#(((PLEASE: check AO3 for possible TW))))

[airi-p4]

JATP AU: Everlasting musical connection - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue … 

Julie and the Phantoms x Lukanette AU

(Sorry for the incoming little rant)

I'm a bit mad tbh because I wrote this before we had any leaks or information about S5 and now it looks like the 'red moon' and Felix are a canon reference when they're NOT. But I guess it's partly my fault for not posting this earlier... *sigh*

Anyway- This story will be finished! Idk when but it will! Thank you for your patience.

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TW: check AO3 for the tags ( !!! )

Chapter summary:

Marinette refuses to accept the Phantoms imminent crossing over, and decides to face the only one who may know a way to help them: the magician ghost Felix- their enemy.

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AO3

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CHAPTER 4

While the ghosts were busy at the cemetery, Marinette snuck out of high school to go to Paris' Ghost club. She had only heard about the exclusive club from the Phantoms and rumors, and she had no idea how to find it… but the Internet tricks Alya taught her some time ago did the rest of the job.

Felix wasn't lying when he said the doors would be exceptionally opened for her anytime. She would have never imagined going straight to the enemy's headquarters and exposing herself to such danger.

The girl had already confronted the centuries old magician ghost once and knew too well how dangerous he was. She had to be cautious- he knew a great amount of tricks. She stepped in, carefully at first, but soon brought her courage afloat after remembering her mission had a time limit.

Just a few more hours.

She had no time to lose.

“Felix! Show yourself! I know you’re here!” she called loudly.

“Oh, my my… look who's here: Marinette Dupain-Cheng…” a voice said from the shadows. The teenager got shivers, but remained courageous, standing tall. “To think you would visit me… Aren’t you scared I may possess your body like I did with your blond pathetic friend?”

“I know how to kick you out now! I’m not scared of you!” she yelled, and his evil laugh interrupted. Within a blink, he appeared in front of her and she gasped. “I’m- I’m not scared of you!” she repeated.

“Yet you’re here, trembling like a newborn puppy…” Felix laughed, amused by her fears. The sound of his slow steps walking in circles around her was keeping her alert. “How desperate you must be for your ‘Phantoms’ if you’ve come to me in order to save them…”

“Shut up!" She recomposed at the mention of her friends "I know there has to be a way! A way so they don’t have to cross over! Or maybe that they can come back to life!”

“Oh, innocent child… Don’t you think I’d have already done that myself if there was a way?”  His laugh echoed in the club, giving her goosebumps.

“I know you keep secrets. And I know you’re good at hiding them. But your powers are not only for evil. And music! Music has to be the reason you’re still aliv- well, not completely dead.”

“Haha… Very funny…" A few claps followed ironically. "You did well figuring out this much… Hmmm... What would you say if I told you there’s a way for them to come back to life?” he tempted her in a hum.

“Is there!?"

“Oh, so you’re interested, huh?” He smirked evilly and Marinette remembered he wasn't going to give her what she wanted for free. She knew him.

“What’s the deal?” she demanded, looking straight in his eyes.

“An exchange." He paused in front of her, close. "Your soul. Your life for theirs. How does that sound?”

She paused for a second, out of the shock, and before her voice left her throat she was interrupted by three newcomers.

“NEVER!" they yelled. Marinette's eyes opened big.

“Luka! Guys! Why are you here!?”

“Oh, c’mon Marinette, we know you. We’ve been together for a while now.” Juleka winked. "You can't fool us."

“We’ve actually followed you here and eavesdropped a bit…” Ivan innocently confessed.

“Don’t tell her, Ivan! I was trying to act cool and steal the show!”

“Oops, my bad-”

“Anyway- No one is taking away Marinette’s life. That’s out of the question. We’ll cross over and Marinette will be an amazing singer on her own- or with her new band or whatever she chooses to do with her outstanding talent.” Luka stepped in between Marinette and Felix, pushing him and raising a protective arm in front of her. Marinette's eyes glowed and teared up at him.

“Are you sure you want to cross over while I’m still around? I could try to harm her anytime… Try to figure out her connection with spirits… Or maybe a fatal accident could bring her talent here, to me. Maybe she would agree to remain in my club for all eternity, unlike you...”

“Don’t you dare!” Felix's threat enraged Luka. "Touch her and I'm killing you!"

