b responded with was a shrug—before closing the door, right in your face.

it wasn't necessarily a feeling of defeat, as much as it was a sign that you needed a glass of wine in your system as fast as possible.

when the sun had finally set, the moonlight gladly took its place, casting shadows alongside your trailer park. you were sat on your dining room chair, a bathrobe hugging you warmly as you crossed your legs, admiring the bottle of cheap wine calling your name. there really wasn't much negotiating needed to win you over—you found yourself reaching for the bottle before you even began thinking about it. maybe that was all you really needed for the zen to reach its full potential.

all that potential may as well have gone to waste when you heard the doorbell ring, a feeling of unease settling. nonetheless, no matter how ticked off, you clutched the front of your bathrobe tightly as you treaded toward the door. “who is it?” you called out, once in front of the door. a sigh was heard at first, but you didn't know what to expect anymore. perhaps john b, perhaps another one of your friends coming in to offer their condolences.

“it's your ex-boyfriend!” the familiar voice practically chirped. of all the unexpected guests you could have had, this one really took the cake. you rolled your eyes as you hesitantly reached for the doorknob. “jj, what do you want?” you were taken aback once you opened the door, taking a step back when you got a good look at jj, two suitcases by his side and a bag slung over his shoulder. he offered you a friendly smile, accompanied by an almost nervous wave.

“you saw the shitshow today, i presume,” he let out a nervous laugh, free hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “kiara and i just broke up.”

maybe your conscience truly was getting the best of you, or maybe you were healing. whatever it was, it made you sympathize with him. no matter what the past stated, you couldn't help but return the smile, opening the door just a little bit more as you stepped aside. you knew they've had their fair share of arguments, but you never really expected them to break up. not yet, at least. “oh, well, come on in.”

his gratitude wasn't immediately evident, not as much as his shock. he expected many things, from more yelling to bag-throwing and even hissy fits, but not any acts of kindness.

in no time, you found yourself in his company, right on the chair next to you, and it was time to crack the bottle open. he couldn't help but laugh, seeing you so eagerly fiddle with the corkscrew. it wasn't in a taunting matter, despite the look you shot him, but rather in pale admiration. you had poured yourselves each a glass as you brought your knees back up to your chest, awaiting further explanation from him.

“sorry to come over on such short notice, but i couldn't face going to a motel.” you raised an eyebrow, shooting him a playful look. “that's okay,” you murmured in response, tracing the shape of your glass before leaning it in for another sip. “is there a reason you're crashing here and not at john b's?”

he shrugged, clasping his hands together quietly as he stared into his glass, watching the ripples and bubbles the pale yellow liquid provided. “didn't feel like dealing with his shit today,” he licked his lips as he paused, eyes flickering between you and the glass, as if hesitant. “also, sarah was with him. didn't feel like dealing with her shit either.” the unexpected mention of her name sent a sharp twinge in your chest, and you couldn't help the silent feeling of defeat from pressing into your chest. jj definitely noticed it, his following look all too sympathetic as he watched you down the rest of your wine.

“am i allowed to ask what happened?” you finally broke the silence, head tilted to the side as you locked eyes once more. he laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “you could ask, but i won't tell.” you quirked an eyebrow up, his tactics all too familiar as you shot him a look of disappointment.

“why not?”

“'cause it's embarrassing.”

“jj, did you cheat again?”

“no,”

“did she cheat?”

“nope,”

“you finally saw her without any makeup?”

it was his turn to shoot a disapproving look of his own, but neither of you could hold back the laughter that followed. despite it all, he shook his head, signalling that the break-up truly must've been something much deeper. “are you okay?” this was the first of your questions that was truly genuine. he nodded, once more. “yeah,” he responded, grabbing ahold of the bottle, filling your glass up alongside his. “it hadn't been working for quite a while. this was inevitable.”

you knew exactly what he meant by that, exactly what he was talking about. it was as if you, too, had sensed quite a while ago that a bad ending was written in the stars for you and john b. “well, these days anybody going through a break-up gets my sympathy.”

jj clicked his tongue before taking another swig of the wine. truly, he had been used to beer up until this point. the taste of grape brought back memories—how you would always have a bottle or two in your fridge while you were together. “that's right,” he responded, leaning back in his chair. “i heard johnnie boy lost feelings.” despite how painful it felt hearing everybody's thoughts out loud, you couldn't help but laugh bitterly. “no, johnnie boy lost love. found it somewhere else.”

it wasn't supposed to be a personal attack on jj's behalf, but the shoe definitely fit. his eyes were filled with a sorrow you never sought to uncover, guilt tugging at his heartstrings. “so, there will be no gloating from me.” you proudly continued, shooting him a smile as you raised your glass. he returned the smile, clinking away with his own glass. “well, here's to no gloating.”

you had explained to him that you were trying to keep a positive outlook on the whole thing, no matter how much it ate away at your pride. you talked and talked, and all he wanted to do was listen. “i even started writing last night,” you continued, downing what was left in what was definitely your fourth glass of wine. “and, well, i think there's a potential book in there.”

he couldn't fight off the pride he felt for you. “a book, really?” you nodded, the last of the bitter juices coating your tongue. “about all my failed relationships.” jj laughed appreciatively.

“you're not writing about me, are you?” he teased, earning him nothing but a humorless retort. “please, you're like the first fourteen chapters.” he grinned, even though he knew what was awaiting him.

