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ashwhowrites · 11 months

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I hath come bearing a request:

Bully!Eddie with an insecure Reader where he openly flirts with someone else where she can see in an effort to make her jealous, and it does. She is jealous of the nicer version of his attention they’re receiving, but she’s more sad than anything else.

She’d started to think that maybe he did pick on her because he was interested. Like how boys would pull a girl’s hair back in elementary school. But after seeing him flirt with someone else, she realizes that can’t be the case.

Reader supposes that no one wants her. Even the “freak” of Hawkins High is beyond her league.

Happy ending if you can, pretty please 🩷

I'm usually against bully!Eddie but I did like the angst in this so I'm going to do it but he won't be like a huge bully, just an ass? I hope this is what you were looking for and I tried to make it happy :) ( with the help from my SB)

Never proofread

There's a time in life where the line between love and hate is blurry and no amount of staring at that line will make it clear.

Y/N was on the love side, she had big feelings for Eddie. Her nose in the air as she follows the scent of his strong musky cologne and a hint of weed. She couldn't pick who she fell for, it was out of her control. She didn't want to love him, but she did. She had so many reasons why she loved him but there was one big reason why she shouldn't- he hated her.

Eddie was on the hate side of that line. She can't pin point where she pissed him off or what she did to make him hate her. It was like the second they met, he pushed her and she fell in love. She's an idiot and she knew that. It was obvious he didn't like her. The rude comments sent her way about all the little things she does. He teased her, tripped her, smacked her books in the hallway, but all her heart focused on was that he interacted with her.

Her dumb heart craved to be near him, even though her brain was screaming how horrible of an idea it was.

She already suffered with insecurities and somehow Eddie knew how to hit all the open wounds.

A part of her thought maybe he did like her, he just wasn't sure how to show it. He didn't seem like the type to be affectionate and sweet. Maybe this was the only way he knew how to show his emotions. Or maybe that was a shitty delusion she created to help her sleep at night.

~~~

Y/N heard from other students that there was going to be a partner project in English and she hated that she knew no one in that class, except Eddie.

She knew if she asked he'd shut her down and embarrass her in front of everyone watching so she planned to do this project alone. But turns out the teacher already assigned partners.

"Y/N and Eddie"

Y/N perked at the sound of their names, her eyes finding his body. He had an annoyed expression on his face. She felt her heart drop, he didn't want to be near her.

"Excuse me?" Eddie announced, throwing his hand in the air. The teacher rolled his eyes but allowed Eddie to speak.

"what If I can't stand my partner and rather fail the project than spend a second with her?" His words were cruel and mean. She hated the smirk on his face when looked over at her.

The whole class erupted in laughs, with a few pity looks sent her way. She couldn't tell which hurt worse, people laughing or people feeling bad for her. She shrunk down in her seat, Eddie once again embarrassed her for his own pleasure.

"Munson. Watch your mouth." The teacher talked over the class.

Against his will, Eddie accepted that she was his partner. Her head down as she walked over to his desk. Holding her breath as she took the seat next to him.

"I'm sorry you got partnered with me " she whispered, looking at his eyes as he glared at her.

"You should be." He snapped.

~~~

Being his partner was just as miserable as she thought. Every time she sat in that English class next to him, he shared every thought he had about her. He never had anything nice to say.

"Yellow is not your color." He said in disgust as she sat next to him, in her new yellow sundress. A dress that had her smiling all morning. Now the material against her thighs made her sick to her stomach.

Then the project moved to her house. Apparently, her room was not to his liking.

"Books? Fucking nerd. People with lives don't have time to read." He snickered

She just shrugged it off.

"you know you might be pretty if you actually tried." He mocked, looking through the book, his eyes never looking at her.

....might be pretty

If she changed, would he like her?

If she changed everything he hated, would he have anything left to say?

~~~

They've been working on the project for a few days. Every day she changed little by little. She threw the yellow dress in her trash. She packed away the books she barely read. Tore off every girly poster on her wall and removed all the things he pointed out on her desk. She styled her hair every day, and learned how to do make up that would show she "tried" every day.

And he never said anything

Just found new things to hate about her.

She was starting to wonder why he hadn't run out of anything yet. He somehow found something wrong about her every single day. Things she didn't think she would dislike about herself.

But he noticed everything about her, that means he liked her, right?

~~~

He didn't like her

It was apparent now

It was the final day in class to work on the project, and the whole hour was spent watching Eddie and a random girl flirt.

Her name was Brie, and Eddie seemed to really like her.

He was.....nice

His eyes were soft, never glaring at her.

He complimented her. On her hair, outfit, makeup, and personality.

Paying no attention to the project they need to work on. He was all focused on her and how perfect she was.

If Eddie ever liked her, he would treat her the same way he was treating Brie.

The line between love and hate was not as blurry as she thought.

~~~

Watching Eddie flirt with Brie today was not how she wanted her day to go, and now she had to end her day with Eddie.

She sat silently on her bed as he made his way through the bedroom door. She wanted to finish the project and never spend another second near him again.

But Eddie looked around her room confused, and walked over to each corner.

"What?" She snapped, guessing he was taking in her room to find something else wrong with it.

"Where are all your books?" He found himself asking.

Y/N was annoyed by the question.

"None of your business, Can we work now?" Her attitude was noticeable in her tone.

Eddie swallowed and sat next to her, beginning to work on the project. Yanking the notebook paper too hard, ripping the piece in half.

He quickly crumpled it up and went to throw it in the trash, spotting the familiar yellow dress in it.

"Why did you throw this away?" He asked, taking the dress out, nothing else was in the trash so it was untouched.

She looked up, her eyes turning hard when she spotted the color. She hated that his eyes seemed guilty. He wasn't sorry.

"Who cares, it didn't look good on me so I don't need it. Look can we work or not? We already missed an hour because of your little date with Brie this afternoon." His constant interruptions were driving her crazy.

She watched Eddie drop the dress on her desk, a smirk growing on his face.

"Jealous of the pretty girl?" He mocked. His eyes switched back to that teasing look.

She rolled her eyes and put her focus on the project. But Eddie didn't appreciate the silence. Walking up to her as she sat on the bed.

"I asked you," he said, gripping her chin to look up at him, "Were you jealous of her?"

She wanted to smack the smug look off of his face.

She yanked her jaw out of his grip, slamming the book as she stood up. Chest to chest with him as she huffed.

"YES! I am fucking jealous. But not because she's pretty and she knows how to capture your attention. But because you were so nice to her. You didn't pick her apart until she was a tiny shell of a person! I just thought maybe you picked on me because you liked me, but I can see I thought wrong." She ranted out, catching her breath at the end as Eddie stared at her. He slowly blinked as he took in her words.

"I threw away the dress because all it did was remind me how much you fucking hated it. I got rid of the books because you made fun of my interests. You made me hate the remaining parts of myself that I actually liked." She continued, her eyes filling with water.

Eddie didn't know what to say, but the regret was clear in his eyes as he looked at her sadly. He figured he should start with an apology.

"Y/N...I am so sorry...I'm sorry." He whispered, reaching forward to wipe her tears but she stepped back. Protecting herself as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Just go." She whispered back, keeping her focus on the floor.

"Please let me f-" He started but she caught him off.

"Eddie, I don't care what else you have to say. I am done talking to you. Please just go."

~~~

She dreaded going to school. Eddie left last night when she asked, and she's been terrified to see him again. She didn't bother to believe his apology, there was a good chance he didn't mean it.

She stayed up all night finishing the project, she did not want to work with him again.

She was walking to class, eyes on the floor as she always does. She grew more and more nervous as she made it closer to English. Preparing herself to see Eddie again.

Before she knew it, she felt her body being shoved to the ground. She didn't have time to catch herself and smacked her nose against the floor. She gasped at the horrible pain that shot through her nose, cradling it softly. She could feel her hands getting wet from blood. She looked up, expecting it to be Eddie, but it wasn't. It was someone who bullied people to an extreme amount, Jason.

She felt the tears flowing down her face. Crying from the pain in her nose and the embarrassment running through her body as everyone laughed and stared.

"HEY!" she heard Eddie's familiar scream. Her body froze as he raced towards her. Fear in his veins as she worried about what he would add to her suffering.

His eyes looked over her frame, glaring once he spotted the blood leaking through the cracks of her fingers. The familiar dangerous look in his eyes almost had her apologizing for nothing at all. But then he turned, right fist clenched as he knocked Jason straight to the floor.

The crowd gasped and moved closer. Silent for a small minute before another punch landed on Jason's face. Once the students caught a sight of blood coming out of Jason's nose, the crowd began to scream, encouraging the violence in front of them.

She didn't understand why Eddie was beating the hell out of Jason, and not joining him. She used the distraction to get up and race to the nurse. Running as fast as she could away from the crowd that was focused on the new fight at hand.

"DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH HER!"

The anger in Eddie's voice almost made her turn, almost made her feel protected, almost made her feel safe...but just almost.

~~~

She sat in the nurses office, the bleeding stopped but she held the tissue to her nose just in case. Minutes later a fuming Eddie wandered in, his bloody knuckles caused the nurse to gasp and race for an ice pack in the back freezer, down the hall.

She tried to avoid looking at him. Praying if she didn't move a single muscle, he wouldn't see her.

"Are you okay?" The softness in his voice was something she never experienced. She made herself look at him, trying to see if that truly came out of his mouth.

She sat quietly, she still didn't want to talk to him.

"I'm sorry he did that to you." He said, the softness still lingering.

"mad because you couldn't do it first?" Okay, maybe she did want to talk to him. She wanted to snap at him, yell at him, make his life hell the way he did to her.

Eddie flinched at the blow. Her words stung worse than the cuts on his knuckles.

"Mad that I ever did it in the first place. You never deserved any of that." He admitted. He was ashamed of himself. " I grew up with bullies and I became one. And the worst part is I bullied the most beautiful girl on the planet that has a fucking heart of gold. I adored how fragile you were and I destroyed you with my bare hands. And the reason is so stupid and selfish." He ranted out. Wayne would be so disappointed in what Eddie has become.

She felt like screaming at herself, hating the way her heart skipped a beat when he called her beautiful.

"what was the reason?" She asked, her voice quiet as she took in his apologetic gaze.

"I used to like this girl and I thought she liked me too. We dated for months and it turned out to be a prank with her friends. I was so hurt and angry at myself for being so stupid. I promised myself to never waste time on liking a girl in high school ever again. Then you and your bubbly personality walked in and I was scared. I liked you instantly and I needed myself to hate you. I was selfish. I tore you apart just to make it easier for me. It's not something I ever think deserves forgiveness. I know it's so fucked up to take out on you. You were just an innocent girl and I hate what I did to you."

She took in his words. The emotion in his eyes told her he meant all of it. But at the same time, he was right. She didn't deserve a single thing he did to her. She never once hurt him or put him in a position where he needed to protect himself.

"You never even gave me a chance, Eddie. Why couldn't you just ignore me? Seems like us never talking would have been better for both of us." She wished more than anything she never gave him her time. Let his opinions change the way she felt about herself.

"I wanted to, but in some twisted and toxic way, it made me feel special? I could treat you so poorly and you'd still come running up to me. And I know that is such an asshole thing to say. I wish I could take it all back. Treat you the way you always should have been treated. Given you a chance to show me you wouldn't hurt me. But I caused all of this damage and I know it's something I'll never fix. I'm sorry for everything." He apologized

" I appreciate the apology, but I don't forgive you for shit. You are an asshole, incredibly selfish, treated me like shit all because you were scared of a little crush? You're pathetic." Eddie winced at her words. "But, it shows you are flawed and human. Right now, I really don't want to be near you. Maybe in time I'll find it in me to forgive you, just not today."

He respected her honesty above anything.

"I understand. Thank you for letting me explain." He said with a small smile, turning around to walk out into the hallway.

Before he made it out of the doorway she spoke up, "why did you stop him?"

"No one gets to bully my girl but me." He said, a smirk on his face, throwing her a wink before he disappeared out the door.

God she hated him.

~~~

I could not figure out a real "happy" ending but to me, I like this ending so I'm sorry if you read this whole thing and was very disappointed in the ending :(

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingwicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #bully!eddie x reader #bully!eddie munson #ashwhowrites

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year

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Bonus DP x DC prompt “Star-crossed lovers” to this prompt where Batclan ship “Pitch Pearl”

"Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun." -Juliet (act 3, scene 2)

Red Hood stays in Amity Park to observe the situation after the romantic conflict resolution between Fenton and Phantom.

One day from a rooftop next to the Fenton Works he sees Fenton putting toxic ectoplasm in a bottle on the table, sighing and pouring it into a glass.

The horror of plunging into the Lazarus pit flashes before Jason’s eyes. Who would be crazy enough to want to experience such a thing? And for what?

As a proud bookworm, he could not help but remember the story of Romeo and Juliet at the same moment.

"My only love sprung from my only hate, too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me that I must love my enemy." -Juliet (act 1, scene 5)

Parents who are against relationships and hate the fact that their child’s partner exists? Checked out.

Dead Romeo? Uh, yeah, definitely.

Vial of poison? Freely available in the lab.

There can be only one logical conclusion: Seeing the dead lover, Fenton thinks only about how soon to die himself.

Is Fenton ready to join his lover in the Kingdom of the Dead? He has no guarantee of returning as a ghost, so why risk it?

Jason*runs to save “Juliet”*: I defy you, stars!

~~~~

Needless to say, sleep-deprived Danny is extremely unhappy when a guy in a leather jacket breaks into his house and tries to take his lunch away.

Both boys panick, scream and absolutely not hear each other.

Jason: Don’t do this! It’s not worth it, there must be another way!

Danny: Give me my soup back, thief! Take the turkey, it’s going to go bad.

Jason: I am serious.“ Love moderately. Long love doth so.

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.” Leave the ectoplasm to the dead ones, boy.

Danny: What a coincidence, I’m already dead deep deep inside.

Jason: Don’t joke, you should talk to a therapist.

Danny: Great idea. Jazz, help! Human in the house! This is not a drill!

Jason:..In general, both of you should talk to the Justice League. They can protect Phantom from your parents, don’t worry. You are not alone.

~~~~

Fenton, sitting in front of the Justice League.

Flash: So, you and Phantom, how did you decide to start dating?

Danny: Well, what can I say in defense.. "Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty." -Romeo (act 5, scene 3)

Justice League:

Danny: Just kidding. I learned a whole quote for this. Can someone be proud of me, please?

Batman: Hmmm

Danny: Thanks. And relax, I knew him before he died. Our relationship has always been complicated but we literally can’t exist without each other. So don’t worry about our breakup, it’s unlikely.

Danny: And don’t think I’d kill myself in such a stupid way, it’s boring. You might want to be more concerned about whether or not I’m shocking myself with a Fenton portal than watching my food. My stomach is indestructible, tested by years of ecto-contaminated cooking. But I don’t want to die. All this RIP is a complete lie. Trust me.

Red Hood: You. use to eat. ectoplasm?!

Danny: Yes, it's very nutritious. But you need to develop tolerance to it, otherwise you will be able to try it only once in a lifetime.

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Jason Todd #red hood

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ppnuggiex · 10 months

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Howdy! I saw requests were open, but if not then please do ignore this one!

It's kinda crack? But mostly angst to comfort, essentially something goes wrong in reader's alchemy class and they get hit by an extremely strong spell that makes it seem as if they're dead, but really they're just in a super deep sleep. So once the spell wears off, they wake up right in the middle of their own funeral cuz everyone thought they were dead. Gender neutral pronouns for the reader with riddle, kalim, malleus and floyd as the love interests! In headcanon format as well pretty please!

　　　　　　TWST x gn reader

　　　　『　riddle ,, kalim ,, malleus ,, floyd ,, gender neutral reader 』

　　-> reader gets hit w/ heavy deep sleep spell n characters think theyre dead

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, crack ,, a bit of angst

　　— this ended up being a little more on the humorous side 😭

- kalim

| • hes so distraught ,, hands on his head as he freaks out and shakes you violently . jamil finds out and facepalms . mr crewel told him nothing was wrong ,, to just give you time but kalim couldnt .

| • he swore you had died ,, and because of that he done held a big fancy funeral . he done invited all the dorms and everything .

| • you woke up when he was in the middle of talking about how you were such a nice and loving partner ,, how he wished you didnt have to die this soon .

| • get this man a tissue bc he starts bawling when you whip that coffin open .

- riddle

| • hes a bit more calmer than kalim in this situation ,, taking care of you whilst you sleep . but he always felt like something was off .

| • that was until one day he went to check up on you ,, your skin was oddly cold and he couldnt feel your breathe or see your chest move when you did breathe .

| • he may or may not have panicked at that point ,, checking your pulse and not feeling anything .

| • riddle thought the spell done killed you then ,, after all you didnt have any sort of resistance to magic so it was a possibility .

| • cue him tending your funeral and trying his best not to start crying in front of all those people .

| • you were his partner ,, his life and joy and now youre gone . or so he thought until you threw that coffin door open and smacked the person speaking right in the face .

| • and standing up in the coffin and falling face first out .