“Luka…” Marinette blushed, moved.

“Yeah. It seems our last warning wasn’t enough... Let’s kill this ghost.” Juleka jumped closer, fists clenched.

“I wish so too, but guys: we can’t kill him. He’s already dead!” Ivan pointed out and Felix's smile widened.

“You’re not helping, Ivan!” The bassist glared. “And I'm not giving up just like that! There has to be a way to stop him for good!” Her nails sank deeper in her palms.

“There might be a way,” a familiar voice that sounded weak and sweet interrupted, appearing from upstairs.

“Rose!? You were ok!?” Juleka ran towards her beloved ghost, holding her hands tenderly.

“I heard your voice, Juleka, and I rushed here despite the jolts of Felix’s attachment spell." She smiled weakly and it brought Juleka to the verge of tears.

“You fool! I’m so happy to see you…” She hugged her.

“Me, too.” Rose pulled her closer, enjoying the warmth.

“Oh, what a sweet moment…" Felix hummed. "Too bad it won't last long…" His eyes turned red and the blond girl gasped. "Rose. I own your soul and you disobeyed me. You’re going to disappear now-” His fingers were about to snap, but Juleka jumped between Rose and Felix.

“No! I won’t let you harm her!”

The next second, Rose pushed Juleka behind her, making her fall to the floor. Felix's destructive thunder followed its path towards the two ghosts and everyone gasped when the blond ghost was hit.

“ROSE! NO!” Juleka cried, crawling to hold her falling body in her arms.

“Juleka, guys, listen…" Rose coughed. "I’m going to disappear soon, but… there’s a way… There’s a way you can stay here. Love and music... The red moon… Join your powers together... Your bond is special- strong. You can do it… you can make a miracle happen...”

"Rose! No!" Juleka cried.

"As for Felix… Take my curse and cast it to him… hurry up… before I disappear… Do it and he'll remain trapped here forever…" Rose whispered to Juleka. She knew the Phantoms were close enough to hear her, too. "Ivan. Do it, please. Only you can. Hold my wrist and take it. Hurry!"

"I- ok!" Ivan did as Rose told him, and a mark appeared on his wrist.

"Good…" She smiled in relief. “Now you have to say the words: ‘Resistance’, pass the curse to his wrist and say ‘Gift.’. The spell will activate then. Will you do it?” Ivan nodded, uncertain. Rose’s voice became weaker. “Thank you… Now I can leave at peace…"

“No, Rose… Don’t leave me…” Juleka begged in tears.

“I’m very happy to have met you, Juleka." Rose smiled weakly at her. "I love you.”

“Rose… I love you… I love you, too…” Some of Juleka's tears fell on Rose's cheeks. The rest fell on the floor through her disappearing skin.

"Don’t hurry up to join me on the other side, ok? Make a miracle happen. I’ll wait for you. Forever…”

"Rose, no!" Juleka cried. "Rose!!'

"Goodbye…" Rose smiled as she turned into hundreds of flying shining golden lights. On the floor, only her unicorn hairpin remained. Juleka picked it up, kissed it, and put it in her hair. Her long bangs now stuck in place, not covering her deathly glaring eyes anymore. Then she took a deep breath and cleaned her tears as she confidently recovered. Her eyes soon glared at Felix with all her wrath.

“Guys- That’s it. I’m killing this man! Are you with me?”

“Juleka, don’t be reckless, you could end up harmed too!” Luka warned, terrified for his sister, Ivan, and Marinette's safety.

“I don’t care! He just killed Rose! I can NEVER forgive him!”

“Juleka!”

Juleka's fierce voice turned into a loud roar, and it made the whole club tremble. Luka tried to hold Marinette, but she lost her balance when she fell through Luka's spiritual arm. Felix's eyes opened wide and before he could even blink, Juleka charged against him, punching his face with all her power. Felix fell on the floor with a face of not believing what was happening.

“What!?” Her bandmates gasped, in awe.

It took Felix a second to react. He touched his face where the punch had landed and checked his fingers; there was blood at the corner of his lip. “How- how is this possible!? You-- injured ME?”

Juleka roared loud, jumped, and tackled Felix, immobilizing him with Ivan's help. “Guys. We can do this.” Juleka's fist clenched again, more confident, ready to attack once more. Some stripes, resembling a tiger, appeared over her skin, on her face and arms.