“are you gonna be fair?” he asked teasingly. you nodded, just an edge of irony to your words. “i'm gonna be honest.” he feigned a worried sigh at your response, offering a displeased look, “i was afraid of that.”

it was nice to finally get some things off your chest, it was nice having someone to talk to, even if it was your ex-boyfriend. it felt like time was flying, and everything that had been bothering you up until then disappeared. “give me your glass, gotta finish this bottle off,” he insisted, gesturing toward what was left of the bottle, but you couldn't. shouldn't, really. “no way, jj, four glasses is my limit.” you made a weak, tipsy attempt at snatching the bottle away, but he was two steps ahead of you, pulling it away and coming to face you, as if he had a business proposition.

“if you help me finish off this bottle, i'll tell you what happened between me and kiara.” he was good, really good. you couldn't resist it, perhaps his story would provide at least some consolation. “hit me.” and so, he did.

you sipped away at your fifth glass of wine, ignoring the way your mind went fuzzy as the taste overwhelmed your senses once again. once jj had seen how dedicated you were, he smiled. “kiara was making the bed, and found a picture i kept under the mattress,” you shot him a look of surprise as you brought the glass back up to your lips. “a picture i didn't want her to see.”

“what kind of picture?” you questioned, a genuine edge of curiosity to your tone. your first guess would have been some sort of dirty magazine. your only guess, really, but kiara never seemed like the type to make such a big fuss over that. jj lowered his gaze along with the empty glass, only to lock eyes with you, once more.

“it was a picture of you,” he finally admitted. “it's something i like to take a look at every now and then.”

you didn't know how to respond. for the first time in a long time, jj had left you speechless. your reaction wasn't negative by any means, as much as shocked. you could only utter out a small “wow,” with truly nothing else to say. your eyes remained locked as you stared at the man you had once loved more than anyone else in the world, the same one that had truly messed you up in the long run. despite all of it, you harbored no hatred toward him whatsoever. not even to the extent where you found him leaning in, something you would've definitely pushed him away for. the only problem was that you didn't push him away, you found yourself returning the kiss.

however, you were the first to pull away, vision blurry as you both filled each other's ears with drunken laughter. “what the hell was that?” your tone was all but stern. jj leaned back once more. “that was something i've been wanting to do for quite some time.”

you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the stupid sentiment, despite the shared laughter. “oh, that's just you rebounding from kiara.” he shrugged, although he knew it was far from the truth. “so, you're on the rebound from johnnie boy. no harm, no foul.”

what really tipped the scale of morality for you was the fact that you truly had nothing against his proposal. you let out a sigh, “jj, it would be so weird.” he was quick to cut you off before you could rest your case. “we're two old friends who suddenly find themselves single, nothing weird about us helping each other out to be,” he paused, as if trying to find the write words. “a little less lonely.”

resisting would have been the appropriate thing to do. whether the answer was to push him back or pull away, the right thing would've been to resist. it wasn't right, no matter how good it felt or how familiar his touch was, it was morally wrong. it was wrong to use each other, it was wrong to go behind john b's back, just as kiara's. they were your friends. jj was your friend. it didn't matter, because neither of you resisted.

your mouths melded together, creating an all too familiar intimate connection, the air crackling with intensity. you couldn't help but succumb to his magnetic pull, allowing him to weave his fingers into your soft locks of hair. “shit, jay,” you exhaled through a moan, and it was the first time in a long time he's heard thst nickname. it's been years since he's heard it from you. he tapped at your lips with his tongue, eagerly awaiting your access. you gladly obliged, every gram of the guilt that had been building up, finally washing away as he continued to pursue you.

he wrapped his arms around your thighs, sliding you off the chair and into his grasp, not once breaking the kiss. you gasped, saliva trickling down your chin as jj stumbled drunkenly, barely getting it together as he located the entrance to your bedroom. when you fell onto the bed, the kiss finally came to an end, but it was only the beginning. with your head on your pillow and jj on top of you, heat coursed through your veins.

his lips attached themselves to your jaw, peppering kisses along the thin layer of skin. you whined, fingernails gliding down his clothed back as he sucked at your sweet spots. he could read you like a book, knew all of your weaknesses—all of your sweetest, most sensitive points. his tongue travelled further down your neck, veiny hands pulling apart the front of your robe, giving him access to your chest. you swore you heard him growl, but your own moans seemed to block out his noises as he took a tit into his mouth, the rough surface of his tongue circling your nipple before enfulfing the flesh whole.

he was hard, so painfully hard. you knew it, felt it, while he rutted his hips against your bare legs, erection hard against your soft skin. he whined, although he'd never admit it to anyone else. you were all he needed, this was all he'd been waiting for all those years.

“he ever get you wet like this?” the question came out before he could stop himself. there was a specific edge to his voice, a silver lining between curiosity and possessiveness. you couldn't bring yourself to answer, not while he had a hand fondling your tits so roughly, pushing and pinching, the latter rubbing your bare cunt, fingers almost immediately drenching themselves in your juices. all you could do was shake your head.

he was satisfied with the answer, enough to move onto his own clothes. he kept his gaze on your frame, wetting his lips as he took you in—tits bare and hanging out, bite marks littered around your nipples, robe untied, sweat trickling down your stomach, legs spread with your sticky juices coating the outside of your cunt. he peeled his shirt off, followed by the shorts and boxers he had dropped to his ankles.

eager. that's what he was. there was nothing romantic about the way you felt, eyes glued to his dick. you hadn't felt any of it all these years, and though it may have been the alcohol talking, you needed him more than ever. “jay, please,” how was he supposed to say no to such politeness? it wouldn't have been right, not with the way your desperate pleas made him want to ruin all of you.