- malleus

| • bro acted the same as kalim . he did not stop to think about checking your pulse or anything . his immediate reaction was that you died . and all the sudden it started to rain very hard .

| • he starts acting like a child who lost his mom ,, panicking and shaking your body as much as he could .

| • then he pulls out some shakespeare typa shit ,, going on about how woe is me ,, my beloved hath died ,, taking from his grip as your soul was dragged away from him .

| • he has a small funeral for you ,, ready to speak for you when a miracle happens .

| • you awaken !! malleus is so shocked he gets a little teary eyed ,, running over and making sure youre okay before getting all baby girl .

| • in the end you walk out carrying him bridal style whilst sebek is fretting over his image .

- floyd

| • he thought this was one of those pranks people do to their pets . where you record yourself pretending to be dead to see what your cat does or something .

| • so he kinda ,, kicked you a few times and is all like ,, wake up shrimpy this isnt funny .

| • then jade has to break the news of the possibility you mightve been struck too harshly by the potion and maybe youre just ,, yknow ,, passed on .

| • floyd refuses to believe it ,, you couldnt have left him . you wouldnt do that to him . you wouldnt abandon him like that .

| • as much as he hates to admit it ,, he definitely cried a bit that night . he shows up for the funeral ,, still in disbelief youre dead .

| • but boooyy is he whipped when you ended up being asleep . he doesnt care who’s there ,, he runs over and rips you out that coffin so fast .

| • blames you for worrying and leaving him ,, and makes you promise not to do something like that again .

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ciphykiss · 1 year

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incubus >

blade x f!reader; nsfw, mdni somnophilia (does it count if its in a dream idk), slight dubcon, light “claiming” elements

You’re going to resign tomorrow.

This is what you tell yourself when the siren of your cell blares Jingyuan’s ringtone at 3 AM on a weekend, a mere two hours following your last shift at the general’s personal slammer (you’d applied for an administrative assistant position, dammit; you were supposed to be serving the slick bastard tea and going on lotus cake runs, not wiping prisoner spit off your cheek). In the beginning, you’d attempted to balm the degrading lifestyle with girthy checks, cruising into salons like clockwork every Friday with your hair up and eyes cucumber’d, lovely Foxian ladies attending to your nails and worn muscle (you’d try to ignore their comments about how you’d aged fifty years in half of one but just end up crying), flirted with the latest designer dresses, and found yourself zombie-clicking add to cart whenever you were on the verge of your bi-weekly meltdown.

No amount of flashy makeup, a piled vanity, and three grand miniskirts are convincing enough for Tingyun, however, and the Foxian would only glance over in pity as you threw yourself at your weekend prize in attempts to forget whatever near-death experience you’d suffered from grooming Jingyuan’s latest charge before their trial.

Your holidays always ended in one of two ways: the ambassador consoling you by observing her nails while you threw your guts up on a clubside of the red light district, remarking on how you should’ve just worked under Yukong like she’d told you to (it wasn’t your fault you’d been seduced by the sleeping general enough to delude yourself into thinking you’d had a shot at a postgraduate office romance), victim to you screeching obscenities of “that bastard” while vomiting a day’s meals (five shots of espresso, a chicken wing, and offbrand Lexapro). Then, you’d spy grime under your nails from previous altercation and wail louder, because you were wasting your prime in fucking prison cells.

It was either that, or being rudely interrupted at approximately five-thirty the next day (a holiday, mind you) to a string of texts that had bypassed warnings of “do not disturb” in favor of bitching about how a true friend wouldn’t let you sleep with a negative four. The true miracle was you not ending up on Tingyun’s blocklist (she’d added you indefinitely once until you’d bombarded the Sky-Faring Commissions with love letters begging their amicassador for “one more chance pls :’(( </3”).

“Why don’t you just quit,” Tingyun had asked on an average Sunday afternoon while stirring her margarita; the Foxian looked a picture-perfect beauty next to your rat-haired, hoodie-clad figure, makeup from last night melting off your face.

You’d ceased licking hollandaise sauce off your upper lip to stare at her. And instead of arguing about how you’d likely never procure a salary as high as your current one (nothing was worth the cost of your youth and beauty), or how Jingyuan could, quite literally, ruin every one of your future job prospects if he deemed you necessary (you’d find a way to murder him; hell hath no fury like a woman scorned), you could only muster a single thought.

“Tingyun, you’re a genius.”

The paperwork (because he is the bastard, Jingyuan had purposefully orchestrated his resignation process to be thrice as lengthy as the average Luofunian businesses, complete with word-limit essays detailing the exact reason for departure and a five-year timeline on future posts) is stashed under a vase on your nightstand; you make a mental note to litter expletives along the margins to finalize the word count. With the shit he’d just pulled, the general would be in no position to even raise a brow.

“Where’s the newbie,” you grit, slamming your receiver and thumb print over the holographic lock of the Cloud Knight’s maximum security cells. Your companion, a Vidyadhara accountant-turned-night watch guard (because Jingyuan’s ever-growing penchant for tossing civil servants into the line of criminal apprehension remained steadfast even before your recruitment), sweats nervously, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Miss [Name],” Danyin stresses, wincing at the sight of weeks-old inmates clawing at his fabrics for scraps of food, money, and flesh; you ignore him, walking onwards with an air of pissed-offery not even the most seasoned of inmates would dare inflame; your hair hangs behind you, perfumed and damp from its midnight shower, face void of the traditional rouged eyes and thick liner you’d adopted since entering Jingyuan’s court. “If I may speak—”

“You may not.”

“—the general was adamant you meet with him first before apprehension of our newest inmate. He seems… quite ruffled.”

“As he should be, because the next time I see him, I’ll rip him a ne—”

“It is evident that this criminal is naught like the others, [Name], and this is the first time we’ve had to quarter anyone in Cloudford’s maximum security ce—”

You whirl around to face Danyin, eyes ablaze. The guard withers under the brunt of your glower.

“I will see to it my duties are performed,” you say evenly, “and then, I will clock out, return to bed, and enjoy the rest of my weekend with my cell muted. You can let that scoundrel know I will be unavailable for the next 48 hours.”

And with that, you jerk the handlebar of the deepest cell in Jingyuan’s fort shut, your last sight that of Danyin with his mouth hanging open.

The maximum security cells of Jingyuan’s prison are surprisingly less unkempt than the bustle of the commons; it is dark and smells distinctly of a new, unused apartment complex. There are neither guards nor cellkeepers, no windows to speak of; only a dark, winding hallway leading to your destination.

It’s the first time you’d been allotted clearance; originally, you’d presumed the general lacked faith in both your combat abilities and the unwavering loyalty shared by his retinue (both are correct), but now, you realize it’s simply due to a lack of occupants.

(And rightfully so, because you’re having a terrible time imagining what dangers would have Jingyuan paranoid.)

You stop in front of a glass cell; it is tempered, element, bullet, sound, and magic proof; you glance down at your wristwatch and realize it has lost its signal. A neon red “O” flashes on top of the door.

Hesitantly (because despite your lack of sleep and the fact that you’re moving on sole hatred), you touch the glass, peering into the darkness for any sign of movement (any sign of life).

There are none.

Chewing your bottom lip, you decide to adopt the usual “fuck it” mentality you’d been ailed with after more than a few double-digit near death encounters in these halls and press the pads of your fingers over the lock.

It churns, once, twice, thrice, before responding in a robotic monotone; “high-risk individual detected; please exercise caution.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave your hand. “Just get it over with.”

A pause. “Searching database; clearance confirmed. Please confirm entry command.”

You click your tongue. “I do.”

A soft, buzzing sound. “High-risk individual detected; please reaffirm entry command.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, yes!”

The algorithm grows silent. The cogs behind the seemingly innocuous doorway bluster for at least ten seconds, winding open in a rigid, clumsy gait.

Inside, it is darker still. It smells of the preserved glaze used all over the Luofu to seal unused buildings, and a hint of dust; metallic odors assail your nose. Your eyes adjust to the blackness, and you peer long enough to spy the end of a conversation table.

“...uh, hello?”

No response. Annoyed, you search the walls for the lightswitch—your hands dart blindly until it finds the lever.

Dim, blue hues glint off the corridor, bathing the cell in an ominous, funeral-morning light. Your eyes train to the end of the table, and there he sits—still, unmoving, a mane of raven hair cascading down his back, a flesh-and-bone composition of some western Dracula. He is unlike any other inmate you’d laid eyes on before, something incorrigible, clandestine about him; it’s as if he’s frozen in the intersection of immortality and death, one foot through the door, never fully on either side. Distinctly, it reminds you of some late-stage cases of mara-struck individuals that would eventually be sent for termination (the grim fate of all Xianzhou natives).

He is as strong as he is imposing, and nearly as tall as the general himself; this, you can ascertain by the muted rise of his chest, the cling of Xianzhounian fabric over battle-hardened muscle, and knees that hit the bottom of the table.

He can kill you, you realize instantly; a part of you screams that he not only can, but will. It is a primitive fear, one you hadn’t thought you’d face in the closely-guarded Luofu ship, especially under the watchful eye of the Cloud Knight’s general; it’s enough for you to stop breathing, and render you frozen in your tracks.

You force yourself to exhale, dragging the chair on your end of the table back to situate yourself.

“Good evening,” you manage to utter, cringing at how it comes out a half-squeak; you bite your tongue, willing yourself to harden. A killer this man might’ve been (a professional one, if your screaming gut instinct had anything to say), you didn’t power through half a decade of amicassador training and Jingyuan’s bullshit to flail at the sight of a wanted criminal. “I’m [Name], associate-assistant of General Jingyuan of the Cloud Knights, acting director-in-command of Cloudford’s maximum security center; my duties include, but are not limited to, prerequisite questioning of inmates following admission, collection of bio-data, and basic care of inmates that are unable to groom oneself.” You spy the etherous shackles bound at the wrists of his gauze-covered hands. “Do you consent to the precursory collection of bio-data?”

No response. Not even the slightest tilt of a head, not a single hair moving out of place. A little paler, and you’d presume him dead. You chew the inside of your mouth.

“Would you be willing to provide your legal name? Planet of origin? Species?” Each question is followed by another inch of silence, widening the sea between you and the stranger; though you’re simply following protocol, you can’t help but shiver at the thought of offending Jingyuan’s newest specimen. “...that will conclude logistics. As per duty, and due to current physical restrictions, I am, by law, required to provide basic grooming; this will include a wipe-down of the face. You may vocalize any additional requests; if deemed appropriate by the Cloud Knight Codex, I will comply.”

Silence.

You decide you’d rather the world swallow you back into its womb and spit you back out so you might choose another path in life. Anything to prevent the development of that stupid crush on the scoundrel-general that had left you moon-eyed enough to brush off Tingyun’s recommendation of bannering under Yukong’s Sky-Faring Commission, where you’d entertain foreign investors and tryst with exotic artists instead of dancing with the stink of death every workday.

“...I’m going to touch you now,” you murmur, the scrape of your chair filling the cell. “Please excuse me.”

It’s like diving head-first into a guillotine; every live-wire nerve in you is shrilling for you to run, dignity and Jingyuan and the peace of the Luofu be damned. Leave the goddamn cell door open if you had to; anything to save your own skin. You don’t, of course; instead, you waver in front of the man, still a sitting statue, and tear open the sterile clothpack you’d pocketed.

Slowly, you kneel—and suddenly, you’re having to look up at him, all harsh lines and dark hair, and you thank the Aeons he’s blindfolded and you can’t see his eyes, because you know you wouldn’t have been able to perform any duty under the brunt of a killer’s stare.

He smells of incense and the bloodied scabbard of a sword. Specifically, the woodsmoke used in funerals. Hesitantly, you press the damp end of the satin to the stranger’s cheek.

The result is instantaneous, and you would’ve missed it had you hadn’t been seasoned by years of dealing with the most insidious of criminals; his mouth twitches, his nostrils flare; the actions are subtle, not at all assuming to the naked eye, and would, when performed by any other inmate, be brushed off as involuntary fidgeting;

But not this man, not death himself.

You nearly drop the cloth in alarm. But you don’t, and you try to look anywhere but him (because looking at him hurts as much as it would staring into the core of a non-artificial sun), climbing over the bridge of his nose, the flesh of his lips, the dip of his brows and the cuts of his hard, narrow jaw.

He is handsome.

The thought is both funny and terrifying; it helps you function, albeit more normally, though a part of you knows you shouldn’t find a national security threat anything more than appalling.

“Done,” you murmur, pulling back until you’re no longer drunk on the scent of orientals and woodsmoke. You pause, affirming just how pretty he is up close—a word you’d seldom use to describe men, and though he is absurdly handsome, there’s something flowery about the drape of his hair over his shoulder (another sign of danger, you now realize, as Xianzhounian warriors only cut their hair after defeat), the fullness of his mouth; like a carnivorous, night-flowering jasmine, you muse, blooming a scent so elusive it would only attract the most macabre of victims into its maw.

Aeons, the wanted criminal had you waxing poetry. Had your perpetual sleep deprivation toed its way to insanity?

“...do you require any further assistance?”

It shouldn’t shock you, it really shouldn’t; and yet, his response has the same effect as being struck with a killing blow from the general’s lightning lord itself;

“No,” he rasps, and the sound shoots right down to your core.

Fuck. Maybe you should’ve convinced your Foxian friend to take that old geezer up on his threeway offer last weekend, because it had clearly been too long since you’d gotten laid. For a wanted criminal you’d just laid eyes on to have such—

No. There’s no way. You make a mental note to ask Tingyun what self-care devices are trending and hide the pang in your nether regions with a shuffle of your thighs.

“Alright,” you squeak, scrambling to your feet—and protocol be damned, because there’s nothing in this godforsaken intergalactic universe that can stop you from crawl-dashing out the door as fast as your stupid work heels will carry you.

You need an intervention (an orgasm). Stat.

ꨄ︎

The Jingyuan that haunts you at dusk is as capable as the one you loathe during the day, thrice as inflamed, and so deliciously pliant. Your vision is obscured in the pewter-gray of his mane, teeth scraping the naked flesh of your shoulder, wet and warm and hard.

You dig your nails into the roots of his hair, as always, and yank. In response, he lets out a muffled groan—you imagine the sound reverberates under your skin like ripples along a lake, and feel his (your) hands dip below the hem of your dress. He would be careful, you think—considerate, despite his bastardry, barely bruising, just harsh enough to leave you wanting, just how you like it (or so you think).

“I hate you,” you gasp, to no one; Jingyuan chuckles, lips soft over the juncture of your throat.

“Me?”

“You,” you moan, the rake of your nails along his back coaxing him into littering a thousand kisses over your neck. “I hate you, I hate you—you and your stupid hair and lackadaisical, know-it-all attitude, and—fuck, I deserve a raise!”

“You don’t sound as though you hate me,” he hums. “In fact, you sound… rather pleased.”

Of course the Jingyuan in your hallucinogen-inspired wet dream is as cocky as the one in flesh; you scowl, landing a good one across his left cheek. He laughs, then, which spurs you to lock your legs around his hips and push him into the plush of the many pillows of your dreamscape.

“Shut up,” you order, “and put that mouth of yours to use for once.”

He doesn’t need any further instigation; dream-Jingyuan (somehow just as insufferable, despite being the byproduct of YOUR imagination) grabs you by the thighs and splits you open like his last meal. You gasp, hips moving of their own accord—reality blurs with the walls of your dreamworld, your own fingers replaced with the general’s calloused ones, and you sway to build the peak of your climax to your heart’s desire, lips coaxed open by his tongue, clit brushing against the bridge of his nose.

It’s all too much, really; you don’t remember the last time you’d had a dream so vivid, despite having remedied your insomnia quite often with visions of taming the sleeping general. There’s a strange sense of liminality; the thick fog separates to make way for cracks that closely resemble your bedroom wall, silk sheets fading into the strewn blankets you’d received as a New Year’s gift.

And then, Jingyuan does something completely unscripted—he slides you off his face, throws your leg over his hip, and grinds into your core.

You let out a whimper, something small in the back of your mind screaming that this isn’t normal—that a fabrication shouldn’t be chasing after his own pleasure, that the teeth along your neck feel harsher, more volatile;

But you can’t be bothered to care, whining for more—because suddenly, his mouth isn’t enough, and you need him, you need to be filled—had your vision been less blurry, and had you been even a smidgen less wanton, you wouldn’t noticed the shock of white hair fade into ink, the bare chest replace itself with dark fabric, and the fog of your dreamscape turn to overhead skies and a bed crowned in a million spider lilies.

And then,

“Jingyuan?” The forbidden, familiar baritone husks into your ear, and Aeons, you’d never crumbled faster—your eyes split open, still hazy, glittering with unshed tears—of frustration, of want, of hatred, everything in between and more, and you feel yourself getting even wetter. “Of all men, him?”