“You…" Felix looked as if he couldn’t believe it, but seeing how her fist raised he changed his attitude to a self-protective one. “I see… So that’s how it is…” he mumbled. He tilted his head down and half-covered his smile with his hand.

Enraged, Juleka raised her fist and prepared to punch him again. "What's so funny, huh!?" Felix didn't answer.

"Do it now, Ivan! The curse!" Luka yelled.

Ivan took the chance while Felix was immobilized under Juleka to pass him the curse. "Wait. Is that Rose's curse? As if this was going to work…” He smirked. But his smile didn’t last long- wiped off his face when Ivan said the words he learnt from Rose: “Resistance.”. His eyes opened wide, as in realization. “No… No! No please!" He begged, but the mark had already appeared on his wrist. "No…!"

“Gift,” Ivan finished the spell, and the mark blended with his ghost skin. The Phantoms looked at the mark's shine spreading over all his body. A jolt followed and it was proof enough the spell seemed to work. They exchanged relieved looks while Felix curled his body in pain.

"Good. You can't leave this hotel ever again, Felix. Now Marinette will finally be safe," Luka said, looking fondly at Marinette.

"And now… To ensure it even further… I'm going to kill you!" Juleka raised her fist one more time, and Felix's face changed to one of fear.

"No, wait- wait please! I'll tell you what you want to know! There is a way to survive! Just don’t kill me!” the magician begged, coughing from the jolts.

Juleka wasn't stopping. "We’re not falling for this again, Felix!”

“The red moon!" he yelled when Juleka's fist almost touched him. "Tonight! It grants special powers to the spirits! Rose is right! With the right spell, a miracle could happen under the moon!"

“Really?” Marinette stepped closer.

Luka looked at her hopeful eyes in worry. “I’m sorry, Marinette, but I don’t trust him. I don’t think we should risk it…" he said, and Marinette looked back at him in sadness.

“But what if he’s right? What if it’s possible for you to come back to life? Or to stay as you are? Rose said it, too! We have nothing to lose! Let’s try it! Let’s go under the red moonlight and-” the girl insisted, desperate.

“Wait.”

“Juleka?”

The purple-haired ghost roared as she punched the floor just beside the magician's face. He gulped in fear.

“Tell us what’s the spell. If you don’t then…” Her fist rose again and he covered his face with his arms.

“Fine! I’ll tell you!” he finally gave in. “Tonight, under the red moonlight, at 2AM exactly, you have to repeat the magic words, three times: ‘kwamis, release the magic.’ If my theory and Rose’s suspicions are correct, you’ll be able to ask for a wish- a miracle.”

“And how do we know you’re telling us the truth?” Ivan asked.

Felix smirked. “You can’t know, truly. But I have no reason to give you a fake spell. I can’t cast it on my own anyway, since moonlight is needed and I’m now trapped here forever…” He suffered again from the spell.

“Tricking us for revenge sounds like a good reason for lying to me…” Marinette glared.

“Revenge? Against you pitiful souls? Don’t make me laugh.” He smirked evilly, still coughing. “You’re worthless. As pathetic as Rose was…” He touched Rose’s unicorn hairpin for a second and Juleka grabbed his shirt collar.

“DON’T YOU DARE MENTION ROSE EVER AGAIN!” Juleka threatened.

“Hmph- Whatever.” Felix's smirk widened. “You can try the spell or not. But isn’t this your only chance? No one knows if it really works anyway, but you won’t know unless you try. You know what not trying means anyway…”

Juleka growled at him and he shrugged, his fear seemingly gone despite the electric jolts striking again.

“Let him go, Juleka. He’s right,” Luka said, to Marinette’s surprise. “We don’t have much time left, and he’s trapped here forever, whether he's telling the truth or not, our fate is sealed. I can rest in peace knowing he won't be able to harm Marinette.”

“But-” Marinette and Juleka protested.

“We have a concert to go to, right? Let’s forget about Felix and enjoy the last hours we have together.” Luka shrugged with a weak smile. Marinette and Juleka weren’t happy, but ended up following Luka’s lead.

"It's time for you to pay for your sins." Juleka stood up and looked down in absolute disgust at Felix. “Enjoy your solitude for eternity.”