that's exactly what he had in mind. he grabbed his shaft, lining it up with your entrance, a sigh of relief passing his lips the second he felt your slick coating his tip, and he hadn't even put it in yet. you bit your lip, knowing what was coming, hands pulling him in by his back. with every inch you took, more and more moans spilled out of your mouth. once again, he found himself peppering kisses. this time, on your cheeks. he cooed in your ear, telling you it'd be better soon. “just a few seconds, baby. little more and you'll feel so good,” he slurred.

he was never one to lie. the more you relaxed, the deeper he allowed himself to go. “fucking shit,” he growled, throwing his head back at the familiar feeling of your warmth. you took him well, walls clinging to his shaft, giving him barely the space he needed. you couldn't hold your moans back, and you knew your paper thin walls on the tiny island would do you no justice.

with your nails clawing at his back. he grabbed your legs, placing them over his shoulders to get a better angle going. your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the feeling. he drilled into your sopping cunt, hips snapping at an impeccable pace as he chased his high. his balls slammed against your clit, along with his thumb as he pushed his palm into your lower belly, smirking at the way he could practically feel his dick in there. his thumb rubbed at your clit, eliciting the sweetest moans he'd ever hear.

he watched your cunt swallow him whole, the foreign feeling making both of your heads spin. your eyes widened as jj picked up the pace, your heart racing at what was awaiting you. “jj, i gotta pee,” you whined, feet making an attempt to push him away, but it was no use. he shushed you, pressing down on your lower stomach once more. “that's it, fuck.” he quickened his pace, fingers aching as he abused your clit. your orgasm hit you like a brick. your mouth hung open but you remained inaudible, the only focus point being the way your legs shaked as your juices dripped down his shaft.

to add fuel to the fire, instead of stopping, jj began rubbing your clit a second time, flesh slicking the bundle of nerves up with your wetness. he was close, even closer after watching you cum all over his cock. “such a mess.” he teased, and he wasn't wrong. your sheets were soaked, your vision blurry, his pelvis dripping with your arousal.

“hurts so bad.” the sympathy he felt was overwhelming, but he couldn't stop now. he used his free hand to stroke your hair, moving lose strands out of your face. “give me one more, i’m about to cum, baby.” the overstimulation made your eyes water, hips stuttering to meet his powerful thrusts. all he could do was abuse the soft spot inside you, and it didn’t take long before you both came. he buried his face in your neck as he came, burying his cock into your pussy as he emptied all the cum he had to offer, hips stuttering as he moaned. you couldn't pull yourself together at all, head spinning as you did your best to recover.

when he did pull out, you found yourselvee sitting in silence. you were too tired to say anything, only able to turn to your side, eyes begging to be closed. you didn't mind the silence as much as jj did, he watched you closely.

he knew this would be the last of your interactions. he'd go back to kiara, you'd go back to john b. that's the way things would always be, and he knew that. he hated the thought of it, it left him feeling empty. unfulfilled. there was nothing he could do except make the most of the time he had left with you, wrapping his arms around your bare body and pulling you in close as he fought his tears back.

#obx #obx x reader #obx smut #obx angst #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks #outer banks smut #outer banks x reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks angst #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader smut #smut #angst #jj maybank angst #jj maybank x reader angst

[sapphicseasapphire]

Living in a world as populated as it is by mortals, it is rare to come across a being who is not so. Rarer still is it to come across one who is both mortal and immortal- those who toe the line between Life and Death.

Reapers are abundant but undetected, doing their work for the spirits while hidden in a mortal body. They are bound to no Gods, serving only the lost souls of the land and answering only to the inevitability of Life and Death.

Hylian legends depict Death as a woman clothed in flowing white fabric, serene and tranquil, everlasting and inescapable. Some fear her, some hate her. Most bunch her up with the Goddesses.

She is not a Goddess.

She is… a promise.

And just as they’ve cast Death’s image onto a Goddess that doesn’t exist, they attribute Life’s gifts to Hylia, singing her praise. Hylia, the little sister of the Golden Three, tasked with protecting this world, is not Life.

Life has existed here for far longer than Hylia has. Some say that she was created with the breath of Farore, others speculate that she came before.

People think that Death exists in Life’s shadow, that they are entirely separate from one another. One brings joy, the other brings pain. This is, wholly and entirely, untrue.

For Life and Death wear matching white cloth, and they stand so closely together that they are indistinguishable from each other. One cannot exist without the other. They are… the same, in nature. They are patient. They take nothing more than what they are given; they give nothing more than what they take. It is balanced, in that way.

Everyone must face them, one way or another. Even Gods cannot deny the push and pull of Life and Death.

Although, there are occasions in which they can be swayed. In the case of a young boy who’d met his end during his quest, so beloved by the spirits, Death chose to wait. She did not claim his soul, not yet. She heeded the pleas of the spirits and allowed him to continue on- to finish what he had started. But this was not without a cost.

The boy- only twelve years old- was named Link, and he was not unique. Those who are favored by the spirits and succumb to illness or injury are often granted these second chances. They may never remember that they had died, but they are forever changed.

These people are known as Reapers. They recruited by Death to guide lost spirits to the afterlife. They have heartbeats, they breathe, they require sustenance. Reapers are mortal, normal people.

Until it becomes time to do the reaping, that is.

In order for a Reaper to find and guide spirits, they must use spirit magic. Spirit magic is as potent and variable as any other type of magic, except its power source is distinct: it is fueled by the power of an untethered soul. It comes naturally to Reapers, except in order to use it, they must free their soul.

Reapers have the ability to separate their souls from their bodies, becoming nothing more than a spirit. Once freed, they are immediately pulled to the nearest lost soul and it is their duty to aid them in their journey to the next life. The pull of a Poe is just as potent as the pull of a portal: demanding and unavoidable. Reapers feel it physically.