“What’re ‘ou doing here?” You babble, incoherent; your arms are still wrapped around his neck, and slowly, the inmate you’d been acquainted with mere hours before rises, shrouding your world in a curtain of black hair.

He smells the same—incense and blood and rain. Great. Now you’re hallucinating scents.

“That won’t do,” he says, lowering his face; the fabric of his blindfold touches your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but the fact that you can’t truly see him is even more erotic than any fantasy you’d ever conjured up before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, the last shreds of decency slipping away to the cloudsmoke of his perfume and the flush of his hardened body against yours. “This isn’t—mmm!”

His mouth is on yours, and it is nothing like any mirage store-bought fantasia can conjure up; he is nothing like the men you pick up at clubs, nothing like the teasing Jingyuan in your dreams. He is taking you, commanding your lips to part to make way for him; his tongue searches yours, feverish and so ravaging that it should have you fleeing the planet.

Then, he moves, and you feel the brush of something hard against your mound, near corporeal; the threads of rationality snap, and you’re arching, using your hooked leg as leverage to melt into the dream-criminal’s body, because now, a dream isn’t enough—you want to feel him, warmth and muscle and the cage of his arms, and become one; a mouth isn’t enough. Suddenly, nothing is enough.

He pulls away to latch onto your neck, and you cry at the loss.

“No,” you wail, hooking your remaining leg over his waist. Slender, moreso than Jingyuan’s. “Kiss me more—gimme more—I need—”

“Take it yourself,” he says, working on the welts now littering your collarbone in what an absurd part of you assumes is an attempt to replace any remnants of the dream-general. “Do you really think yourself deserving?”

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes. “So—so mean,”

You lay there for a minute more, frustrated and so stupidly wet, aching for his touch while he seems content to deliver his punishments in the form of mouthing along every inch of your throat and breasts.

“You demon,” you accuse, fisting his shirtsleeve pathetically. Your lips twitch into a frown when he continues to ignore you.

Take it yourself, huh?

And then, because it’s a dream and you would rather die than be left unsatisfied in your own un-reality, you grab the stranger by the face, part your lips open, and finish what he so rudely began.

A part of you expects a nightmarish turn—one where he lashes out to skewer your gut, or worse; instead, he indulges you, fingers steadying your hips as they attempt to grind into a rhythm.

“You’re in my dream, aren’t you?” You whisper, scattering pecks along his cheek—he is, after all, so pretty, too pretty not to dote on. “Take responsibility. Jingyuan would.”

It’s like smelting a firecracker; his mouth bends into an almost-scowl, and the grip on your hips turns bruising.

Bandaged fingers curl into your heat, building atop an existing pressure—your reaction is visceral. A gasp, then an involuntary swivel of your spine with the heels of your feet digging into the bed; and just as you think he’s going to build a staccato, his ministrations halt.

It’s devastating, and it has you wailing into the crook of his pale, unforgiving, not-quite-embrace; frustrated, you knock your fists against his chest. If it were reality, it would hurt you more than it hurt him.

“You bastard.”

“I could ruin you,” he haunts, an echo in your ear. “I could make it burn. You would dream of me in the waking world, cry for me in the dreaming. A slave to passion, day and night; hardly sleeping, hardly eating, merely breathing, finding relief only when I move inside you.”

His lips graze over your own.

“But I won’t.”

It’s a strange, humiliating experience, coming undone from a mere kiss; your heat throbs, neglected, still sobbing to be touched, be soothed, put at rest; but the way he holds you can be mistaken as loving, and the curl of his mouth against yours is almost kind; it’s like grasping at the shadow of a man that never existed.

And then, you wake up.

Your walls are sepia and no longer skies, there are no lilies at your feet. Your cheeks are tear-stained, and there’s a hand under your skirt, the other cupping your breast in poor mimicry of your dream demon.

Something red catches the mirror on your nightstand.

There, splintered across the previously unmarred expanse of your throat, lies a canopy of bruise-colored kisses.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #blade hsr #honkai star rail smut #blade smut #part of a series but im too lazy to format parts rn

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k-atsukibakugou · 8 months

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────────⌕ search: mercury/katsuki-bakugou

updated 30th april 2024

masterlist • archive of our own • wip updates • my kofi please bear in mind all my works will be female/femme reader & remember to check the warnings

worship me | nsfw 18+ | 2.9k — 26/04/2022 *originally posted to gwen0m

summary: an unforgettable autumn night at your private catholic college when Father Bakugo approaches you after late-night studying at the church’s library. warnings: noncon, unprotected vaginal sex, blasphemy, manipulation, dacryphilia, corrupt priest, breeding & threatening

before he cheats | implied nsfw 18+ | 1.8k — 11/08/2022

summary: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and god, does it turn a man on with that fire in your eyes and bat swinging in your hand, ready to key the car of the man who wronged you. warnings: feminine pronouns/nicknames/descriptions, fantasising, mentions of weapons (bat, knife), bakugou gets horny over crazy girls

what's your favourite scary movie? | nsfw 18+ | 4.9k — 03/11/2023

summary: finally convincing one of your best friends to come to the 30th anniversary re-release of scream, he figures out one of your best-kept secrets. warnings: femme reader (called girl, has a pussy, wears makeup n a skirt), death threat kinda lmao, public & unprotected sex, blood mention, knife mention, reader implied to be recon/stealth hero, not beta’d bc i got nervous and we die like men, this is like all lead up my b

do something, babe, say something | angst | 2.0k — 09/11/2023

summary: you tell katsuki bakugou you love him for the first time warnings: gn!reader, miscommunication, self sacrifice

wired | nsfw 18+ | 9.3k — 15/12/2023

summary: honing your kickboxing skills with pro hero dynamight can lead to a) insane improvements of your skills, becoming the best version of yourself with each critique you get, b) a crush like no other you’ve ever had in your life, or c) all of the above? warnings: fem!reader (“girl”, “cunt”, “pussy” used) slight age gap but not a main plot point, a lil bit of violence, making out, brattish reader, choking (ish), hair pulling, dry humping, slight edging, public sex, unprotected sex, implied use of birth control

bad enough for you | nsfw 18+ | 4.0k — 15/01/2024

summary: bathrooms at house parties are only made for one thing warnings: fem!reader (has a pussy, wearing makeup + skirt), established relationship, toxic relationship, cheating, alcohol mention (tipsy sex), blood/biting/marking/cutting mention, unprotected sex, degradation/name calling (not really but just in case), hair pulling, fingering (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving)

like a girl does | nsfw 18+ | 6.7k — 19/02/2024

summary: you're finally being introduced to your girlfriend's friends, invited to a last minute party, any confidence melting from you when you see another girl clinging to her arm. warnings: fauxcest (bakugou referred to as your step sister/sister), dubcon, bakugou is TOXIC, feminine/girly reader (she/her pronouns; wearing makeup; nails + a dress; long hair/out/on her face), reader referred to as a puppy (degradingly not petplay lmao), pet names (pretty + baby), emotional manipulation, cheating (on reader, implied to be with ochako but not overtly), alcohol + weed mention, reader a lillll bit of a crybaby, public/car sex, oral (r! receiving)

fantasise | nsfw 18+ | 1.5k — 20/04/2024

summary: katsuki sees your sex toys once and is haunted by what you look like using them. warning/s: m! & f!masturbation, sex toys, fantasising

bakugou helping you out when your piercing gets stuck — 11/12/2022

kiri n bakugou, under v overstimulation [nsfw] — 16/11/2022

katsuki watching a rabbit review [nsfw] — 27/10/2023

lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off — 14/11/2023

"make me" [nsfw] — 06/12/2023

if katsuki ever lost his memory — 12/12/2023

sleeping with bakugou — 24/12/2023

big brother bakugou [nsfw] — 11/01/2024

valentine’s day — 09/02/2024

childhood best friends — 23/03/2024

teasing him [nsfw]— 09/04/2024

katsuki bakugou + strawberry daiquiri — 26/04/2024

katsuki bakugou + jagerbomb [nsfw] — 27/04/2024

katsuki bakugou + bloody mary [nsfw] — 27/04/2024

katsuki bakugou + cosmopolitan — 05/05/2024

sirens call — 09/05/2024

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

#line dividers by me #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #k-atsukibakugou #「mercury writes」#「kat <3」

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fuckyestherest · 10 days

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Creator Highlight - Week 4

Welcome to our Creator Highlight Week 4!

Every week, we’ll use this space to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use so much of their free time and creative energy to share their work with us and bring our imaginations to life via writing, art, visuals, and many other creative mediums.

This week we want to highlight @iftheshoef1tz, a kind-hearted, funny, and wildly talented member of our community who is always eager to talk plot bunnies, support others, give hilarious book reviews, and share her incredible ideas.

Thank you for sharing your works with us, and for always being such a hilarious, creative, and fun human being! Your headcanons, plot ideas, and commentary never fail to make our day, and your Azris works are nothing short of absolutely incredible.

Below are some of our favorite @iftheshoef1tz creations.

our bodies, possessed by light | Azris

Howl | Azris

what hath night to do with sleep | Azris, Neris, Eris/Nesta/Cassian

I Come With Knives | Azris

A Court of Hounds and Shadows | Azris

Auld Lang Syne | Nesta/Eris, Nesta/Cassian, Eris/Azriel, some Elain/Lucien

Thanks so much for bringing such unique, interesting, and creative works to the fandom! We’re so glad you’re here!

You can find more on @iftheshoef1tz Ao3 and Master List!

#creator highlight #acotar #fic recs #azris #neris #eris x nesta x cassian

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brabblesblog · 2 months

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 5: What hath night to do with sleep?

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Moonlit conversations, nightmares, and revelations - it all could go very wrong, or so wonderfully right.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Commission from Emy San

Astarion’s trance was broken by the movement of sheets; the heavy duvet lightly draped over him stirring. He felt the bed shift as the weight lifted and he finally opened his eyes, a little irritated. It had been a good trance, the best he’d had in a while.

The room was bathed in moonlight. He quirked an eyebrow as his lips tugged down into a frown, confused as to why Ban had pulled the curtains back. He found her standing, staring at the mirror; it reflected nothing of note, of course, only the room and his own rather sleepy countenance visible.

“Ban.” His voice cut through the silence, rough with sleep. He tapped her side of the bed, a quick gesture to come back. When she didn’t respond he groaned and forced himself to sit up.

“Love. It’s very late, and I’d very much rather-”

The words died in his throat as he saw her shoulders shake.

“Nightmare,” she offered by way of explanation, voice wavering. Astarion wanted to press, then reconsidered; instead he spread his arms, offering sanctuary.

He noted her momentary pause, but before he could worry about rejection she moved, climbing up the bed and sliding into his embrace. They settled in, and he ended up with his head in the crook of her neck and his face pressed against the pulse there. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, a leg hooked over his hip.

Comfortable, he thought, fighting the urge to slip into trance again. Being tangled up with her was always pleasant, but it was incredibly tranquil when he was barely out of trance. He kept silent, trusting her to speak when she needed to. At least she’d stopped crying - he could tell from the way her breaths were slowing down; he pressed a kiss against the undead heartbeat in her neck.

“You can have some,” Ban offered, voice hoarse. Astarion paused, immediately on the defensive.

He didn’t want her to think that; he still occasionally worried she saw him as someone who uses her. Someone to fear. Someone to mistrust. That he was still just the Ascendant, try as he might to keep that side turned away from her. Try as he might to give her what she deserves: the soft core of him, her Astarion - not quite the spawn he was, and yet not completely the monster she’d perceived him to be. “That is not-” he began to protest.

“No, I know. But you can if you wish.” The answer was calm, unconcerned. Trusting.

Astarion reconsidered the offer. “Tempting, but I’ve tasted you once today, and that is enough.” Another kiss to that same spot, a small thank you.

Ban chuckled at the reminder. “That was rather fun. And I did appreciate it.” She smiled, almost shyly, and he fought the urge to tell her there was little need for it: she’d seen him at his worst and his best, and there was no cause to be embarrassed if he saw the same in her.

“It reminded me of before,” she continued, “back then. It was the same, but also different. Like you. Tonight you reminded me you’re both the man I loved before and the man I love now. I… needed that.”

A flood of warmth rushed through him and he wordlessly pressed a small peck to the tip of her nose. It was nowhere near enough to express the gratitude he felt at her words; he could only hope she understood.

He could sense she was about to tell him something else, however; the way her brow furrowed and her lips pursed were indicative. He patiently waited, head in the cage of her body, both of them bathed in moonlight. Astarion wouldn’t mind staying here forever. He covered her with the blanket, tucking them in. The coolness of her body dropped the temperature under the sheets, but he didn’t mind.

“I dreamt of you,” she said, and he tilted his head slightly, as much as he could without leaving the comfort of her embrace, meeting her gaze. He let one hand run up and down her side, fingers caressing cool skin, much like she had done when his had been.

“If dreaming of your husband makes you cry, love, I think we should be worried.” He kept the tone light, but his hand paused to pull her even closer so that they were almost fully flush against each other.

“No, not like that,” Ban clarified. “Not exactly. In fact, I’ve sort of been thinking of before, recently…”

As she trailed off, Astarion’s hand tightened on her waist. Thinking of before? What for? He took a long look at her face and took a stab at guessing, but was unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Not like you haven’t been thinking of it all along, haven’t you?” he snipped, aware that he sounded bitter. She’d spent this entire year vacillating between thinking he’d been compromised by the ritual somehow, to missing the person she thought he’d been at the start - never mind that it had always been a mistaken notion - to finally grieving for what they could have been had the rite not happened.

So which was it now? He realized he was exhausted; each time this conversation arose he was reminded of how he wasn’t quite what she wanted, even if she’d finally accepted him.

Her hand ran through his curls, scratching his scalp; despite his pique he leaned into the touch. “Well, true,” Ban acknowledged with a small sigh. “But I do think I understand better now.”

Astarion braced, heartbeat picking up.

“I’ve come to realize there isn’t really much to regret, other than the six months of… that, and well, I suppose the deaths of everyone unfortunate enough to be bound to the rite. You’re you, like you’ve always said,” she paused for a moment, brow furrowed in thought.

“You’ve always been enough, Astarion. More than enough, even. You are everything to me - from the moment you held that knife to my throat to the present. Always. The rite did not make you more, or even less. It happened - I let it happen - because you wanted it. That’s all it is for me; it was never a statement of your worth. What hurt me, though, what ruined us, was you hiding your heart from me - refusing to let me in. I see it now.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling roughly, relief and exhilaration suffusing him in equal measure. He also felt the need to be honest, however, and tacked his own thoughts onto hers. “Well. You also pulled away, if you recall. Stopped perceiving me. Seeing me.” He moved his hand from her waist to cup a breast, gently kneading it. “I’m not… seeking a fight, Ban; merely mentioning relevant information.” That he mentioned to waylay any chance of her withdrawing from him or taking what he said as a taunt, knowing she at times still took a rather less… charitable view of his words.

“I know,” came the reply. The hand in his drifted towards his ear, caressing the tip; he couldn’t help the slight shiver that ran through him at the contact. She didn’t do that often enough; he came apart every time she did.

“If that’s the case, what was it about dreaming of me that bothered you?” His voice came out breathy, the fingers now tracing the edge of his ear claiming more and more of his attention. “Ban-” he choked out, releasing her breast and reaching out, fingers wrapping around her wrist, stilling her hand. “I can’t focus if you insist on continuing that.”

In the moonlight she smiled, fangs glinting; he felt his heart swell at the sight. Still rare, smiles like that. Only for him, he knew - from the day they’d first met she’d saved smiles like that solely for him. How wonderful it had been to have that smile returned to him, to be worthy of it again. The smile grew wider, and he realized he was at her mercy should she choose to let things progress - not that he minded.

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” she teased, keeping her hand on his ear. Astarion gave up, releasing his grip on her wrist. Another caress along his ear and he shuddered again; her fingers continued as she talked. “Well. I dreamt of you, but you were telling me my father was right. About me, about what I’m meant to be.”

Astarion frowned, the words proving enough to distract him from the pleasant sensation.

“That,” he scoffed, “is the silliest thing your mind could conjure up. I have talked to your father twice, both about the mirror. He isn’t even aware-”

“I know.” The leg hooked over his hip tugged him closer, pressing their hips together. “But I do think it’s a sign for me to finally tell you what you’ve been wanting to know.”

Belatedly, Astarion realized what Ban was trying to do. The touching, the pressing. Intimacy, because she felt too bare when talking about this, too exposed. That wasn’t an issue normally, but the way she was pressing their hips together told him she was attempting to escalate into sex. But right now that would be wrong; it would be sex used flippantly, without much regard for her own wants - much like he had done for centuries. The thought niggled in his mind, nebulous memories of his past slowly resurfacing.