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The ghosts escorted Marinette out of the hotel and they sighed in relief when they reunited outside. Once outside, Luka turned to speak to Marinette.

"Don't you ever do that again, Marinette. Don't expose yourself to danger like that. Especially not for us, when we're already…" The guitarist had an urge to hug her, but he knew he couldn't even touch her. His body language was obvious to his ghost bandmates, though, who smiled sadly at them.

“I'm sorry… I wanted to-" she stopped, not wanting to be scolded again when the count on their wrists kept going down. "You’re the best friends I could ever have,” Marinette thanked them.

“You’re our treasure, Marinette.” Luka gave her his sweetest smile and she blushed.

If he wasn't a ghost, he would have probably leaned down to kiss her, had she allowed him, of course. But he knew better. Both of them knew better. They belonged to different worlds, despite their connection being so real...

*cof cof*

The pair turned to Juleka and realized they had been staring at each other's eyes for too long. Ivan looked away, slightly blushing, and Marinette panicked a bit. Luka smiled at her cuteness before taking the lead again.

“Ok, let’s go! We can't be late to our last concert tonight!”

“Hell yeah! I’m on fire!” Juleka exclaimed.

"Have you decided yet which song we're performing?" Ivan asked, stretching his wrists.

"I have," Marinette interrupted. "I know exactly which one song we should perform." She grinned and the Phantoms smiled back at her.

"Ok, let's do it!"

____________________

"We're 'Marinette and the Phantoms,' and today was our last concert. Please enjoy our last song: ‘everlasting musical connection’!"

There was evident shock, sadness, and devastated fans at the French Orpheum, but it was soon replaced by the feelings that resonated through the music with the frantic audience.

Their last concert was short, but moreover, it was unforgettable. Epic. Outstanding.

Legendary.

Those were the adjectives the specialized press was already calling it online.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)

Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.

TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere Word count: 3754 This work on AO3

There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself. 

Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac. 

Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services. 

There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself. 

Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface. 

There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation. 

“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.” He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window. “Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows” He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives. (Even if this is true) 

But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier. 

But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work. 

But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…

There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…

Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful. 

— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me? 

Yes, he can hear you. 

Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep. 

— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail. 

It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train. 

He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think. 

Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room. 

König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway. 

This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively. 

Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in. 

When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him? 

Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse. 

— Where do you want me to start, sir? 

He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry. 

— The living room. If it’s not too much. 

He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker. 

Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless. 

— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch? 

He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it. 

You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes. 

Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit. 

— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left. 

— Alright. Anything else? 

He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway. 

He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself. 

This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you. 

And he only knew you for an hour tops. 

König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.

He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours? 

He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He’d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits. 

He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service. 

His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember. 

König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body. 

Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died. 

He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad. 

Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be. 

So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face. 

It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself. 

— What is it, liebling? 

Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss. 

You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him. 

— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow. 

He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already. 

He might not even let you go after. 

— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…

He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment. 

— Alright. I will do it right away then. 

You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless. 

He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside. 

— I will divide everything into categories, alright? 

— Gut.

You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces. 

You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is. 

— Can I just put it back in boxes or…

You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely. 

It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate. 

He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours. 

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in. 

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Master List

This page is geared towards an 18+ Audience. Please read through any warnings at the start of fics as they are there for a reason.

please DO NOT repost my work without my permission.

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Fic Commissions are available on my Etsy :)

Who I write for: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, other Marvel Women

What I will write: Smut, fluff, angst, g!p, au

Wanda Maximoff

Oneshots (All 18+)

New Neighbours- After meeting a beautiful woman in a store, you soon discover that she's your neighbour and she's single.

Devil In Disguise- Wanda isn't as innocent as everyone thinks she is.

Break Me- Wanda needs you to be rough with her and give her exactly what she wants.

Detention- Your Professor keeps you behind after class as you were distracted.

Take Control Of Me- You ask Wanda to use you as she wishes.

Are You Interested? -  "I'm very attracted to you, would you be interested in having an affair?"

Heatwave Fun- You and your girlfriend find a way to cool down during a heatwave.

Dirty Thoughts- While babysitting the twins, Wanda is left to listen to all the sinful thoughts of the older woman flickering through your mind.