When their soul is outside of their body, a Reaper will appear comatose to the waking world. Unresponsive and unmoving, almost like they’re asleep. Their hearts still beat, their lungs still breathe. They still live but there’s nothing there. If their body is moved during this time, the Reaper will have a difficult time returning to it. Their survival will depend on whether or not they can find their body.

Link is one of many Reapers that serve under Death, and he is not unhappy. He sees the Threads of Fate that bind all things- the red ones of the living, the black ones of the dead, and the white ones of the immortal- and he takes pride in helping wayward Poes follow these threads home. He… has experience guiding souls, after all.

Link doesn’t remember when exactly he died, but he knows it had to have happened during his quest to rid the Demon King from Princess Zelda’s body. With her spirit by his side, he felt unstoppable. And his new job isn’t much different. He doesn’t feel sadness when he guides a Poe to their next adventure. No, he feels… at peace.

Death is extremely welcoming to him, for she knows that in time, he will return to her. Just as all things do. Link- our Spirit- admires Death. He serves under her but he is not opposed to it. He’s wholly dedicated to his job. He takes pride in it. It doesn’t interfere with his waking life too much and even as he cast on another adventure, it’s not too much to manage. Death treats him well, and he’d never denounce her.

When he’s reaping, he’s making a difference. He’s helping people. Is that not what a hero should strive for?

He’s… home.

Some notes!

• This kind of turned into a post about Reapers specifically and less about Spirit, but ehhh lore is lore

• Spirit and Wind are BEST BUDS. I’ve been referring to them as “the twins” in my head this whole time

• Spirit’s pupils glow when he is looking at the Threads of Fate. He can’t see them all the time, just when he really focuses on them, or else he’d be blinded by all the string everywhere!

• More on that- he doesn’t only see the threads that bind people to each other. He also sees the threads that bind people to objects. Everything has a memory, everything has a story.

• Something about Spirit’s presence is so inherently peaceful. He speaks quietly and clearly, he moves like a whisp, he smiles so gently. He can 100% be a little goblin in his own right, but he can be incredibly comforting when he wants to be.

• He cannot swim. Wind is APPALLED.

• He knows that Time is a God right away. His string is white. He doesn’t tell anyone, though, because it’s not his place. Everyone has their secrets, everyone should have the right to reveal themselves at their own pace.

• He and Wild sure do have a relationship. Yep. Just. The Reaper- the one who is tasked with guiding lost souls. And the literal spirit, actual ghost. Uh huh. They. Um. Yeah, they definitely have a dynamic. (This dynamic is the reason that I was convinced to add Spirit to my Cryptid Chain)

• A spirit is any soul without a body. A Poe specifically refers to a spirit that is lost. Hopeless. One who needs help. Wild is not a Poe. (Kind of)

• Spirit is like Time in the sense that he has not fully ascended, and won’t until his mortal lifespan is over. When he dies, he will continue to be a Reaper, but much more powerful as he will not be bound to a body. But that’s far, far off. He’s twelve, I won’t be cruel to him

• hehehehe

• He’s so incredibly good at playing the pan flute.

• Also this kid’s hilarious without even trying. (Spirit Tracks is the funniest Zelda game of all time)

• NERD. HE LOVES HIS TRAINS. HE IS IN PHYSICAL PAIN THAT NONE OF THE OTHER LINKS EVEN KNOW WHAT A TRAIN IS!!! SEND HELP!!! TELL HIM ABOUT YOUR FAVORITE TRAINS!!! HE MISSES HIS TRAIN!!!

• He has the unique ability to talk to Poes and Spirits directly, so he’s gonna be the best bet when it comes to translating for Wild. If Wild will let him come close, that is.

• “Don’t disturb me guys, I have some reaping to do,” he says, and then takes a nap. The others can’t tell.

• Or, mid battle, the decides they could really use a blast of spirit magic to aid them. So he just. Separates his soul from his body, as one does. Falls limply to the ground as the monsters they were fighting just suddenly all die. What just happened???

• Do monsters have souls? Do they become Poes? Thoughts that keep Spirit up at night.

#CAC origins #the legend of zelda #chain as cryptids au #cryptid lore #cryptid spirit #cac art #spirit tracks #loz spirit tracks #THE BOY #HE’S HERE #my art #links meet au #I know I’m not doing this justice but tumblr deleted my original draft #so definitely let me know if you have any questions haha #I’m so tired

[ystrike1]

How To Refuse the Route - By Saessak (8/10)

This yaoi/harem/isekai/otome mess is relentlessly adorable. Super sweet, slow, and full of dread. The very careful protagonist accidentally sets off the worst red flag by...being friendly and choosing to have a normal childhood. Yup. He didn’t go around seducing everyone. He made a bunch of friends instead. Too bad about the secret yandere character. Better stop running, or the country will drown in a bloody revolt!

Jerry Route is a pretty nice guy who gets reincarnated into a really weak body. He's got a loving family. He's a Counts son....but he quickly figures out that he's in some sort of dating game. Everybody spoils him a bit too much, and there's game mechanic symbols about love everywhere.

The love stuff immediately takes a backseat, because Jerry is in love with magic! His new life is awesome, and he doesn’t wanna worry about love yet. He's not even old enough to go to school! Plus, his health really is awful. He enjoys his new life, and he puts some work into his health. The love and romance premise isn't his priority for many years.