“Very well,” he said, carefully weighing his words. “But if we’re to talk about this, don’t-” Astarion ground his hips against hers, once. A reminder. “Don’t do that, at least for now.” He understood the urge, more than she would ever know, but he wished for this conversation to be focused solely on what’s important. Her.

The memory resurfaces, unbidden:

Darling, what are you doing? This isn’t safe - you can’t trust him!

Ban, asking everyone to leave the boudoir, him included. He had wanted to fight back, had indeed said as much, snapping at her to not be stupid and to think it over, that he could protect her, could kill the hapless-

But she’d said no. That it would risk all of the House of Hope turning against them, that in the end it wouldn’t be so bad: it’s just sex, after all. The unsaid words had weighed on him, they did to this day. She’d been hurting, their relationship imploding in front of their eyes - she hadn’t cared what he thought. More importantly, she hadn’t seemed to care what happened to her.

And then there’d been the day, weeks later, the day the incubus had decided to use her body. Walking in the middle of Baldur’s Gate he’d heard her stifle a moan.

“I heard that moan. It’s the incubus, isn’t it? Enjoying your body?” He’d murmured, feeling lost, impotent - enraged. “Gods, though I’ve become untouchable, my precious treasure has been violated still.”

She hadn’t answered, merely spared him a glance. He’d forced himself to push on. “I know what it’s like to lose control over your own body. It’s a wretched thing.”

Words, effort. He had tried, and he thinks she’d seen it; for a moment they’d been just as they had before - connected. She’d smiled, a hauntingly hollow one that still plagued his mind from time to time.

“I may as well just try to enjoy it,” she’d replied, trying to go for lightheartedness and failing entirely.

Because wasn’t that what she’d been doing, with him, with their relationship? Even as their love wilted like flowers in a drought, she had stayed. Astarion had taken that chance to speak words he would never have allowed himself to say otherwise.

“I thought the same once. It didn’t last.” A bitter smile had crossed his face at these words, quickly replaced by furrowed brows and regret. “I know what’s done is done - you made your vow. But I’m sorry all the same.”

I’m sorry, to have done it to you as well, to have ruined you so thoroughly you’d think this acceptable.

That afternoon he’d left, citing some meeting regarding the palace’s deed of ownership. He’d slipped back into the House of Hope. For the first time, he and that mewling spawn had been in perfect accord - Haarlep had to die. It had surprised him how little effort it had taken to end their miserable existence. Unleashing the Ascendant for the first time had felt so right. The fierce, rabid joy of allowing his newfound power free rein, the exhilaration of being able to lash out with all that he had, to bring every ounce of his potential to bear on one who had so wronged his precious treasure… exquisite. He’d come back to see Ban on their bed, watching him with guarded eyes as always.

“You’ll never moan for Haarlep again,” he had said, euphoria and rage still roiling through him in equal measure. Part of him had wanted to take her into his arms and kiss that memory away, but the Ascendant, still intoxicated with the overwhelming feeling of power, had easily shoved that desire for tenderness deep down. Instead he’d growled. “You’ll never moan for anyone but me.”

He’d done it for her, and yet he’d never clarified his apology. He’d never allowed her to catch a glimpse of his old self, of his heart. He’d never fully shown her his regret.

Perhaps he should now.

“One more thing, if you’ll indulge me,” Astarion added quickly; he took her wrist again with a little more desperation, this time managing to pry her hand from his ear as she noticed the change in his tone.

“I’m listening,” Ban seemed more curious than anything else. He was sure the sudden nervousness was clearly written on his face, and he took a small breath, lacing their fingers together.

Before you fully let me in, you deserve to hear this.

“You’re not - you realize I know full well what this is, don’t you?” It wasn’t what he’d initially planned to say, the words coming out rather stern. He sighed, pressing on anyway. “You don’t do it often, but you do - enough - and you cannot hide it, least of all from me.” He squeezed her hand. Whatever the dream was, whatever she was bracing herself to tell him was obviously causing this response; he’d observed it in her once or twice before, back when their relationship was at its worst. He hadn’t bothered to do anything about it then - he vowed to correct that now.

“Astarion, I don’t-”

“This.” Another grind of his hips against hers and she fell silent. “I caused it - unintentionally, but that does not absolve me of it. I tried to win your affection back the only way I knew how, and somehow what you learned instead was to - to do this,” he spat out.

“So do me a favor, Ban, and stop. Please.” The seriousness in his voice finally got through to her and she nodded, unhooking her leg from his hip. They were still pressed close, but there was enough space between them that he could concentrate.

He nodded. “Good girl.” He pressed a small kiss to her lips, but pulled away before she even thought to deepen it. He crooked an elbow to rest his head on his palm, fixing his gaze on hers. She looked uncertain, seemingly anxious herself. Get on with it, he thought to himself; this was long overdue.

“I want to talk about what I did to you.”

His words were met with a groan; Ban untangled her fingers from his to rub her forehead. “Astarion, we’ve spent so much time talking about all of that. Must we really do this again?”

Astarion laughed, incredulous and more than a little miffed at her attempts at avoidance. “Indeed we have, and I still have yet to tell you the most important thing.” The one thing that could have fixed things earlier, he mused; but he supposes it’s better now than not at all.

“Mm.” Ban reached out; he felt her hand cup his cheek. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s all-”

“No.” He glared at her; the anger, however, was not aimed at her. “Enough of this, love. Stop granting me room to back out of it at your expense - I’m begging you.” Astarion clenched his jaw; it was already hard enough to get himself to say it. Having her keep providing him the chance to deflect only exacerbated the issue.

“I’m sorry.”

He managed to hiss it out, teeth gritted.

There. Everything else should be easier now.

Ban froze. He’d never said that before, and her reaction wasn’t surprising to him. “For ascending - to ensure my freedom, to keep you safe, to protect this - it was selfish.” He covered the hand on his cheek with one of his own, then lifted it off to hold it. “For all the pain I have inflicted on you.”

“Turning you - and yes, before you even mention it, I am aware you gave me permission - was more than just to save you from the ravages of time.” Astarion barely paused, stopping for a quick breath and rushing in headfirst before he could rethink it. “I didn’t want to see you perish against the Netherbrain or whatever else we encountered in our journey - gods - not when I could remedy that issue with a single bite.”

“But that isn’t-” she tried to interrupt; he cut her off, refusing yet another avenue for him to escape to. He pressed her palm over his chest.

“Oh, but it is selfish, Ban. Had you not turned I would have ended things. I would have rather kept you at a distance than have you and see you dead in my arms. Perhaps if there was no Netherbrain, no threat, I may have been more willing to wait; had things been less fraught between us, had I been more reassured…” he trailed off. Had he been braver, better, then maybe things would have been-

That wasn’t the point. They both know what he had been.

I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we’re both safe. Forever, for good.

Words he’d uttered in an attempt to persuade her about the ascension. Even as he’d said it he hadn’t been quite sure how much of it was truth and how much of it was manipulation. After the rite, there’d been little distinction between the two; the concept of their safety had been entirely warped.

“As it stood, however… I had to ensure everything I wanted and needed was mine to keep by any means necessary.” That, of course, had involved manipulating and lying. He fell silent, scanning her face, trying to read her response.

She pursed her lips momentarily. “And then when you had me - turned me - that need to keep me safe became the need to keep me caged. Subdued. You lied about what I am, and so many other things.” Surprisingly there didn’t seem to be much anger in her tone, merely resignation.

“You’re not wrong.” His jaw began to clench but he forced it to relax; he needed this to be said in a far calmer way than they had before. “I resented - no - loathed what we became. To protect and cherish you became to keep you, and to keep you was to ensnare you. To drag you down with me.”

I’m sure you’ll make the right decision, she had said that fateful day, as they’d prepared to face Cazador.

He had done so, he thinks; seven thousand lives had been the cost, but they had been as good as lost at that point - caged for years, starving, no doubt feral. Astarion was all too aware that this idea was hypocritical, that he was no better than them.

But some of them had hurt him, he’d reasoned further; he had suffered abuse at their hands. Part of him had asked if that was enough to doom the rest too, but he didn’t dwell on it. He had been lucky - blessed, even though he took no stock in deities - given the chance to be something better, surpassing even his maker. And whyever would he not seize the chance?

Because it would damn him? He’d already been there; there’s almost nothing worse than what he’d gone through.

Because it would be the right thing to do? An even weaker excuse.

No, if that was the cost of freedom, then it would be paid. He’d willingly given what little integrity he’d had for it.

What Astarion had not counted on, however, was paying for the rite with his heart.

She’d said she wanted what was best for him; indeed, she had been trying to dissuade him, but he’d figured when push came to shove she’d acquiesce. In this he had not been wrong.

But he had been wrong when it came to the most important thing - her love. He’d realized with dawning horror that he may have gone too far when he’d seen her expression as he’d carved Cazador’s back, when he could feel her fear, her judgment, through the tadpole.

He’d smelled the blood, the sick-sweet tang of it rousing his stomach for what was to be the last time, had heard his master’s screams - but none of that had mattered. What had mattered was the feeling that had passed from her to him. Her love, receding like the tide, replaced by a myriad of negative emotions: unnamed, fleeting, but all-encompassing; as if her love was so shallow, so conditional. The first choice he’d made against her wishes and he was punished yet again. She had stopped seeing her lover, then; she had seen a monster where he’d once stood.

Then a monster he would be, he’d thought, as Rhapsody sliced through Cazador’s back.

That sentiment hadn’t abated as he’d taken his rightful place in the rite, Woe in his grasp. Even as the power had surged into his veins, even as his heart had begun to beat faster, that thought had still been at the forefront of his mind.

Had he lost her?

No. She’d lost me.

Bitterness and anger had suffused him as surely as the newfound vigor of his heart and the rush of his newly-altered blood had. How dare she - how dare they, for he’d sensed the disgust of his so-called friends as well - wrest the joy of this moment from him? This was his moment of triumph, two centuries of pain leading to this, to what he deserves, what he is owed-

The very first moments as the Ascendant, each full of purpose and power and freedom; it should have been glorious. And it had been - or it would have been, if she hadn’t looked at him that way. If he hadn’t known exactly what she thought of him.

Thus the mask had gone back on, perhaps forever. What did it matter? The hunger was gone. He was-

“-free. I’m finally free! Oh it feels delicious.”

Ban had approached him, expression wary. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

Immediately he’d wanted to snap at her, to scream. Freedom, everything he’d ever wanted, and she said that? Instead he’d smiled, cold and all teeth. “Oh don’t worry, darling. I won’t bite unless you ask very, very nicely.”

Please. Just accept the apology.

She was silent for a long moment, eyes boring into his own. He waited patiently, or as patiently as he could manage, anyway - he could feel his traitorous heart hammering beneath her palm.

“I knew all that,” she finally said, “but… hearing you say it is a relief.” Her eyes seemed to glisten, and Astarion worried for a moment that he’d hurt her again. But she smiled, and his shoulders dropped, his concern somewhat eased.

Seeing her reaction bolstered his resolve; he reached out to thumb away the burgeoning teardrops. “Allow me to provide you with more of that, then. You are no doubt aware of this, I am certain, but it bears repeating.” She’d talked about her regrets, and so he felt that it would also help for her to fully know his. “Or at least, you suspect it.” He offered her a pained half-smile. Don’t hate me.

“I don’t regret ascending. At certain moments, indeed, I came close,” he added, remembering when he’d let Vel’s spawn end their master themselves, remembers thinking that was what he should have done. The night he’d begged her to love him like she’d used to. When Ban had left him and he’d thought the ascension had cost him her love. “I regret the pain it caused you, the… sundering of our bond that happened as a result of it, very much so. But the act itself?” he shook his head.

“It freed me. You freed me, and I will never rue the day you gave everything back to me.” His eyes were now wide, soft, and he leaned in closer. Her breath hitched, and he smiled at the sound of it. “You gave me love. Freedom. This,” he added, his hand pressing down hard on hers, against his chest, emphasizing the pounding she could no doubt feel. “I have repaid you poorly, and that is something I will spend eternity making reparations for. But if refusing to lament everything that has happened makes me a monster, then so be it.”

Before she could reply he closed the gap, finding her lips. As his mouth met hers he felt the fingers on his chest curl, forming claws, digging into his flesh. It sent a low thrill of arousal through him, but one that he keeps at bay for now. Ending the kiss, he kept his face close to hers, breathing the same air.

“I don’t mind being a monster to the rest of the world, if I can be just Astarion for you.”

He’d always been one anyway in the eyes of many: an undead, unholy creature - one who had made the hero of Baldur’s Gate like him; who had ended thousands of lives in his quest for freedom. He would argue that each of those lives he’d extinguished were also monsters, just like him, slaves to sanguine hunger, a danger; or that a not insignificant number of them were decidedly not good people, or-

It matters not, he realized; only this does. Being here, kissing his wife, her hand on his heart, for only she matters, only her joy and her pain and her love.

Ban’s eyes were wide as Astarion finished speaking, not quite sure what to say for a moment. Her hand remained on his chest although her clawlike grip had eased. She could see her husband’s eyes glittering in the faint light; crimson irises boring into hers, awaiting her response. His expression seemed utterly calm, his body still, the rapid rising and falling of his chest the only evidence to the contrary.

She felt a stab of guilt at today’s events - at lashing out, at deliberately aiming for his soft, exposed heart and skewering it. He’d hurt her, yes, with poorly-planned and obviously harebrained attempts to unearth her past, but she understood why. He needed to know - he’d said as much, after all - to be able to comprehend her in her entirety, just as she had been allowed to for him. To be allowed that would be a gesture of faith, something her husband sorely craves, and sorely deserves.

“Astarion,” she began carefully, noting how his breathing stopped entirely as he hung onto every word. Ban traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips, in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

How deeply, how helplessly. She loves him beyond all reason; she would do anything, endure everything for him. He haunts her every thought, he reigns over her dreams. She couldn’t help but want him, accept him, forgive him… love him, even at his worst. Her mind drifted back to that inescapable day.

All right, but what’s best for you?

Until the moment the rite had commenced Ban hadn’t been sure what the answer to her own question was, nor what she would do if push came to shove. She’d been able to see him struggling, the poisonous energy of the palace sinking into his bones, into his soul. She’d wanted to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be alright, that she would be by his side no matter what he chose.

The sight of the prisoners had unnerved her, and had seemed to unnerve him too, despite his attempts to downplay it.

“In another life,” she had said in an attempt to appeal to him, “you’d have led me to this crypt, and not that pretty clearing in the forest.”

She’d taken a deep breath. “Don’t avoid it. Face it. You would have killed me.”

She had hated having to do that, hated forcing him to confront the reality of it in the hopes of swaying him, but it had needed to be done.

“I would have killed you…” He had said, slowly, as if every syllable was being torn from his throat. Perhaps they had been.

She remembered the fight, of running, leaping, weapon in hand, rushing to free Astarion from the rite. There had been fear then, far more than she had ever felt in her life. Had she perished that day, she felt she wouldn’t have minded; it was him she’d worried for. Him, who deserved so much more than he’d ever gotten - if she’d lost her life giving him what he was worthy of, she would have died happy.

Ban remembered watching Cazador being dragged out of his coffin, that sweet surge of victory quickly shifting into discomfort when Astarion spoke.

“I am so much more than what you made me.”

Yes, she’d agreed-

But then he’d turned to her, pleading. “I can do this, but I need your help.”

The discomfort had shifted into apprehension. She’d tried to reason with him, to point him in the right direction.

Didn’t you hear him? If you complete the ritual, you’ll be consumed.

If I help you complete the ritual, it will kill all these people.

Words that had all fallen on deaf ears. She’d known he was terrified, overcome with bloodlust, desperate for power. For freedom. Ban had often wondered since that day if she was to blame, if in the end she hadn’t been able to talk him down because she hadn’t believed the truth of her own words. Not enough, anyway.

She’d always felt like she ought to be more revolted by the idea, but deep down she knew she didn’t really feel that way. The only thing she’d seen at that moment had been Astarion, needing her help, and everything else had seemed like background noise - secondary and easily discarded the moment he’d turned to her with those frantic eyes.

With that, Ban had uttered the words that would damn her, and him, and so many other souls along with them.

“All right, what do you need?”

Help me do this. Please.

She still told herself she’d been powerless to resist, that love had compelled her heart more than any spell ever could. She had heard that plea and had opened her mind to his, sharing her eyes with him so that he could proceed.

The apprehension had twisted into fear the moment Rhapsody had cut into Cazador’s back. Astarion had looked beatific, almost gleeful; those beautiful, skilled hands carving the runes into flesh without hesitation. She’d kept her eyes on his back, focusing on each rune as he’d copied them onto Cazador, equal parts terrified and focused. She should have expected it, she’d told herself; two hundred years of suffering under someone and you’d no doubt feel the same way. But the horror had still been there, at the sheer cruelty of it, his joy as he’d done it, at the idea that he would end seven thousand lives with a smile on his face. But he had been elated, and she had said-

I just want you to be happy.