Listen To Mommy- Your Mommy teaches you a lesson after being a brat.

Focus- Wanda tests how well you can concentrate while her hands roam your body.

Can't I?- "You can't control me the way you do them." "Can't I?"

Teach Me- After tutoring the twins, their mother decides to give you your own personal lesson.

Touch Me- You beg Wanda to give you what you desperately want.

Protective Girlfriend- Wanda gets worried when you hurt yourself in training. You find a way to convince her that you're perfectly fine.

Boyfriend- Inspired by the song by Dove Cameron

Please...- An affair that turns into more.

So Wrong- How can something so wrong feel so right?

We're Going To Get Along Just Fine- You go home with a mysterious woman from the bar.

Attention (G!P Reader) - You're girlfriend thinks you're spending too much time focussing on work so you give her the attention she wants.

A Workout To Remember (G!P Reader)- Your Gym crush makes a move on you.

Trick Or Treat (G!P Reader)- Loosely inspired by WV ep6 and the phrase trick or treat.

Lingerie (G!P Reader)- Wanda surprises you in a new lace set.

Series (All 18+)

The Babysitter (WIP- Currently 144k words)- In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

Secrets (Completed- 23k words)- DARK FIC- "Do you swear on your life?" She lets her fingers trail up your arm, moving to your drag along the side of your neck and your jaw before resting on your chin, holding your face to look at her.

"I swear on my life," you whisper, unable to look away from her.

"Would you be interested in having an affair?"

This fic also includes relationship with Natasha Romanoff in which the reader is not faithful in.

Enemies With Benefits (Completed- 16k Words)- You hated her. She hated you. It was just sex. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

Miss Maximoff (Completed- 8k) - After strange circumstances, you find yourself falling for the married woman next door.

I Don't Hate You- After going too far in training, Steve makes you check up on Wanda. Upon hearing a groan, panic fills you before you hear your name falling off her lips in a desperate moan. Oh.

Natasha Romanoff

One Shots

I Wanted You- "We tried so hard not to be torn apart. But at the end of it all, we both wanted something different...I wanted you. And you...you didn't want them to know."

Daddy Issues- TW for Abuse. Inspired by the song Daddy Issues by the Neighbourhood

Warm Us Up (18+)- After your reluctance to work together causes you to be stranded in a safehouse, You come up with an idea on how to stop the two of you freezing to death.

I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin- You comfort Natasha after she starts to feel insecure about her body.

Series (All 18+)

The Soldier Of Death (WIP- Currently 32k words) Warning of graphic depictions of violence. - Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

Secrets (Completed- 23k) Dark Fic- Same fic as the one mentioned in the Wanda Series section.

Love Is For Children (Completed 43k) - "You love her, don't you?" "Loved. I loved her."

Bad Idea (Completed 4.7k) - A friends with benefits story that turns into lovers.

You Need Me- Natasha should hate you. You're the enemy. But she can't lie and say you were wrong. She did need you.

Miss Romanoff- What happens when the mysterious woman you went home with turned out to be your new professor...

Wanda And Natasha X Reader

Should Have Knocked- You accidentally walk in on Wanda and Nat in a compromising position. What you didn't expect was for them to ask you to join them.

The Devil And An Angel- Your girlfriends tempt you to sin.

Alone In The Compound- Thinking you were alone, you and Wanda take advantage of the emptiness of the compound. What you didn't expect was for the Black Widow to walk in on you two.

Kinktober

Kinkmas

More posts with links to be added soon, all of posts are on my other accounts so check them out if you want to read them before I post them on here :)

[spacebarbarianweird]

@ramlightly graciously let me write a fic based on this comic. Check it out, it's so cool!

"Dominate Person" is a nasty spell that can fully submit a humanoid to your power. It's unclear if the victim has self-consciousness in the moment but since it's possible to throw Wisdom saving rolls I think you can feel that you are controlled.

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

Puppet Master

Synopsis: Astarion is enchanted by the "Dominate Person" spell and almost kills Tav.

Tags: angst, comfort

TW: A description of physical violence

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion wants to move. To hide in the shadows and shoot the necromancer from there.

You are surrounded, but you keep doing your work.

But he can't.

His body is paralyzed, and he feels a wave of panic. 

No, not this. Not "Hold Person"!

He can't do this. He can't make it.