Some of the love hints absolutely disgust him to the core. He starts to suspect there is a "twin brother" route. He tries to have a healthy relationship with all of his family members, and he remains calm. He actually starts to love his game family. AS A FAMILY nothing more. Dating his twin brothers, or his elder brother, would be a nightmare.

He absolutely rejects those routes.

The next route is with the pretty crown prince, Karyan. Jerry mistakes him for a girl at first. Their relationship is tense in the beginning, because Karyan doesn't trust very many people. Jerry gets poisoned though, and they become close friends.

Jerry becomes very close friends with the unwanted fourth prince. A mousy and nervous boy named Ilya. Jerry wasn't supposed to meet Ilya until later. They only meet because Jerry always actively avoids romance. They kinda have a cat together it's really adorable.

Everything is sooo sweet I wouldn’t have known about the yandere part if it wasn't in the promo art.

Karyan is definitely the good prince. He's supportive and kind and he's burdened by all of the manipulative people around him. Jerry has a refreshing personality and a childish love for magic that makes Karyan smile.

Jerry isn't interested in picking a route though. He wants to stay friends with all of his friends, and obviously his brothers.

He starts searching for The Guide Book. A cheat item that can help him avoid the games plot. He wants a certain ending. The Mage Ending. Where Jerry graduates single and he quietly lives inside The Magic Tower.

He enters school with hope. Both princes are incredibly kind, even though they don't get along too well as brothers. Jerry makes other friends too, and he does well in school. Being kind and honest has rewarded him with trusted friends and a happy future....

Raven.

Raven is a catalyst character that seemingly appears out of nowhere. He's not some random guy. He's Ilya's "friend". Things start to get dark immediately. Karyan and Ilya don't have friends??? They only have followers and it's actually really sad??? There's a royal power struggle because both princes are strong and capable???

Karyan is kinda depressed because he has followers instead of friends. Jerry is his solace and his love seems quite innocent.

Ilya's followers are absolutely terrified of him. Jerry is in shock because remember...Ilya is the cat dad/quiet/nervous guy.

Raven is an extremely rude awakening. When Jerry chose to befriend Ilya AND Karyan he set off a huge red flag. Ilya wants Jerry to like him the most, and Ilya has freakishly strong magic. Ilya has been hiding his magic so he can attend basic classes with Jerry, but it's an open secret.

Raven tries to bully Ilya, to force him to pick one of the princes before Ilya truly goes insane

....but it's far too late.

Raven barely manages to avoid being maimed. Ilya chops an arm off, and it gets swept under the rug. Ilya is absolutely obsessed with Jerry's safety and more importantly his health. Jerry has been working on his health, that's true, but he's really only functioning because of Ilya. Ilya constantly casts stamina spells on Jerry so he can have a somewhat normal life.

The situation gets even worse when Jerry finally finds The Guide Book. Ilya is an evil boss character. There are no good endings with him.

The two options are.

- Ilya raises a revolutionary army against his brother, and he kills everyone Jerry knows.

- Ilya wipes Jerry's memory to make him "happy forever", leaving him soulless.

In the current story Ilya is still playing nice, because the plot has been twisted. Most of the original love interests no longer see Jerry in a romantic light. He has healthy relationships with everybody....including Ilya.

Jerry decides to continue pushing towards The Magic Tower Ending. He's frightened, but he doesn't believe Ilya will hurt anyone if the love route isn't activated.

He decides to distance himself from Ilya a little bit, so the love route doesn't activate. If he avoids Ilya's love route everything will be fine! Everybody can stay friends and live happily ever after!!!!!!

I'm sure you've guessed the plot twist.

Jerry has been on Ilya's route the whole time.

There was never any room for anyone else.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #How To Refuse the Route #yaoi #2024

[preciouslittlebhaalbabe3]

Thoughts about Ascended Astarion! (This is a long one, and I'm not trying to change anyones opinion, just highlighting the fact that the player is in complete control of the situation at all times. This game is about choices.) First off, I don't usually prefer to ascend him. But I love all versions of Astarion. His character is so well written and all of his arcs deserve praise and attention no matter what your personal opinion of them are. The devs did an incredible job. If any parts of his arc (ascended or spawn) make you uncomfortable, then romancing him isn't for you. If the dynamic between AA and your character makes you feel scared or upset, don't ascend him. That dynamic is supposed to be 100% consentual. He's a tough nut to crack and his story can be very triggering. I myself broke down a few times hearing him talk about what he went through. There are other companions with lovely character development that you can choose. When people go "ugh he's ruined I didn't want this" My dear, with all due respect. This is the dark fantasy romance option. Emphasis on the fantasy. You didn’t get his approval by being nice. It's not like he's the only option. You chose to romance the vampire. The game warns you of what exactly you're about to do multiple times. You willingly help him murder thousands of people for freedom. A vampire who was a literal slave for longer than he was even alive for just got a MASSIVE amount of power. Were you expecting he was gonna just be a good guy now? He has had NOTHING for so long. His entire life trajectory changed within moments. He’s still figuring himself out. You as the player are still completely in charge. He owes everything to you and he knows that. You can walk away at literally any point. He asks you to kneel and obey to establish trust and a dynamic. To confirm this is what you want. YOU CAN SAY NO. Then, he gets right down on the floor with you. He's either gentle or rough based on your choice. If you don't like the vibe just break up with him at that point like he literally lets you do. Or, even just reload the save. But just remember. "That's what you want, isn't it?". When Astarion ascends, Neil says it best. His mask is off and he's allowed to be at his most terrible with no fear. He doesn't have to perform or be aloof as a distraction from the pain anymore. He was never good aligned. But now, he has the power and ability to give himself and his favourite person the life he thinks they wanted. Otherwise why would you ascend him? His love language becomes acts of service and gifts. He ADORES tav to almost obsession. He's always doting on them and calling them his. The ritual only amplifies that. "but what about what he says if you convince him not to go through with it?"