It was the ugly truth; she would’ve burned the world into cinders and damned every single soul in it if it meant he’d finally be content.

But it hadn’t made actually doing it any easier.

Ban had stood by, held her silence, quelled the protests of their companions. She’d only been able to watch as her beloved had taken what he’d deemed rightfully his. She hadn’t thought to hide the naked horror on her face, the revulsion she’d felt at what he was doing, at the question of whether he’d always been like this, so cold and cruel and vile.

Never mind her own selfishness, her own love winning out over what she had known to be the right thing to do when the moment to choose finally came - that would come later. In the moment, her disgust had only come at the sight of the carnage, of his exhilaration, of the prisoners - now more real to her than the mere potential of ending so many lives they’d been before.The disgust had been quickly compounded by the horrible realization that if she ran her weapon through Astarion right then, she would save them all. But she would not. Could not.

Repugnant, her lover had become in those moments, just like her love. An illness she could never hope to cure. And so Ban had witnessed Astarion ascend, her mind buffeted with those swirling thoughts, her body frozen in place.

When he had finally approached her, he hadn’t sounded like himself, further cementing the idea that she had taken a very wrong turn. He’d been so different, so off, that she had believed the rite had fundamentally changed him.

“Come on, you’re still the same Astarion, just stronger.” Please. Please tell me I’m right. Please, tell me you’re still in there.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. The very composition of my blood has been altered…” had come the calm, cold reply.

She’d then spoken the last truly sincere words she’d utter to him until the day she left him.

“You’re starting to scare me…” she’d whispered, wishing for him to tell her it’s okay, I’m still me. I’m here. I’ve got you, like he’d always done.

But he hadn’t, and that had sealed their fate.

Her love for him had almost been lost in their darkest days, its fire dimmed down to nothing more than ash and a few dying embers. In the time since their reconciliation, however, it had been reignited, burning brighter than ever before - now that she understands who he truly is, both the shadow and the light, without any masks. But she still hadn’t given him the same openness.

In the moonlight, she watched her husband consider her words. The rising and falling of his chest had entirely ceased, the depth of his thoughts causing him to forget that unneeded facsimile of living. This, however, made the severity of his distress even more obvious; without the movement of his lungs his heart hammered under her palm without interruption.

“Well,” Astarion swallowed. “I know you love me, although you don’t say it nearly often enough for my liking.” He tried for a chuckle but it fell flat; he took a small breath before speaking again. “I am aware, I suppose, but at times it requires some… reinforcing.”

As for how much, he didn’t pry, which Ban found rather refreshing and gratifying.

Ban couldn’t help a small noise of bitter amusement - she knew she’d been remiss in verbally telling him, perhaps even in showing him. In the months since they’d begun rebuilding their relationship, she hadn’t really made it a point to say those words often, merely stating them in moments that seemed appropriate, like when they held each other in post-coital bliss or in response to something he’d said or done. Her focus had mostly been on mending his behavior, and while she knew that was important, she recognized his dissatisfaction was valid.

There was no small feeling of resentment for herself, for still being stubborn about fully trusting him when he’d so clearly been trying his best for her. She had often refused to see it, but there was no shying away from it now - the pain, anxiety, and apprehension writ large on Astarion’s face, the piteous way he attempted to pass off his very legitimate concerns as a joke and nothing more. That insistent pounding under her palm, so much nervous energy bundled up and hidden, revealed nowhere else, but clear in every frantic heartbeat.

She steeled herself. Do better.

“I love you. I see all of you, and I would have you tell me every single thing you’ve ever done wrong so I can show you that I’ll love you anyway.” Said without a trace of hesitance; her hand settled on his chin, thumb brushing over his upper lip. “You’ve hurt me, broken me, and yet forgiving you is still a little too easy for my liking,” she admitted, a little shyly. “What more evidence could you ask for?”

A lot more, she was aware; but she was unable to keep that edge of defensiveness at bay.

A small smile broke through those beautiful lips; Ban traced them as they curved upwards, relief suffusing her. He took her hand, lifting it to press kisses on the back. She saw his eyes surreptitiously rake over her face as he did, studying it in that way he’d now become so skilled at. “Thank you,” Astarion smirked in a momentary bit of mischievousness that she wasn’t sure was genuine. “That was rather delightful to hear, and as much as I ought to say I don’t deserve it… well,” he shrugged. “I’m not going to refuse.”

Another kiss, on her wrist this time; he parted his lips to mouth at the vein, turning solemn again. “I don’t need evidence. Reminders are appreciated, however.” The last words were mumbled against her skin, as though he was embarrassed.

“It’s not a matter of who deserves what, Astarion,” Ban reminded. “We both deserve it. Happiness, comfort, trust. Love. We’ve both always deserved all of those.” She took one deep breath, then forced the words out. “I love you because I love you. I’ve done so from the day I first saw you, loved you even when it was killing me. I love you so much that it’s terrifying and I still don’t know how much, or how far it goes. It feels endless. I love you. Only you. Alright?”

The last word came out sharp, her need for him to understand coming through as frustration. She wished he could simply believe her words, but of course more is required. Action.

She didn’t hesitate, quickly enclosing him within her limbs, holding him close to her body. A quiet reshuffling of arms and legs later, the only noise the rustling of the sheets, and he was comfortably nestled against her chest. Ban pressed a small kiss to the top of his head. “You might say you don’t need proof, but I shall provide some anyway. Consider this: what I want to tell you, I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve never told you before. Not back when we were adventuring, not when you hadn’t ascended yet. This,” she emphasized, “I tell the present you, the you in front of me right now. Do you understand?”

It seemed to help. She felt him exhale and burrow deeper against her torso, hiding his face as a small, muffled sound of assent left him. He kept silent after that, awaiting her next words.

Ban braced herself. It was time, then, for another soul to know. Of anyone, she knew he’d understand best, however the old instinct to hide it had been overwhelming. There have been countless nights throughout their time together when she’d debated telling Astarion, but something had always stopped her. At first, she’d felt like she didn’t know him enough; then she had, but he had too much on his plate by then and the daily toil of fighting for their lives made it seem insignificant in comparison. The aftermath of the rite had completely eradicated the idea from her mind, turning it into just another way she would’ve handed him weapons to hurt her with.

In these months of rebuilding their relationship she knew he’d been wanting to know her more fully; it was exactly why he’d contacted the Glasscrafts, after all. It hadn’t felt like the right time even since the reconciliation, but after tonight’s dream and the resulting conversation she felt safe enough to at least offer up some information.

She let a hand run through his curls, watching them shine as though made of spun starlight. He tilted his head back, leaning into her touch, exposing his face and the delicate arch of his neck. She smiled down at him; seeing him like this made speaking seem almost effortless.

Ban opened her mouth, however, and found that the words refused to come forth.

“I-” she choked out, throat suddenly tight.

Hands cupped her cheeks - gentle, his touch so painfully light it didn’t feel quite real; the crimson gaze meeting hers anchored her in place. He spoke, softer than usual, tone almost reverent.

“You’re alright, my love. I’ve got you.”

With that, Ban nodded, and the words finally flowed.

“My father’s one true love is the shop,” she began, voice small and hesitant. “He was always there every single day without fail. The mirrors were my companions growing up; I was raised around them, learned to catalog them and take inventory, to be able to sell them in my sleep.”

Running amongst reflections of herself, hiding amongst the tall, thin frames of glass and wood as her brother tried to find her, her mother screaming at them to stop running around and what if you broke one of them?

Your father would be livid.

“He lived and breathed it, and wanted us to do the same.” Ban pursed her lips, thinking, and Astarion took the chance to pull away. He propped some pillows against the headboard, settling against them, patting his chest. The message was clear, and Ban couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as she let her head rest over his heart, draping an arm and leg over him, a position they’d assumed nightly during their adventure.

Astarion tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “So a man consumed by his craft, likely neglectful of his children.” He’d gathered as much; it was obvious there was little love left between Ban and her family, after all.

She shrugged. “That would be a nice way of putting it, I suppose. He wanted more than just to have the shop. He wanted it to be bigger, more successful, and was willing to do it by any means necessary. No stone left unturned, he would say, just to ensure that the Glasscraft trade continues to the next generation.”

The next words were a bit harder to bring up. “He… he-”

Before she could continue, his arms wrapped around her, rubbing her back. “I’m here,” he whispered. “There isn’t any other soul here, my love. Just you and me.”

Bracing herself, she nodded. “To raise us right, to make sure we were obedient and did everything he asked of us meant… correction.” She winced, the memories of belts and hands slapping against her skin until she was raw and bleeding surfaced, as fresh as if it were yesterday. “He used anything he could get his hands on - his belt, his palms, that one rod he kept especially for this specific purpose - he’d slap, hit, punch, everything.”

Astarion’s heart contracted painfully at the words but he remained silent, his grip on her tightening protectively.

“My mother chose herself, most of the time. She encouraged it, said I needed to learn be strong as a woman. Aiden was spared much of it. He was the heir - he was favored; he listened to them most of the time, even if he hated them as much as I did. I-” she gasped, voice finally cracking, “I couldn’t fight back. There was no one to help me. No one was on my side. In the end, I gave in. I bowed. I listened to everything they said. I learned.”

Another deep, shaky breath; Astarion couldn’t help himself this time, pressing a fierce kiss to the top of her head. He felt moisture hit his skin as her tears fell, cooling along the path they traced as they meandered across his chest. He thumbed a burgeoning tear away, giving her a soft, encouraging smile.

“Then I came of age. He had friends. Fellow merchants, all from the same neighboring villages. All with their own fortunes, all rich, all well connected. They helped each other - lent each other coin, invested in each others’ businesses, networked for and with each other. It only made sense, when one of them wrote to say they had a son of my age, to-” she stuttered, “to ask for my hand in marriage.”

Astarion groaned. The hand on her back moved up, stroking her hair absently. “And so your father attempted to sell you off like livestock, did he?” She felt his chest rise as he took in a sharp breath, seemingly trying to rein in his temper. “Did you ever consider drinking him dry, Ban? I would be very, very glad to do it for you.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Tempting, but he would taste vile, I have no doubt.” Ban shifted her head to look up at his face, meeting his gaze. He offered her a smile, comforting and gentle, but the hard edges of his anger were unmistakable.

“I’d happily deal with it if it meant ridding the world of his sorry existence, of course, but other options are also available. Daggers and poison, for instance,” Astarion drawled. He pursed his lips. “What else has this man done to you?”

Not that he needed to hear any more, but he wanted to know everything.

“Well, the thing about selling me off was that it was sort of expected the moment I was born,” she continued. “He started me early, grooming me for success, as he put it; he trained me specifically to know how to work my way around the business, but not just his - any business. He taught me how to navigate social events, to organize them, to scheme and manipulate my way through…”

Ban trailed off as she saw her husband’s stricken look; his breath hitched and the heart beneath her started to race again.

“When you said I was close to him, then, you weren’t exactly exaggerating,” Astarion managed to say, brow furrowed, gaze searing into her own and lips in a pout she would normally want to kiss away. “You-” he exhaled. “You’re wedded to your father.”

For an instant, Astarion wanted to run. The hand on her hair froze as the instinct took over. Was he hurting her by staying? Was he representative of something she’d rather forget, especially now, as they both hold court over the Crimson Palace? His mouth snapped shut, a preventative measure, lest he say something that would undo all the progress they’d just made. After all, she hadn’t said anything of that sort, had she?

But you do remind her of him. He remembered the words she’d used during their argument: Power-hungry. Manipulative. Self-centered.

“Astarion.”

He blinked as he heard her call for him, her hand splayed on his chest next to where her chin rests. “Yes, my love?” he answered, too quickly, automatically, his brain rushing to catch up with what she has to say as it still worked to ease his own panic.

Do I say something? Offer to leave her? No!

But is there more I need to do? She didn’t say anything - it may be best for me to keep my mouth shut - but would that be manipulative in itself? Selfish?

“You need to relax,” Ban said, pressing a kiss to his cheek; as she did he inadvertently turned his face to meet hers, a faux-curious Hm? already on his lips, another feeble attempt to dissuade her from looking too deeply into his mental state.

As a result their lips met instead.

It wasn’t unwelcome. Ban smiled into the kiss and deepened it; he returned it with a desperation he hadn’t felt in a while. He captured her bottom lip, sucking gently, wondering if he should push for more, if only to remind her of how he could be useful, could be worth something-

Stop, he told himself. She loves you.

With some effort he pulled away, a sad smile on his lips. “I may have gotten a little carried away,” he began, then shook his head. “No. I-”

“We were both doing what you called me out for trying to do a few minutes ago,” she teased; of course she’d understand. He nodded, a little embarrassed.

“Well. You did learn from the best, darling,” he murmured, a tad rueful. She smiled, another of those saved for only him, and settled back over his heart, looking away; giving him room to breathe and compose himself, he figured.

Grateful, he let his hand continue stroking her hair. She leaned into his touch, and that small movement did wonders at soothing him. “You’re not my father, Astarion,” Ban said. “You remind me of him sometimes, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You did the same things he trained you to do,” he said, finding himself protesting before he could think better of it. “For me.”

Don’t, don’t! She said it’s fine!

“And I am everything you said he is,” he added. Astarion partially feared that he was digging his own grave here, but wanted - no, needed - it to be clear, as much for his sake as for hers.

“You are,” she mumbled from where she was nuzzling at his chest. “But you’ve always been those things, yet I’ve always loved you anyway. As for the scheming,” she waved a hand, “I can do it; you want to have some influence over Baldur’s Gate at the very least, even just the social sort. I’m not against the idea, so it’s fine.”

“You loved me because you thought I was better than that,” he reminded, a little rise to his voice, exasperated. He was irritated at himself for pushing this, he needed to stop lest it makes her realize something that would be detrimental to him. But he also wanted the truth - wanted to be sure he was what she wanted, that this newfound security was warranted. “Do you even like the parties, Ban? All the… dancing, talking, meetings?” He flapped a hand in the air.

She fell silent, seemingly considering the question. “Back then, no. Lately? It’s been rather fun,” she admitted. She was about to launch into an explanation when Astarion cut her off; evidently his concerns were firmly on the statement she hadn't acknowledged.

“I’m glad, but-” he said, a little curtly; he clenched his jaw, debating whether to ask her about it or not.

“Astarion,” Ban chided. “I love you because of who you are. I may not have seen all of you back then, but it doesn’t change what I feel now, nor what I just said.”

He felt himself relax. Not trusting his mouth, he nodded instead. There was enough proof, here, from her words to the fact that she was letting her walls down for him - not his old self, him. Signs of vulnerability from her were few and far between, slipping through only in the most intimate of moments.

A poisonous and rather spiteful thought crossed his mind, of how much he’d been made to open up, to fight two centuries of programmed behavior for her love, but she - what - simply got to choose when to say it, without any consequences? Not that he wanted to give her any, of course; it was just that it stung.

“I’ll accept that,” he made himself say; he knew he sounded a little stiff, “and your candor about your father is highly appreciated.”

He knew she’d noticed. The hand tracing circles on his chest stilled. “Now that you know,” she mused, “I think I might as well tell you what I’ve decided to do with… with the information you procured.”

Astarion glanced down at her, and as her eyes met his he realized she was guarded again, no doubt having sensed the edge in his tone just now. He sighed, then forced some mirth into his words.

“I’m all pointy ears, my love,” he drawled lazily.

The all-too-familiar words made her grin, breaking the tension.

“I think I should go see them.”