He’s not lying. He knows tav saved him from himself. It is technically the “good” ending. But that’s not what matters here. The ascension is for characters who are not good aligned. It is for characters that are just as much of a power hungry monster as ascended Astarion is. They want to be a monarch that rules the world over. It’s a role playing thing. Is it wrong? That’s for you to decide for yourself. Not others.

"but what about karlach? He's a massive jackass to her when he ascends" ...Yes. He's not a good guy. Karlach is basically the goodest character in the game. It won't work. And if you do break up with him, he lashes out and says some extremely hurtful things. Because you just broke his heart. It's a perfectly normal response from someone being completely blindsided. He thought you wanted this. You said you wanted this. After everything you both did you get here, he feels betrayed. Not even to mention ascended Astarion does not make you just a regular spawn. You quite literally become his vampire spouse. He thanks you for putting your trust in him. Then eventually you become a true vampire with time. He wants to make sure tav doesn't go insane after being turned. If you wanna learn more about vampire spouses in DnD I highly reccomend doing some google searches. It's fascinating. Is ascending him the right thing to do? No, but it's not "wrong". The game doesn't work that way. Is keeping him a spawn the right thing to do? Maybe, if your character thinks it is. Either route has their sets of pros and cons. It's up to you which ones you think work for your playthrough.

I almost always convince him not to go through with the ritual. But ascended Astarion + durge is a power couple and the vibes are immaculate for evil runs. Just have fun with the game! The devs made all these character arcs for you to explore! Thanks for reading <3

#baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion baldurs gate #ascended astarion #spawn astarion #vampire spawn #dark consort #dark romance #astarion analysis #ascended astarion analysis #let people enjoy things

[mythunderstorm]

Close | MS47

mick schumacher x fem!reader

summary: spending a whole day with your boyfriend and your family is nice, amazing even but sometimes you’re just craving an intimate moment with your lover, without interruptions or the fear of doing too much pda infront of parents :p

warnings: +18; cockwarming; mick just being an absolute sweetheart lol; this is short af; minors dni

masterlist

You are exhausted. Absolutely exhausted. You love your family, really you do. But sometimes it’s just.. too much. Normally it’s your boyfriend who helps you staying calm. Being directly by your side, holding your hand, being your anchor. But today was so stressful and chaotic. So many people running around, trying to talk to you or either the famous Schumacher junior.

You may have been at the same place today but it felt like you guys were so far away from each other.

Now you’re standing in your shared bathroom, brushing your teeth, finally. The day is coming to an end and you couldn’t be more relieved. You are craving the warmth and love of Mick and you feel like you’re going to die if you don’t get a kiss within the next minutes.

After removing your Make up you make your way into your shared bedroom, spotting Mick on the bed reading a book. You lean on the doorframe for a few seconds, allowing yourself to admire the absolute beauty of the man who is yours. You still cannot believe how lucky you are.

Slowly, you walk towards him, stopping next to his side of the bed. Careful you remove the book from his hands, putting it on the nightstand. But not without placing a bookmark on the correct page.

You slide into his lap easily, one of your hands moving to the back of his neck to play with his hair, while his hands settle on your hips.

„Hi.“ he smirks.

„Hi.“ you whisper back.

He‘s looking at you with so much adoration and you simply can’t wait anymore. You bridge the last centimeters, kissing him slow but passionately.

You’re hugging him so close, pressing your entire body against his while hiding your face in his neck.

„You okay baby?“ „Mhmm.“ you answer. „Just missed you, that’s all.“

A small laugh escapes his mouth. „We‘ve been together all day sweetheart.“

„Still missed you. So much“, you shrug.

„Anything I can do for you Liebling?“ he asks.

„Just wanna be close to you.“ you say, pushing your face even further into the crook of his neck, if that’s even possible.

You guys remain silent for a moment, soaking up each other’s love until Mick starts to speak again „you wanna be closer?“

A silent „please“ escapes your mouth, but it sounds more like a whine.

Tapping your ass lightly Mick signals you to raise your hips so he can free his cock more easily from his boxers.

He knows teasing is the last thing you want right now but he just cannot help himself, rubbing the tip of his dick on your clit, which is still hidden by your panties.

Wiggling you hips a little bit you let out a whiney „Micky please!“ so he decides he teased enough, moving your underwear to the side to finally slide inside you. He goes slow, so you can get used to the stretch but right now you simply do not care so you help out by pushing your hips back down until you can feel his pelvis under you.

Mick groans, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. „Fuck baby, you’re so wet.“ „Only for you Micky, only for you. Been craving your touch all day.“

„I‘m right here Liebling. Ich liebe dich.“ Your boyfriend answers, pressing a loving kiss on the side of your head.

„I wish we could stay like this forever. Today was so hard for some reason. I know you were there but you weren’t by my side and I just got so overwhelmed.“

„I‘m so sorry I wasn’t there mein Schatz. I missed you too. Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens und jede Sekunde ohne dich ist absolut schrecklich.“ You’re the love of my life and every second without you is absolutely horrible.

God, you feel like you’re on the verge of crying. Mick is sweetest guy and you still don’t understand why he chose you.

This moment is perfect, utterly perfect. You know you have to get back to reality at some point but right now only you and Mick exist, no one else. Just two people who love each other and are as close as humans can possibly be and yet it’s still not close enough.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagines #ms47 #msc47 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader

[away-ward]

i cannot for the life of me make a decision about this, so do you have any headcanons on opinions on what banks would've been like if she had gone to high school ?? what tropes or clichés she would've been closest to embodying ?? because we know em was a nerd, that winter struggled for the obvious reasons but ultimately was fine in hs and fairly normal, rika was decently popular but far from the cheerleader level... but banks, i can't place what she would've been like if she'd gone to high school. we know she's very smart, but i can't see her as someone holed up in a library. then, we can also probably deduce that if she had gone to high school, damon would've been crazy protective but i still can't really make a set decision on much else regarding how banks' storyline/personality would've gone if she did indeed attend Thunder Bay prep or some other high school, minus these small details.

i do think she & emory would've got on like a house on fire if she attended TBP as they would've been in the same grade and probably had similar opinions on high school hierarchy and the horsemen and general thunder bay weirdness and extravagancy. they would've dissed people so thoroughly and easily with their quips and banter, for sure.

Ohh I have thought about this.

It can go so many ways, because as same with Emory, the debate is "was she naturally someone different and the circumstances made her this way? Or is it that she survived the circumstances because this is who she is naturally?"

Did Banks do so well in Gabriel's house because that's who she is, or did being in that house make her that way. In Hideaway, she mentions that she never cut her long hair because it was the last part of "Nikova." Additionally, her struggle with Damon is wanting to be her own person and to experience things other teenagers - normal teenagers - experience. But if she were a normal teenager, would she still value those experiences, or would they be mundane and expected?

I chose to think High School AU Banks would fall somewhere in the middle. She'd still be a bit of a tom-boy, and a bit of a rebel. In my AUs, she still lives with Lucinda, but Damon wants her close, so Gabriel pays for her to attend TBP. She's smart, but not without effort. She's not afraid to get involved throw down if she sees something she doesn't like. She's careful, though, and never throws the first punch, so she can always claim self-defense. It's helpful that she's a bit of a sarcastic smart ass and naturally skilled at goading people.

In school, she'd appear to be generally nonchalant about stuff, but she actually has a lot of opinions. It comes as a surprise to the teachers, who were not expecting Damon Torrance's younger sister to be so... outspoken. And argumentative.

Having a bit more freedom, and hopefully a healthy relationship with her brother, she’d probably be known for fighting with Damon in the halls over how protective he is. Like, he can’t even let her project partner talk to her without going all big brother on her.

Seriously, get a life, dude. Maybe if you had as much confidence talking to your little dancer friend as you do telling me what to do, you’d actually have a girlfriend. Newsflash, bro, there are certain things I can’t and won’t do for you.

I don’t see her wanting to participate in any extracurricular activities, but with a school like Thunder Bay Prep, it would probably be expected. I can’t see her wanting to be on a team, so Girl’s Basketball probably isn’t a good match…

Oh. You know, with her being a bit of a sleuth in Hideaway and tailing Kai to get his routine, she’d probably make a good Yearbook photographer. Or maybe working on their school paper. Maybe something along those lines that keeps her out of the spotlight. Though, I don't know what Banks would want to do growing up. Maybe she does go into student government, wanting to make changes that actually make sense and benefit the students, instead of planting a tree as the senior gift for the fifth year in a row (do these people even know what they could do with this much money, or do they only know how to add when it's involving cases of beer and tits?). Maybe she does it because she's tired of seeing Chloe get everything and wanted to challenge her, and then sort of accidentally ended up class president.

Actually, I like that...Emory makes fun of her for it all the time.

Speaking of Emory, they are best friends. Both come from more humble backgrounds, which would naturally make them targets for bullies, but not this time. Because the whole school knows wherever Emory goes, Banks is close by. And wherever Banks is, Damon is close by. And wherever Damon is, the Horsemen are close by. Not to mention, Will is a horseman, and he’s always close to wherever Emory is…

Not that Banks and Em need them. They're pretty good with the tongue lashings, themselves.

Without a doubt, Banks goes to every single one of Emmy’s activities to show support. She hangs out when Emmy’s working on her projects, and helps when she needs a hand. They both have a crush on a Horseman, but they only talk (read: tease each other) about that when they can guarantee no one can hear them.

I headcanon Banks, Emmy, and Elle are a pretty solid trio. Emmy's smart and artsy, Elle's a soft-hearted romantic, always talking about dating but never taking her own advice, and Banks plays the rebel without a cause who loves her two friends.

Anyway, have some pics that would definitely be in Banks' friend's (so Emmy and Elle) camera roll.

that last one's from Banks of will and emmy. (i've never seen love, rosie, so I don't know context. but I know in a willemmy high school au that has yet to be written, this scene will happen)

Let me know what you think! Or if my headcanons helped inspire some of yours. This was really fun, thanks for the ask.

#asked and answered 270 #asked and answered #devil's night series #devil's night series stuff #devils night #nikova banks #ko's headcanons

[walliedarling]

while growing up, you had an imaginary friend. unlike with most, he never left.

notes: horror elements, hallucinations, lowercase.

your family thinks it's just a normal imaginary friend when you start talking to 'wally', named after a cartoon character you love at that time. but as you grow older and older, his presence and gaze never leave. you simply learn to stop talking about him, to avoid the trouble it causes the both of you. the last thing you want is to be all alone, for the first time in your life. for your voice to be the only one in your head.

you don’t know how old you were when he came into your life. it feels like he’s been with you for as long as he can remember. (he thinks you must’ve been around five.) from what your family has told you, you’re inclined to agree with his thought. your first true memory of wally’s presence, though, is this: 

he showed you how how he ate. you must not have been older than six. it had fascinated you how, even though it sat untouched on the plate, bites started disappearing out of it. you’d squealed, laughed, and clapped your hands in pure delight. 

when you tried to show him do the same thing in front of your mother, though, nothing happened. that he wasn’t imaginary! you’d seen it yourself. but no matter how much you asked wally nothing happened, and your mother had smiled peacefully and hummed like adults do in front of the nonsense of children. you’d cried, then. 