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygmer-blog @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon

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sam-loves-seb · 1 year

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look. I know there are probably a million and a half takes on this, but I had this thought, and it wouldn’t leave my brain, so now you have to deal with it too.

ian is not the sun.

ian is the moon, and mickey is the sun.

mickey is the sun, at least in ian’s eyes he is, because ian’s whole world starts ends and revolves around his husband. the pull mickey has on him feels like a gravitational orbit, stronger than any crush or infatuation ever has been, and no matter how much distance (physical and metaphorical) ian puts between them, he always—always—comes back to mickey. and mickey, well he burns hotter and brighter than just about anyone else they know, all barely checked temper and hot seething rage, and hell hath no fury like a mickey scorned because he will burn you faster than any fire ever could. and god, his eyes—do not get ian started on mickey’s eyes—they’re as blue as a cloudless sky on a summer’s day, all warm and wide and vast as the horizon, and ian could stare at them for hours the way he’d stare up at the sky in the backyard as a kid. and yeah, maybe sometimes you can’t look directly at mickey, like maybe you’ll get hurt if you stare for too long, but ian’s best friends are a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of spf, so he’s not exactly new to the sun game, and if he’s the only one who knows how to handle it—that’s more than fine with the both of them

and ian—ian is the moon the way mickey needs air to breathe, because yeah, maybe he’s all smiley and lukewarm to everyone he fucking meets, but that’s not ian, not the real ian, that’s just good fucking manners or whatever shit ian says, but mickey doesn’t care about that. mickey cares about the ian that’s only for him, the one that is there for him through everything, even the bad shit, like the little sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains on a really dark night, the little bit of comfort that’s enough to get him through the dark times and keep going until morning, like the guiding light on the sidewalks when he wanders home from work or the alibi or whatever late at night when the streets are empty and he’s alone. because mickey’s never really alone, not now that’s for sure, but not even then, when there were miles (metaphorical and literal) between them, because mickey would look up at the moon through the bars on the rec room window or the patio from his apartment in mexico and he’d think of ian, and his stupid fucking lopsided curved grin creeping up on his face like a crescent moon in its own right, and it’d be enough to get him til morning. even now, when he can’t sleep and he’s restless, he still looks for the moon, only now he doesn’t look out the window—why would he when he has the real thing on the other side of his mattress—he throws an arm and a leg over his husband like he’d lasso the moon if he could, and he pulls ian closer.

ian goes through phases, up down then up again, and they’re manageable, almost predictable if you study it close enough, like the phases of the moon or the flow of the tide, in and out, waxing and waning, and mickey loves all versions of ian, the full bright smiles and the dark barely there days, and every variation in between. because ian is still ian, no matter what stage he’s currently in, the same way the moon is still that bright glowing rock in the sky night after night, and mickey is happy to get pushed and pulled like waves on the shore under ian’s influence.

mickey studies the galaxies printed on ian’s body, across his chest and stomach, his shoulders and his arms, even the little ones dotting the backs of ian’s hands, and mickey finds peace in the stardust that paints ian’s skin, in the constellations he maps out on ian’s face with his lips, and even tho the freckles there are more faded then when they were kids, mickey still knows where every single one of them is. he brushes his fingers over the new one above his eyebrow, the one ian got after spending a little too much time with his tomato plant the other day, and mickey feels like an astronomer discovering a new star that he just never would’ve been able to see five, ten years ago on his own personal night sky, but he’s here to see it now so he kisses his latest discovery and falls asleep dreaming of a name for his newest constellation

#nobody asked for this bit it wouldn't leave my head #these are the kinds of things i'm thinking about at any given time #idek if this makes sense but here you go anyways #gallavich #sun mickey #moon ian #sun and moon #shameless #gallavich ramblings #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #mickey x ian #inner monologue #shameless us #ian and mickey

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bluebellhairpin · 10 months

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Thou So Long Hast Mourn'd

Bruce Wayne X Batmom!Reader

Summary: After Jason's passing, your grief and anger combined causes you to leave Gotham - swearing only to return when you have a perfect chance to kill the Joker for what he did to your son. (Part 2 to 'Hell Hath No Fury')

Warnings: Loss and Grief (Mentions of a funeral and repeated mentions of Jason dying. We miss Mumma's Boy Jay a lot :( ). Bad coping mechanisms all round. Clark Kent acts as a marital buffer. (Reader is fem coded; has she/her pronouns; is referred to as ‘wife’ multiple times. Has the hero name of 'Valentine'.)

Listening to: 'Skyfall' By Adele - "I know I'd never be me without the security of your loving arms keeping me from harm."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress, -

Jason’s funeral was attended by a very small number of people. Yourself, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred all front and center.

For days, weeks, the media pestered asking question after question. “A tragic accident.” Commissioner Gordon would reply. It became you answer too, like a well-rehearsed prayer.

A tragic accident. Tragic. Accidental tragedy. Accident.

Except it was no such accident. Someone killed Jason. A man, who still walked free, murdered your son.

Even now, a month after you buried the child, as you sat listening to rain pat against the window panes in Wayne Manor, you remembered what you’d told Bruce the night he brought Jason home for the last time.

“I’m going to kill him.” you said. “I’m going to kill the Joker.” You told Bruce you’d do what you’d vowed to never do again. You promised yourself to avenge your son, to make sure no one else would ever lose a child to that monster ever again.

Ever since that night you’d felt a wedge slide between you and Bruce. Dick, only sixteen and having lost the closest thing he had to a brother was feeling it - you could see it on his face, and they way he held his shoulders at dinner. How you were feeling, how little Bruce was doing about it - none of it was doing Dick any good.

Aside from the anger, you didn’t know how you were feeling. You never thought you’d ever be a mother - you had no idea what to do to help anyone. So you left.

Bruce was out on patrol - he dove into Batman head first, a bitter feeling in your stomach had you thinking he was compensating. Dick was out - gymnastic practice, which Alfred was in charge of tonight. You were left alone in a huge house, and you couldn’t stand to stay there any longer.

A small bag was packed with basics - clothes, cash, a few weapons from the cave, and a single family photo taken while on vacation just that past summer (stolen from its frame and folded into a jacket pocket close to your heart). As you walked past the main living space, you stopped, and looked up towards the item hanging above the fireplace.

The sword - Excalibur - a god-given gift to humankind to exact true justice, now resting as a collectors antique catching dust. You knew if you took it that you would be able to do what you needed to. During your time using it there was no greater pull than to execute Joker - yet something always stopped you.

You knew it was Bruce.

Even already, your own guilt over what you meant to do wouldn’t let you take it with you.

Naturally, on that night, Alfred brought Dick was home first. It was already nine thirty, and while Dick would be up for a long while, he knew the boy wasn’t sleeping proper anymore.

Alfred sent him up to his room anyway, reassuringly with a hand on his shoulder, telling him to go try and get some rest.

But Alfred knew something wasn’t right in the Manor the moment he stepped inside. It was too quiet. Like it had been empty as long as they’d been away - even though he knew full well you should’ve been there to keep the house alive.

Although not trained, the butler had a sixth sense for a lot of things - he was a natural at whatever he sent his mind to (in his youth it was acting, and hence so seeing through lies and reading rooms (for improvisation, obviously) went with it). He set out to find you. Looked in all the usual places, and the unusual ones, in the big rooms and the small ones.

In the last week or so you’d taken to spending time sitting in the walk-in-fridge. He worried about you a lot. While Dick still had school and his friends, and Bruce threw himself into Batman, you only really had yourself. It wasn’t healthy.

But no matter how much he looked, or where he looked, you were nowhere to be found - not in the house, nor in the grounds. You’d said nothing about going out when he left, he would’ve remembered. In a last ditch effort to find you, he looked in one last place.

But you hadn’t been in the Batcave since Jason came home.

It was there, as he walked down a set of stairs, that he noticed a piece of paper haphazardly taped to one of the center computer monitors.

He grabbed it, and flipped it open, reading quietly to himself the words inside, scrawled in your handwriting.

‘Bruce, Don’t look, you know I won’t let you find me. I’m going to do something you will hate me for - probably forever. I can’t keep living like this knowing Jason’s killer is out there killing more mother’s sons. Take care of Dickie. Don’t take Alfred for granted.’

The older man found himself sinking into the chair beside him.

He had a hunch this was coming - he wasn’t in the cave the night Bruce brought Jason home, instead at the time he was upstairs taking a call from an excited Dick who was recalling his day spent doing a treasure hunt around Blüdhaven for a school camp trip that lasted the whole week. Alfred had no idea how you first reacted - he didn’t know how Bruce reacted to your reaction.

He knew it wasn’t good. Especially since in your note you didn’t even say goodbye to your husband.

You’d been hiding in a place you knew Bruce wouldn’t ever look - he always hated visiting Metropolis, the city was too bright.

You knew no one there would snitch on you - most didn’t even recognize you, and the one person who did, conveniently the man who was the closest thing Bruce had to a best friend, wouldn’t ever snitch on you. Not for this.

‘I needed a break,’ you’d lied, ‘Couldn’t handle being in Gotham after…’ You never finished, and you knew Clark could see through a lie like glass - but the grief he could see. He could also see the anger simmering underneath. He never called you out for it though.

You’d been there a while, waiting, watching Gotham from a distance Bruce wouldn’t see you from. You kept tabs mostly on Batman - although interviews with Bruce having to explain where his wife went were entertaining (in a sick, satisfying way). Sometimes you were sick, others you were out of town, most times you ‘weren’t feeling up to it’ - the latter two would be closest to the truth, not that he’d know that.

You often looked fondly at whatever information came though about Dick - he took out the gymnastics first place for his age bracket in the Gotham state. The picture made your heart ache - his smile was wide and toothy, but even though your printed newspaper you could tell it wasn’t reaching his eyes.

Who you were watching most, though, was the Joker. You combed through old reports and new ones. Even called up Harley Quinn a few times, just to get a perspective on him from someone who was - at one point - much closer to him. She asked you why you wanted to know.

“I need to know.”

“O-kay. And where exactly have you been Val?” she’d said, voice crackling down the hotel landline, “You ain’t locking yourself up in that Mansion are ya?”

“No. I’m not in Gotham right now.”

“So what’s even the Joker to ya if you ain’t even here huh?”

“When I come back,” you said, “I’m going to kill him.”

You became a Joker expert in almost one night.

You got a late night visitor less than a week after that phone call. Clad in red and blue, with a gaudy cape and that stupid ringlet you and Bruce would always bitch about on late nights under bed covers.

You were a little happy to see Clark - you actually had nothing against him, it was all just in jest (or solidarity because Bruce was your husband). He was let in pretty quickly. Mostly to avoid questions from the nosey couple who’d been staying in the room next to yours for the past three days.

He stood around awkwardly while you watched him from the seat next to the room’s microwave, posture screaming Clark Kent, journalist, even though he looked like Superman, world-know superhero.

“I’m, uh -” he started after you stared at him hard, wordlessly willing him to speak, “- I’m worried. I think you should go back to Gotham soon. To Bruce, specifically.”

“And why’s that?” He looked at you like you’d just said you had Kryptonite in your pocket.

“Because you’re in trouble.”

“I’m here in Metropolis, I’m with you right now, I couldn’t be in less trouble if I tried.”

“You know I have super hearing.” he said sheepishly. It was like he was telling his Ma he ran over her peonies with a bicycle. You put two and two together quickly though.

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“For me!” He said, stepping back with his palms towards the sky, “I feel better about not telling Bruce if I know what’s going on with you.”

“And so what part of your spying brought you here tonight?” Both your arms and legs crossed, you could tell from his face he didn't mean for you to get so offensive so quickly.

“You were talking to Harley Quinn?”

“Oh that,” you scoffed with a wave of your hand, “Even Bruce does that. She’s not so bad. Taught me how to roller-skate you know.”

“About the Joker?”

“That happens often when my husband is being a pain in my ass,” you said, “Reminds me he could be much, much worse.” Clark motioned his head - ‘fair’, but then he returned serious once more. This time it wasn’t a question.

“You said you were going to kill him.”

You knew he couldn’t read your mind, but he could hear how your heartbeat picked up. He had to know you knew you’d been caught. He sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for your answer in the most approachable way he knew in that moment.

“I’d be doing everyone a favor.”

“Bruce - I don’t know what he’d do. He could hate you.”

“I’m sure he hates me right now anyway.”

“You can’t believe that,” Clark said, looking up at you with blue eyes that almost looked like Bruce’s. “You don’t really believe he hates you right now?” You took a great interest in the patterned carpet. Clark said your name, and you reluctantly looked back at him.

“He misses you.”

“I miss my son.” You bit back at him bitterly. His face remained hard. This was suddenly no longer Clark. You were talking to Superman now.

“I’m not sure how to say this kindly,” Clark said with a firm voice, “But you’re so focused on the child you lost that you’re abandoning the one that’s still here. Bruce misses you, but Dick misses you even more. He doesn’t need to lose another Mom.”

His stare was hard, stubborn - he wasn’t going to let up. Your stare was hard too - sour and angry, not because you didn't believe him, but because you knew how right he was.

“I think you can leave now.”

Two weeks later, after a late night grocery run that consisted mostly of chicken noodle cups and instant coffee, you found a lump of black sitting in the dark with its back against the door of your room.

Clark told Bruce.

He didn’t seem to notice your approach, but once you stood toe-to-toe with his polished Oxford shoes, you kicked his leg.

“Get up.”

His head of messy hair lifted, and when his brain fully processed you - his wife, finally! - standing before him, he almost jumped to his feet. Uncharacteristic of him outside his prior - and now ditched - playboy persona.

He breathed your name, stepping forward with hands outstretched as if to hug you. You took a step back. Clark, apparently hadn’t told him everything - if he had, he was taking it very, very well.

“Where’s Dick?”

“With Alfred,” he said, hands falling to his sides again after you hummed in acknowledgment. You both stood in silence for a while, before you gestured to a door with a full hand. He got the hint, stepping away, then taking the bags away from one hand as you fumbled for your keys.

The quiet continued as you let yourselves in, you sat the shopping on the bench, and he made himself at home at the table near the door. You sat back down in the microwave chair, the furthest place from him you could be while still staying in the room.

“Been keeping busy, Bruce?” you asked, he turned to fully face you in his seat.

“Not really,” he said, “I’ve been looking for you. Never thought you’d be here,” You almost smiled, thinking about how right you were for coming here. Almost.

“Heard you went to Saudi Arabia while I’ve been gone.”

“It was nothing. Really.”

“You couldn’t have been looking too hard if you were able to take a ‘nothing, really’ trip to the Arabian Mountains.”

“I’m not here to fight with you,” Bruce said, resting a palm on his knee, “I’m here to ask you to come home. We all miss you.” his last words came out very quietly. “It’s been months. Nothings going to get easier if you stay away.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” you said with a soft scoff, “He who literally spent every single night after Jason died away from home. He who spends every moment he can down in a dark damp cave rather than with his family - I don’t think you get to tell me where I should be.” You felt tears well in your eyes - hot and fat if they fell, but you willed yourself not to let them. Bruce’s shoulders softened, and he stood and walked closer slowly, coming to kneel before you with his fingers just touching yours.

“We both haven’t been doing well, have we?” his head shook and his voice was barely audible. It was like he was speaking to himself. His admission - finally, his own pride and stubbornness aside, and it made yours disappear like dust in the wind.

“You need to see my bathroom,” you said. His head cocked, a sly smile twitched onto his lips.

“Oh?” he said, “And what might I find there?” But you weren’t smiling. You were trying to be honest.

“Just go look.” you said, turning away from him, bringing your hand away. Telling him with your actions that you weren’t going to be talking until he did.

He stood, opening the bathroom door behind you and flicking on the light. You could feel how still he was. Taking in the room, and what was inside it.

All across the mirror and walls were taped up newspaper clippings and photos and articles printed off from the library, old and new, a few of him - Batman - but most of the Joker. Beside the toilet was a case - one he knew would hold parts of a rifle (parts he'd seen you pull apart and put back together in a minute flat) - and across the sink were knives and gun magazines.

Bruce stepped off the carpet and onto the tile. There was a little list in the center of the mirror, written in red and with the last line underlined.

‘Kill the Joker’.

When he returned to you, he was holding the list in one hand.

“When were you planning on doing this?” he asked. You weren’t able to meet his eyes when you answered.

“Whenever I go back to Gotham.” His body went rigid beside you. Audibly, he let out a breath.

“I’ve thought about it too. Just getting rid of him like that.” he admitted, voice quiet and with a rough edge, “But I know it won’t help. It won’t bring him back.”

“This isn’t about bringing him back. If I knew it could bring Jason back I’d have done it weeks ago.” You looked up at Bruce as you spoke, watching as his face crinkled in disbelief.

“You’re so serious about this.”

“How could you still think I’m not serious?” you said, standing to help convince yourself you weren’t as unsure as you felt. “I will do it. A time will come when that monster dies - wherever it is I will be standing by watching.”

He watched you. Analyzing your face and the way your eyes moved. His face set like stone, hard and sure and you knew he was much more upset now having found out than what he was when you were missing. He took a step back.

Bruce was moving towards the door.

“I won’t stop you. I couldn’t bear to.” he turned, hand on the door handle, “But Batman still will.”

As far as you knew, you’d made it back into Gotham City undetected.

You knew the route’s Bruce - no - Batman, took while out on patrol. You knew the surveillance he constantly would check. You knew because for years you’d helped him do it all.

Thankfully, you had a not-so-little little helper - Joker assassination aside, Harley was more than happy to put you up for a while. After you’d killed Joker you’d planned to turn tail and leave again - maybe hide someplace in Australia where no one barely goes. It wasn’t like you had to put up with her long anyway.

Harley was great, but you’d have to love her a whole lot to live with her longer than a week. But you weren’t planning to stay that long.

You’d tracked Joker to an apartment complex near Arkham - you knew he wouldn’t stay there forever, so you needed to act fast.

Your weapons of choice were clean and ready to go, your escape routes A through to D were memorized, a hood and bandana combo were acquired to hide your identity long enough for no one around to know it was you. By all means and definitions you were ready to go.

You left Harley’s place wordlessly. You were sure she didn’t even know you left.

A cloak and the shadows of night concealed you from most passersby. Slowly, slowly you stalked towards where you knew the Joker to be. When you climbed the fire escape to find your vantage point, you almost didn’t make it all the way there because you saw Him.

Sitting, lounging. Acting like there was not a single thing in the world to worry about. It made you so angry you could scream, claw your eyes out, you could do so many things all because that man couldn’t care less about your son dying.

In fact, you didn’t make it to your original vantage point.

You settled right there, three levels lower than planned, and took the rifle off your shoulder. Clipping on the scope, twisting the silencer on, packing the magazine in. Settled your body into a comfortable position, then raised the gun to look at your target through the scope.

With greasy green hair and yellow teeth, you watched him smile through the crosshairs. With a sneer you flicked the safety off. You were ready to take the shot.

A flash of red, green and yellow came in front of the Joker. You frowned, confused. Pulling the scope back you looked again with a wider range and saw something that made your heart drop. Someone was tied up and presented to him like a present.

The Joker had Robin.

Your Robin. Your son. Your Dick Grayson.

Suddenly this was more than just a chance to avenge Jason. A switch flicked inside your heart. This wasn’t a chance to avenge Jason anymore; this was you, saving the son you had left. This was you not giving that monster the chance to keep you in black.

The lethal rifle was ditched right there on the fire escape, not caring if a lowlife found it before you could return. The knives you’d stashed - ‘just in case’ - were now your swords. Their piercing blades becoming the only thing shielding those who stood in your way a feral beating from bare fists.

No one was standing in your way of taking Dick home safely.

Your veins pumped white hot, you saw red all over. This was not going to happen a second time. It wasn’t ever going to happen again.

A goon at the door stood in your way, he was met with a knee to the crotch and a wound to his shoulder to keep him down. More on the stairs were thrown over bannisters. One had his head smashed into the doorway of the Joker’s apartment. Another was given a hard elbow to the back of his neck.

You weren’t aiming to kill - you were aiming to get them out of your way, and keep them that way.

When you reached the room which window you saw through, there were only four other people aside from yourself, your son, and that murdering bastard. They all stayed quiet, goons waiting on a call to action from their boss. You missed the way Dick’s eyes widened as he realised his Mom was here. You were busy staring down the Joker, trying to make him feel just how much pure hate you had for him without a single word.

“Give me Robin,” you said, voice low, venomous. Dangerous.

“Well if you want him so bad, and since you asked nicely,” His smile spread wide and uncanny. “Come and get him.”

So you did.

Like a blur of back and blue, you had all four men either out cold or groaning on the floor. The Joker himself was under your kneeling form with his teeth now stained red and an eyes swollen shut.

“Listen well because I’ll only say it once.” You said, your hand a rough fist in his hair to make sure he looked into your eyes and saw exactly how much of a threat your promise was.

“I spared your life today. I will never do it again. I am not the Batman. The next time I find you trying to pull something with one of my Robin’s and you see me coming you'd better run the other way because I will kill you.”

After untying Dick, retrieving your abandoned gear, and throwing Joker into Arkham, you reconvened with Dick on a nearby rooftop.

You barely stood upright on two legs before he barreled into you, arms thrown around your waist with his face squished right into your collarbone. He’d grown taller in the time you’d been away. You felt tears fall as your arms wrapped around him in kind.

“I’ve missed you Mom.” he mumbled into your shirt, “Please don’t go away again. Please.”

A hand raised to the back of his head as you pressed your covered nose into his hair. You took a deep breath with your eyes closed, then opened them, peeling you both apart just enough to take in each other's faces. Even with his mask on you could see how much he was pleading with you to stay.

You brushed his hair away from his face - he needed a haircut soon.

You wanted to stay, you never wanted to leave him ever again, not after tonight. But would Bruce let you?

Out the corner of your eye you saw a black drop fall onto the rooftop a little ways off. Batman. He stood, tall and intimidating. In that moment you had half a mind to take a step back even though he made no move closer to you.

Instead you just held Dick a little tighter.

Bruce's hand reached out to you, palm open, outstretched, and empty. Waiting for you to take it.

“I think we can go home now.” he said, “We all can.” Like that, Batman disappeared. Bruce was here. You guessed he bluffed - when it came to you Bruce was always there.

Things were not going to go back to normal. They weren’t for a while. But the best thing you could do was stay together, all together. As a family.

Nothing was going to push that away from you again.

- And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;

#the adventures of batmom #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x batmom #batman x reader #jason todd x batmom #dick grayson x batmom

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iftheshoef1tz · 17 days

Text

what hath night to do with sleep

chapter nine

Notes: thanks to @krem-does-stuff for her FANTASTIC art bringing Azriel to life. He’s so grumpy.

Getting through the checkpoints back to West Berlin is tedious: Eris has to wait in line for nearly forty minutes before presenting his papers. But his hands don’t shake, and he emerges from the Hauptbahnhof as if he is the same man who entered it a week before.

When he reaches his flat, Frau Heller’s door opens. He pastes on a tired smile – such a hard-working young man he is! – and he says dutifully, “Happy New Year, Frau Heller. Did your son come for Christmas?”

“Yes, him and his pretty new girlfriend, the ballerina. Did you know she danced Clara two weeks ago with the Staatsballett? Mäx didn’t even know she danced before then. He’s so busy, you know, so little free time.”

“I’m sure,” Eris murmurs. Mäx is Eris’s age and tragically stupid, even for a lawyer. They met precisely once at a party, and Eris left with Mäx’s then-girlfriend. Good to hear he’s moved on.

Read on ao3.

#azris #eris vanserra #acotar #azriel #fanfiction #demon azris #what hath night to do with sleep

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sommerregenjuniluft · 5 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic december 6 - obstacle - 2773 words (dont look at me like that)

cw: explicit sex, voyeurism ft. rosekiller, bit of degradation and slapping (as a treat)

((also shoutouts to everyone that voted on my poll but @casstration and @kaaaaaaarf hath spoken and so i went with option 1 lols, emjoy))

also posted on ao3

The winter cabin that they booked is by no means small, but it does only have two bedrooms. Which the four couples of them had to divide somehow.

It was somehow decided that Pandora and Lily get to have the one bedroom in the back by the balcony harboring the whirl pool. Regulus isn’t very aware of how or why that happened but he doesn’t question it.

Then it was dicing it out between Remus and his brother, Evan and Barty and James and Regulus for the upstairs bedroom.

Regulus is pretty sure Sirius rigged that.

And after Sirius has tugged Remus and their bags towards the stairs, chirping happily, it was between the four of them to make out the living room sleeping arrangements.

It’s a large room with a few random shelves as dividers rather than doors. There’s the big ten person couch in front of the TV and a king sized mattress shoved onto a wooden raising beneath the wide window next to the bookshelves, creating a cozy reading nook.

Regulus had simply pointed James to put their stuff by the window and that was that.

It’s their first night now, after a half day of skiing and snowboarding through the snow or sweating in the sauna or tasting themselves (Remus) through the entire resorts hot chocolate menus.

James and him are cuddled up in their many sheets and blankets, the waning moon spilling dim light over them.

Regulus is pleasantly heavy boned and drowsy but James is on a mission. Tugging Regulus’ leg over his hip, trying to get him closer, always closer, always so clingy and trying to deepen the kisses Regulus is purposely keeping close mouthed for now.

James growls a little, abandoning Regulus’ mouth to find a path down where he’s met with less resistance.

When there’s a teasing stroke of tongue Regulus grumbles, tries not to let it on with his voice that James’ plan is working, “Behave yourself.”

“I dunno what you could possibly mean by that,” James murmurs heatedly into the sensitive skin of Regulus’ neck as he grinds their hips together. And just like that Regulus whole fucking body is trembling. It’s bordering on ridiculous.

Regulus huffs, “I mean that sleeping in the same room as Evan and Barty could pose somewhat of an obstacle, don’t you think?”

“No, not an obstacle,” James responds, nipping at Regulus’ ear lobe, “Rather an opportunity.”

And the second Regulus mouth parts around a moan James’ palm is there, muffling the noise. Which, insightful, thank you, but also it has absolutely no business being that hot but it definitely is and therefore results in Regulus hips bucking even wilder, a whine ripping from his throat.

James chuckles low and when Regulus blinks his eyes up at him there’s a dangerous smirk on his boyfriend’s annoyingly handsome face. Regulus wants to sit on it.

He tuts, coos a little at Regulus in the precise moment that he runs his fingers over the front of Regulus briefs.

Regulus nearly chokes trying to keep the noises down.

James leans down, admonishing, voice patronizing in his ear, “You gotta be quiet for me though, love. Can you be a good boy and do that for me?”

Regulus pants, pelvis tilting up to chase his boyfriend’s retreating hand.

James tuts again and makes a dissatisfied noise at the lack of answer.

A small frustrated sound slips through Regulus’ teeth and he moves to punch James but this one simply intercepts the fist and thumps it down on the pillow over Regulus’ head and in one swift motion settles on top and between Regulus spread legs.

The thick line of him pressing against where Regulus is undoubtedly pulsing and wet under his boxers.

“C’mon, baby, don’t you wanna be good for me?” James whispers against Regulus’ jaw.

There’s currently no thought inside Regulus’ skull anymore, just a whole bunch of blank and static noise. All that matters is getting his mouth back on James’ and this one’s hands back on his body.

So Regulus nods fervently, the Yeah so delicate it barely carries over the small space that’s left between them. Trying so hard to be good and quiet but also knowing James wants vocal confirmation.

There’s a hint of teeth along his skin, James smiling, and then wet lips closing around a patch of skin on Regulus’ neck, sucking.

“Hah, mngh–” Regulus’ fingers find their way around James’ wrist, short nails digging in.

“That’s it, love,” James says, soothes the mark with his tongue and then– starts slowly and very fucking deliberately rolling his hips.

Regulus head tips back with the way his eyes roll up into his head.

Upsetting James’ hand over his mouth for a moment and letting the sounds go unfiltered.

“Shh,” James makes, smirking tauntingly, “Regs, baby, I thought you promised me to stay quiet?”

Regulus gasps, hiccups a little in his haste to reply while staying as quiet as possible and also coming down from the dizzying arousal coursing through his belly and making his head feel cotton-filled.

“Sorry,” Regulus squeaks and James gives cheek a tender kiss in acceptance of the apology before continuing.

Something creaks on the other side of the wide room.

The thought loses importance rapidly though when James’ other hand makes its way under Regulus’ sleep shirt to roll a nipple around as he continues rocking into Regulus.

“Please– please, Jamie,” is all he can manage.

A few more excruciating moments go by in which James plays with him and Regulus suffers and grunts and pants through the onslaught of feeling so fucking good but having to stay quiet about it until the older boy shows mercy.

There’s a wet patch on both their briefs now that Regulus is pretty sure isn’t fully to his credit.

Especially with the wild glint in James’ dark eyes as he roughly pulls Regulus’ briefs off before he discards his own underwear messily, all the while tugging Regulus’ loose limbed and out of breath body closer by his thighs.

The sheets are fuzzy and soft beneath and then there’s a pillow stuffed under Regulus’ ass, and then another one.

His legs exposed to the cool air, eliciting shivers, and spread apart wider by broad palms, smoothing up and down the sensitive skin there on the inside of his thighs and admiring. And Regulus swears there’s something in James’ gaze, something unnatural because it feels just as teasing as a gentle stroke of fingertips up and down where coarse dark hair turns to slick, glistening skin.

So visceral, turning Regulus on even more and making him arch with a silent cry parting his lips, eyes locked onto James’ flushed features and the mess of his hair.

God, he’s so gorgeous Regulus is going to die.

James chuckles, maybe Regulus said it out loud, who knows, and then this insane nutter of a human being leans down over Regulus, making him shudder with the returning body heat of him.

He brings their bodies in close, not flush together but touching, and Regulus whines brokenly when James’ shaft slides through the slick between Regulus’ legs.

And that’s before he rasps, right into fucking ear, low and incriminatingly sexy, “Die a little death for me, love.”

It’s all a bit hazy from thereon out.

There’s the palm returning to press over Regulus’ mouth when he fails to keep the noises to a minimum again.

There’s James’ thighs warm under Regulus’ and his slick mouth closing over his nipples, lips brushing over the scars there.

Regulus doesn’t know how much time goes by, not a lot he guesses, but he comes to again when his own whine rings clearer in his own ears.

High-pitched and needy because James is teasingly slapping his large cock down over and over where Regulus needs him most. Guiding the leaking tip up and down the slit of him and pushing in only so far just before he fully breaches him.

It’s maddening and rude and Regulus wants to insult him, spit venom but all that comes out is babbling and begging. No shame whatsoever.

“P-please, James, please I’m ah–” arching into the slap, watching cross eyed at the strings of cum and spit connecting them. Regulus ruts his head into the pillow helplessly, shaking it, and squirming, whimpering pathetically.

“Fuck, baby, fuck– fuck, c’mere. No, look at me,” James growls and Regulus eyes flutter open as his hips twitch. “You’re perfect. An angel, you hear me?”

Regulus hums and it comes out sweet. Pliant and agreeing, and James curses again.

There’s another sound in the background Regulus thinks but then James asks, “You ready for me, love?”

Regulus moans, abdominal muscles jumping and nodding quickly as James adjusts, crawling even closer.

He checks the pillows under Regulus, and then guides his cock forward.

There’s the silky wet of the tip again, warm and smooth. A small push, the almost-breach and then the head slips in entirely and Regulus gasps.

One smooth, slow, long thrust until James is panting above Regulus, completely sheathed inside.

James groans brokenly, dips down to place a quick kiss to Regulus’ sternum, “Fuck, love, you feel so good around me.”

Regulus whines in agreement, hips bucking where they’re flush with James’. “Please,” it’s barely a breath.

James pulls back and then rolls his hips forward again, an experimental little thing, not hard by any means but Regulus feels it.

The moan slips out on its own, loud and reverberating off the walls and Regulus whimpers when he feels a hand around his throat.

Squeezing lightly and Regulus hiccups again, makes a garbled sound when James gives a first real thrust.

His boyfriend tuts, leans down on one elbow and forces Regulus to look at him.

There’s a small part in Regulus that despite knowing James would never really deny him pleasure when playing is afraid of his boyfriend pulling out and stopping after keeping him so under- and overstimulated for so long. As punishment, which is a whole other box of exciting but not what Regulus wants– what he needs right now.

James frowns at him, while he keeps thrusting, Regulus clenching around the girth of him. There’s barely a husk in James’ voice when he murmurs, “That’s not how one’s being quiet, baby.”

Regulus gulps, hiccups and apologizes again, voice high.

James shakes his head in faux disappointment. It’s so startlingly sexy to have James switch between the praise and degradation, it has Regulus’ head reeling.

“Well, it’s a little too late for that now, is it?” James says accusingly, raising his eyebrows at him and then gives a particular hard thrust.

Regulus gives a squeaking gasp, throwing his head back.

But James pulls him back down by the jaw, fingertips digging into the bone and staring into his eyes as he pounds into Regulus’ tight, wet heat.

Regulus groans choppily before James nuzzles their noses together and says, “I think we’re being found out.”

Before Regulus’ brain is capable of processing the information James tips his head to the side, gaze drifting further into the living room.

He startles a little when once the blur fades he finds two pairs of eyes looking back at him unwaveringly.

Evan is on his back, neck bent and head hanging halfway off the cushions, bleached locks dangling, at an angle that simply must hurt, one hand fisting the plush armrest and the other in Barty’s short hair where he’s mouthing relentlessly at Evan’s hard and exposed cock, taking him down his throat every so often. Regulus doesn’t see it directly but the way Barty’s body is moving under the thick duvet leaves Regulus thinking he must be rutting his own aching length into the cushions below.

It’s only now that Regulus realizes him and James aren’t the only source of noises.

Barty’s throaty moans vibrate around Evan’s cock mixing with Evan’s soft pants and little cries whenever Barty seems to do something expertly with his mouth.

“James,” Regulus moans, not quite able to tear his eyes away from his two best friends yet.

“Yeah, baby?” he grunts, sliding impossibly further in on the next push of hips, making Regulus’ head snap back around at him.

“I love you,” Regulus breathes reverently.

James dives down into a searing kiss in response, tongue and teeth and spit sticking to Regulus’ chin when they pull apart for air.

James keeps fucking into him, making Regulus’ steadily climb higher and then locks him right in place with his eyes as Evan and Barty’s noises grow louder and lewder in the background.

James’ voice is dark when he demands, “Who do you belong to?”

It punches out of Regulus without missing a beat, “You.”

James’ shudders above him, hips stuttering and Regulus moans at the sensation. “Yeah, that’s right,” James pants, kissing Regulus’ shoulder. “All mine.”

And then he pulls out and flips Regulus. His cheek squished into the sheets and staring right back at Barty blowing Evan again.