(he still feels sorry about it, whenever he remembers. but he could never have done such a thing. you understand now, don’t you? he could never have taken you Home after that.) 

it’s alright. you do understand now. you have long since accepted his apology, too.

it was after that ‘apple incident’ that he had first asked you to come Home with him. he talked lots and lots about him and his friends. how you could be their new neighbour, and how nice it would be! they would always have time to play with you. it confused you. you were already home! you had your family here. and, sure, while you would’ve liked them to play with you more often... you denied his offer, not yet fully understanding what it meant. 

you quickly discovered making friends with other people was hard. wally always spoke about how his friends, and how fun they were, so you wanted to try and have at least as many friends as he did! but people were difficult. they said things with double meanings, did things without you being able to understand why, and sometimes chose others company above your own. it was far easier to  spend time with wally, who never hurt you and never did anything unexpected. he always had nice things to say about your drawings too. he was the perfect friend like that, and there was never a chance of him leaving. (that’s right. he’d never think of going anywhere else.)

as you grew older, you just stopped trying entirely. no one ever stuck around. the relentless rumours that you were ‘cursed’ didn’t help, either. but you really didn’t have anything to do with everything that happened! you figured that you simply weren’t the type of person meant to have friends. you’ll admit that coming to terms with it stung a little. (he just wanted you to be happy.) 

added to that was the fact that putting in the effort had become tiring, and failed to be rewarding. besides work and school, you were always so, so tired. it was then that he asked you for the second time, whether or not you wanted to go Home with him. you were tempted to say yes, but said ‘no’ out of fear of what it really meant. 

nowadays, you’ve stopped caring about such things. you do whatever you need to keep yourself afloat, and take comfort in the fact that you have a friendship no one human could come close to matching. how could they, when someone who knows your every thought, every weakness, secret, flaw and failing, has still accepted you? he’s seen it all. you have grown up alongside wally. his presence, constant commentary, and kind words ringing in your ears have become as natural as breathing. if this is wrong, if you aren’t supposed to be like this, you don’t care about that. it isn’t doing you, or anyone else, any harm. (he’d never hurt you. he just wants you to be happy. you can’t be at your happiest, not here.) 

the poorer you’re doing, the closer wally holds you. when you are falling apart at the seams, curled up underneath the covers of your bed, his ‘presence’ envelops you. it’s warm, oppressing. it’s not quite comparable to a being of flesh and blood draping itself over you, but it’s close enough. it makes ever inch of your flesh tingle. (he wishes he could touch you, though. to feel your warmth. the blood circulating underneath your skin, and your heart pushing it round and round.)

you have only ever seen wally's eyes, and no other part of him, and only when you're trembling all over and struggling to breathe. they are deep, never-ending pools of darkness. and still they never fail to draw the panic out from your body, leaving you exhausted yet calmed down.

it is during one of these nights, that wally asks you again. he knows everything about you that there is to know. that you're not enjoying your life, that it is oh so difficult and exhausting, and that a part of you wants to leave it all behind. he simply wants you to leave it all behind already. he'll make it okay. won't you come Home with him? 

after all those years, you say yes.

#wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg x reader #welcome home arg #welcome home

[pleaseletmecomehome]

AN EFFORT AT A PLEADING

I'm not usually so directly vulnerable--but the time has come for me to make the most of my time on Earth and reach out to my fellow human beings in order to achieve what I long to;

I do believe God calls me to do this--and I don't know what will happen in the wake of sending this out into the interwebs--maybe nothing--maybe a lot--maybe my life and my spirtual outcome can be entirely changed--maybe I'll become a miracle.

Look, I don't have a way of explaining all of this, but the most important fact is that five or maybe six years ago--I met someone who was the messiah in a different reincarnation and I was meant to fufill a prophecy--doesn't matter the reason I was chosen or the prophecy went unfilled, but the prophecy was laid into place and I chose to ignore it and changed its path. After much dissernment, of course.

Anyway, I digress. I have recieved new instructions on the course of direction that the path is taking and I'm asking for help here--it is simple, I need good vibes, loving worship, witchcraft--whatever you've got--I need you to direct (at least a portion of it) at the Big Man Himself on my behalf.

I am waiting for an important sign, usually reserved for saints, or otherwise holy people. I am waiting to recieve the stigmata--it is part of a really complicated plan and honestly something I'm only a small piece of on a cosmic scale--for maybe, just maybe (if all the pieces fall into the right places) the saving of multiple universes or timelines...

Look the stigmata signals I have passed the test and the next phase may go down--and so, while, I don't normally wanna talk about the stuff outloud (or as it maybe online in a assumed username and a blog)--this crap is heavy, I understand that--but I'm not asking for anything but a few prayers, vibes, offerings, etc be thrown upstairs on my behalf--I'm doing my best here, but I really need help.

Anyway--do what you must or what you feel compelled to do to in order to let me be granted the stigmata--it might be the beginning of everything and it could save us all (not to be dramatic)--so please, just at least consider it when you see my post.

Thanks--D'ARC

#catholic #catholic church #catholicism #jesus christ #god #messiah #christianity #faith #jesus #prayer request #stigmata #theology #religion #bible #christian #suffering #loneliness #grief #prophecy #desire #need