“So generous of me to let them watch, aren’t I, love?” rasped low in his ear as James slips back in from behind, his warm body blanketing Regulus.

Several shivers whack through his body and then there’s something small and vibrating shoved between Regulus’ front and the pillows.

James presses his clit right into it, hands on his ass cheeks and grinding, fucking him deeper into the bed.

Regulus stutters through a loud whine, eyebrows scrunching and hips uncoordinatedly rutting back on James’ cock and down into the vibrator.

“Aw, precious baby– fucked stupid already?” James taunts and helps Regulus resume to a proper rhythm again, picking right up from where his climax started coiling deep in Regulus’ stomach.

“Just let me take care of you, love,” a smack on Regulus’ ass and he moans helplessly into the open room. Sees Evan’s hips buck in response and Barty take him further in his mouth with a desperate noise.

It’s all so hot and dizzying. Regulus feels so on display it makes him both want to squirm under the close scrutiny but also bloom under the attention and stay still for them. All of them. Let them look their fill. Regulus feels splayed out from the desire you regard the muse with as you paint them to the canvas.

It’s a frighteningly fast climb and with every rut and push and tug Regulus is driven closer, his legs trembling uncontrollably where they’re bracketing James’ from the double stimulation and in the end all it takes is James’ mouth biting and sucking on his lips, Evan’s stuttering moans and the sight of Barty’s eyes rolling back that has Regulus climaxing.

A loud, surprised noise and then he’s clenching down on James’ fat cock, pulsating and it doesn’t take another five seconds before James is following after him, spilling and jerking pleasantly inside where Regulus is still quivering with the shocks of his orgasm.

Meanwhile across the room he hears Evan curse and make a truly obscene noise which in turn makes Barty groan and pant, the rustling of blankets doing nothing to drown out the sounds.

When Regulus blinks his eyes open to James’ gazing at him carefully a smile pulls onto his lips.

James blows out a relieved little breath. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah, baby, it was better than I could have imagined,” Regulus answers truthfully, grabbing blindly for James’ hand and giving a small peck on a random knuckle before he tapers into a bit of a giggle.

His body is pleasantly sluggish and tingly. James’ tilts his hand back and kisses the tip of every finger in response.

He’s still inside of Regulus, slowly growing smaller.

James takes onto kissing at Regulus’ nape, warm body still pressed close and it’s almost enough for Regulus to drift off until—

“Oi, Potter! Why don’t you two beauts come over here and snuggle? Couch’s big ‘nuf for the four of us.” Barty’s smirk is audible in his voice and Regulus hears Evan muffle his snicker.

Regulus makes a small sound and snuggles deeper into the soft sheets, way too comfortable to be moved.

James understands that as the decline that it is and snarks back, “In your fucking dreams, Crouch!”

“Hey, hey now!” Barty retorts, because he can never leave it at good enough, “That’s not how you treat a man you’ve just had very voyeuristic sex in front of!”

“Rosier, beat some sense into your boyfriend, will you?”

“Ha, jokes on you! I’m into that shit, same as dear Reggie as it seems by the way, it’ll only turn into a round tw– Ouch! Baby, that hurt. I—”

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loaflovesdoodling · 5 months

Text

Pleiades pleaded, as the Dollmaker's dagger dug deeper and deeper into his back, cutting right through his yellowish-colored flesh, golden blood spewing out, he had no way of fighting back, and stabs to the pancreas wouldn't have been enough to shut his cries up anymore.

Leaving him absolutely motionless.

The warrior could feel costant hits on his vertebrae, like a hammer on a nail, it was terrifying, disturbing. painful. His consciousness started fading away. All he could do... was look back.....

...and scream his heart out.

A.F.T.E.R.M.A.T.H.

Finishing her job, she fleed the scene, forgetting her dagger deep inside his back. It was now 2AM. Pleiades coughed, grunted, making a strong effort to roll over on the cold, wet grass. He wanted to spend his final moments of consciousness facing the stars. His only sisters at the moment.

He knew he couldn't die. But he was still scared. Limbo was near. He didn't want to go to sleep. Especially for that long. He tried to inbreathe sharply, but was cut off by violent coughs. He didn't have the energy to even cry. The warrior kept his eyes open, and finally stopped struggling.

"He art not replying... he art not reachable... Just what hast thou gotten thyself into, mine brother..?!" Dero muttered to himself, scurrying across the dirt and rocks. His five eyes curved, expressing concern and frustration. His mouth partially covered by his grey-ish neck fur that now messily stuck out his cape.

Pleiades should've been back from the bar an hour earlier. His phone wasn't available and nobody who was still awake had heard from him. The dim light of the first quarter shone upon the forest, attributing to it a feeling of gloom and dread. It felt like a circle of darkness that only condensed and reduced the already miniscule amount of air. It was obscure, claustrophobic, haunting.

"PLEIADES! WHERE ART THOU, MINE FRIEND?! PLEIADES!!"

The Dark Matter called out loudly.

Still, no response, until he came across peculiar footsteps leading to a trail of golden blood. And he knew exactly who that belonged to.

Running in that same direction, he found himself even deeper inside the forest. Scurrying along, he again yelled: "PLEIADES?? I HATH BEEN LOOKING FOR THEE FOR SO LONG!! WHY ART THOU NOT RESPONDING TO MY CALLS?!" and, again, no answer. His worry only grew with the overwhelming suspense and quiet, that was so long as the moment he picked up on the putrid odor of flesh and venous and arterial fluids. He followed the scent, and finally saw Pleiades.

There lied on the earth Pleiades. Motionless. Cut up and down by the sharp blade that now emerged from his stomach. His eyes open, gazing into the nothingness. His chest flat, not a puff of air leaving his nostrils or mouth.

Dero's eyelids grew apart in shock. He gulped, then shakily exhaled, stuttering as he hurried to his injured sibling:

"..h-how....... wh...at..?"

"P...Pleiades, can you hear me.. ? ..PLEIADES..?!"

"nonononononononono.... no... NO!! Please, please hang in there... STAY STRONG..!! PLEASE..."

"just... just... please just..."

he fumbled with his words, as he bit into the knight's torn cape and lifted him over his shoulder, now noticing the handle of the seemingly familiar dagger on the other side of him, buried far inside his spine; the Dark Matter hicked in frustration and worry:

"just give me a sign... please.."

it was then that, as he cradled him, out of Pleiades came a wispy breath, and there he knew. He was still alive.

"Hang in there, mine brother. Hang in there." he whispered, before hurrying out of the forest, following the same path he used to reach it.

It was another night of work at Cookie Country's Medical Center, as Henri fixed his gloves and face mask, making his way across the white-tiled hospital corridors. Just then, he stumbled across Casipan, who was pushing a medical cart to another room. They looked at eachother for just a second, before Henri acknowledged:

"Do you need help with that? I wouldn't mind performing an extra operation tonight."

"Ah, uh, no, thank you! I was actually just putting these back."

"Oh! Alright! Tell you what, I'll go get us both something refreshing to drink, I was gonna buy another water bottle anyway."

"You're way too kind. Here, let me pa--"

"Nonono, I insist!"

"Fine, but I owe you one."

"Haha, now don't be ridiculous. I'll be back in just a minute."

"Sure."

Casipan joked:

"I swear, more than just a water bottle, we'd need some coffee! It's such a quiet night here today that I might just fall asleep!"

to which Henri replied by chuckling. Until--

"HELP!!!! SOMEONE HELP!!!! PLEASE, WE REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!!!!!!!!!"

Dero cried in a muffled voice, barging into the hospital's hall, still carrying Pleiades.

Henri and Casipan looked at eachother with concern and determination and nodded, before hurrying towards the sound.

"Good Void...." Casipan froze upon discovering the source of panic, as Henri immediately ran past him to help, making him follow along.

"Casi, don't worry about this, I'll handle it. Just please go get me a stretcher." the creature nodded before running to the hallway once again.

"You were very brave, Dero. You were very brave--... Please take a deep breath now..." The doctor empathically encouraged, as the Dark Matter inhaled and exhaled rapidly from worry.

"...He will make it. I'm sure he will. Pleiades is a very strong man. He will make it."

"..I...shan..'t......'ve..... all..ow..e..d.......h...im....to....g..o.....d..ri..nk.....alo..ne....." he blurted out in-between each intake of air. Henri placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed its thumb on his face in a fatherly manner, before repeating, once again:

"He will make it."

Casipan reached the three of them with a stretcher before him. Henri quickly thanked him, before setting Ades onto the ground, crossing the unconscious warrior's four hands.

The medic adjusted the sheets and unfastened the straps, before bending the stretcher's metal legs and pushing it down to the floor. On the count of three they both lifted Pleiades and secured him on the hard mattress, then mounting the legs and wheels once again, before rushing to the ER, while Henri looked back at Dero one last time.

He could only sit (im)patiently in the waiting room as the hospital staff made calls to everyone else. Most of them couldn't reply. It was an ungodly hour, after all. Call after call, Dero's only thoughts were of how that could've happened, and why. Part of him was worrying about Dolly, too, but he knew she was safe at his sweet fiancé's house.

The hospital felt so quiet, he could've sworn he could hear the time ticking by with triggering low speed. The air was getting tense.

Ten minutes felt like an hour. Twenty felt like five. It was so maddening he eventually lost track of time, until, a while later, Twilight showed up, panting, as if they just ran a marathon.

"WHERE. IS. HE."

Dero looked over with his head down and his spine curved, completely ashamed. Despite how much he tried, the only thing he could force out of his mouth were mumbles and messy stutters.

Twilight looked at him with a defeated expression, before taking a seat and leaning on him.

"what even happened..? Why..?!"

"I'm sorry I hath not been there for him."

"I-It's not your fault, I just..... I don't have any words.."

"He'll be okay......... I know he will..........." Dero tried to convince himself, trying to drown out all those horrible thoughts.

"I hope so....... I really hope so, Dero."

They waited.

It was 3:37AM when Selene unexpectedly entered the hospital with a look of concern and confusion, walking slowly across the main hall until she spotted her two other relatives, then running in their direction.

"SELENE?! You should be asleep!!! What has gotten into you?!?" Twilight Knight rebuked, worried and dumbfounded.

"Well, I could say the same thing about you!! I don't even know why I came here!! Blossom just started crying in the other room and I went to check her out. Apparently she has a bad feeling something happened, and then I just... saw you were both here, and I decided to reach out to you. And, before you ask, you forgot to turn off your location." She explained as a worried and tired Blossom sat over her head, being only slightly hidden by the silvery fuzz of her antennae, but just enough that they had only noticed her now that she was being mentioned.

"Poor thing...." Dero whispered, then walking closer to the girls and kneeling down, offering Blossom his head, on which she climbed.

It was then that Selene had noticed the stains of golden blood on Dero's cape, freezing in shock then and there. Twilight checked in on her:

"Selene? Selene, are you okay??"

"Hello???"

They waved their hand in front of her face, before flicking their fingers and sternly calling:

"SELENE!!!"

And that yell was sufficient to remind her of how Farron used to catch her attention, except, it was usually followed by a slap or hit. She braced herself, but... the slap never came. Instead, a few gentle pats on the head.

"Everything alright, sis?" TK whispered soothingly.

".. mmyeah, yeah.... it's all good...."

"You sure?"

"..yeah..."

And, just then, they looked at her, before hugging her tight, and explaining.

"Pleiades got attacked. He was really badly hurt and.... unresponsive."

Her heart sank. Did she hear that right? Blossom started crying even more, inconsolable. Dero tried to soothe her like a father would with his baby, but, to mostly no avail. Selene almost started tearing up, mumbling:

"..bu..t..... I... th..ought.....A..des.......was............ I-I..thou..ght..... "

She always knew him as a strong and invincible man, so how could've this..?

The clock ticked. It was 3:46AM when, finally, the door to the ER was opened. They all ran torwards Casipan, the only doctor that came out of that room in that moment, sprinting across the hallway.

"Mister Casipan!"

"I'm sorry, Selene. It's a matter of mere seconds here and it could all be over."

He apologized, quickly walking past them.

The coldness in his tone suddenly reminded Twilight of how their mother used to treat them. They knew Casipan meant no harm, but, instinctively, they placed themselves before Selene, shielding her. She squeezed her brother's hand. They scuffed and backed down, wrapping her once again in a comforting embrace.

Dolly woke up feeling strangely lonely.

Usually, she would go to Dollmaker's room and wake her up for consolation, but, for some strange reason, it felt dangerous to do so tonight.

From under the pillow came out Alden, her guardian angel. With a soft and empathetic tone, he warned her:

"Dolly."

"Oh! Mister Alden!"

"I fear something... really bad happened to Pleiades.."

"Oh no..! Did he accidentally swap lunch with a stranger, and eat cabbage, and have an allergic reaction? Mister Pleiades doesn't like cabbage..."

"No, no... it's something far worse than that, sweet child.... I admire your innocence.."

"Did he stub his toe?"

"He got hurt.. that's certain...."

"Oh no! Is he okay?"

"I'm sorry for saying this... he's not okay. I don't know how much time will pass until you see him again."

The Doll got silent. Looking down. Pleiades was hurt?? Maybe that's why she felt lonely.

No.

Dolly doesn't want to be lonely.

Dolly wants to see Mister Pleiades again.

She's not going to be alone. Not again.

She immediately started rummaging through her toybox, looking for something, anything that could help. Until she found it.

A plushie Pleiades had gifted her for Christmas: it was in the shape of a cow, a baby pink color with yellow and blue splotches on it. Inspecting it closely, she found exactly what she needed.

A string of blue turquoise hair, trapped inside one of the two black button eyes. She carefully pried it free, before placing it on her bed as a working surface and taking out her crochet hooks. Now she would have her brother by her side for at least a little longer.

3:49AM. Twilight was hugging Selene tightly, as Blossom Slept, tucked inside Dero's cape collar, with dried tears on her cheeks. He simply shielded the small Waddle Dee with his head as a sign of comfort. Then he suggested to the other two, whispering: "why doth thou not head outside a few minutes for some fresh air while I wait? It could take thy mind off things, I'm sure."

"You're not coming?" asked the older moth.

"Afraid not. I would prefer to wait here anyway, just in case. Besides, she art resting so peacefully...." he replied, looking down at Blossom.

"Y'know... you remind me of how she would be with Ades. She's only slept so soundly with him...." Selene noticed.

"He.... he's going to be okay........... he would not leave her.. or us.." he replied.

"Alright... let's go, Selene." interrupted Twilight, guiding her to the hospital's parking lot.

"Full moon."

"It's.. haunting." they clenched their fists.

"The stars are so luminous, too...." Selene shuddered, recalling the night in which she ran away from the Mapop clan. The moon shone bright, the stars did too. It was all too familiar. Twilight put a hand on her back, patting it as comfort. They needed to be strong for the others, now that Ades wasn't there. They would have been the one to 'suck it up', and they didn't know if they could do it.

4AM. Dulciana sat on his bed. Trying to hold his hand as best as she could while the surgery carried on. Her heart was beating so fast. She wanted to cry. It was so painful seeing him like this. The ghost leaned forward and kissed his forehead, reassuring him, although unconscious, that she would've been there until he'd be back home safe and sound. And now she wouldn't ever leave his side. Not for one minute. Not for one second.

"I love you, StarBright."

4:10.

4:12.

4:15AM.

Henri finally opened the doors to the emergency room, Dero called the others.

The doctor sighed, before delivering the news:

"Sir Pleiades is not waking up."

their hearts were about to be crushed, imagining the worst, but he continued:

"We checked his pulse. His heart is still functioning perfectly fine."

"Although. His time of redevelopment is uncertain and therefore undetermined. We'll just have to pray he awakens as soon as possible."

Henri then reminded himself:

"This is the weapon we found stuck inside his torso. the cuts on his body all seem to match the length and width of its blade." he handed over the Seam Ripper.

"If you have any idea to who this might belong, your help would be greatly appreciated." he looked at Dero, who now appeared shocked and guilty.

"When could we visit him..?"

"Tomorrow. We still ought to move him to a safer, more comfortable and hygienic room. I suggest you all head back home to rest. I'll call you as soon as I can." he gave the usual fatherly smile, and so they silently walked back.

"Do not worry. He won't be alone. I'll be right beside him."

7:40AM. Fylass woke up. The chimera took a big stretch, before sleepily rubbing their eyes and checking their phone on their nightstand, and noticing they had a voicemail that was not yet read. Upon listening, the words they heard made them drop their phone on the floor.

"Hey Fy. How are you doing? Listen, this might really upset you. But Pleiades was brought to us tonight. He was fatally wounded, and... agh..... he's... he's in a coma."

Dero belongs to @monsterhatdoodles

Dollmaker and Dolly belong to @ilikesillythingswooo

Twilight Knight belongs to @that-fanperson-meg

Casipan and Selene belong to @moon-mage

Henri and Fylass belong to @george228732

Sir Pleiades and Blossom Dee belong to me :))

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