Paralysis is like being sealed in a tomb with too little space to move. Helpless, voiceless.

What if something happens to you when he is like this?

"Astarion, use your daggers!"

Is it you? Or one of the adventurers you've teamed up this morning to kick necromancers out of the town?

Astarion just has to wait. The spell wears off when the spellcaster is down. Or a healer manages to find a way to get rid of the invisible chains.

Or...

USE THE DAGGER

The voice is intimidating, too loud, and too powerful.

It's like the Cazador's voice in his head again. Suppressing. Ordering. Torturing.

No, no...

Astarion feels his hand move toward the dagger. The strings make him move.

It's not "Hold Person".

It's "Dominate Person".

Full control of the victim. The voice your body cannot resist. You become one of them, fighting for them.

Murdering your loved ones.

KILL

Astarion rushes forward to you. To the only person he loves and cares about. The only person in the entire world who has never hurt him.

"Astarion! Help me! Astarion, what's wrong?"

Astarion pushes you into the ground with all his newfound vampiric strength.

No, no, please, stop it!

MURDER THEM

The dagger stabs through your stomach, causing an internal rupture. The second dagger wounds your chest.

You stare at him in pain, in silent prayer. You watch your lover killing you.

Blood. So much blood. Your blood.

A strong hand pulls Astarion from you, but it's not enough.

Astarion has an order from his new master.

To kill you. To make sure you are dead.

It is the worst type of dissociation. He is just an observer.

His hands rip you apart as if you are a prey he's found in the woods. Your eyes are full of terror and pain.

VAMPIRE, DRINK THE BLOOD.

No, no, I won't do it. I don't take the blood without consent... NO!

His fangs pierce into your neck, taking the blood non-stop. To satiate him, to let him feel alive.

And to drain you.

He is less than a slave. A puppet. With his locked mind in agony.

CRUSH THE SKULL

Astarion grabs a handful of your hair to smash you against a stone. Your body is motionless. Broken. Almost dead.

And then...

The agony of death pierces the mind. It's an acid flare of horror - too familiar for the undead.

It happened to him once, many years ago. When he was killed by Cazador and revived as a vampire spawn.

That's how death feels.

But he isn't dying. More than this, his body is his again.

Astarion stands up, feeling the nightmare wearing off.

Your body lies on the ground in blood and gore.

Astarion falls to his knees, his hands shaking.

And yells.

**

You wake up, your body sore and in terrible pain.

Astarion.

Your mind reacts with a panic attack - a near-death experience causing mental anguish. Your body remembers how Astarion jumped on you with his daggers.

How he ripped your throat.

How he almost crushed your skull.

You try to collect yourself. "Dominate Person". One of the nastiest spells necromancers know. Create a humanoid puppet and make them kill their friends and loved ones. While they silently scream, locked in their minds.

Some people never recover from that. Offing themselves, not being capable of dealing with what they did.

Damn, and what did it do to Astarion? It's what happened to him during his enslavement. Orders impossible to resist.

You want to call for him, but your body refuses to act. It remembers.

His hands, his fangs.

And his eyes in such desperation you've never seen.

Before you manage to collect yourself again, you fall into oblivion.

**

Astarion is silent.

His nails pierce his scalp. His teeth are clenched. His eyes open wide as he stares at the wall.

The companions who murdered the necromancers ignore him, but he doesn't feel any hostility.

Just a spell. It happens.

"Astarion... Is this your name, right?" a young fighter approaches him. "You need to take a bath."

Astarion looks at himself. His clothes are covered in blood. Your blood.

"Tav will be fine. We have good healers here. Don't blame yourself."

As if enchanted again, Astarion walks away. In silence, he locks himself in the bathroom - a small wooden room with a tub full of hot water. But instead of putting off the dirty clothes, he submerges himself fully clothed.

The fabric clings to the body, and Astarion hugs his knees. The blood mixes with water.

His back hurts as if his scars are bleeding.

He doesn't know how long he spends there. An hour? A day? A week? The water is cold. but he can't care less still hearing your cries.

The door creaks, and he notices familiar soft steps.

"Astarion? Are you alright?"

He can't look at you. Can't make himself. Can't witness the damage he caused.

"I almost killed you, and you ask how I am doing?" his voice breaks.

"The necromancer almost killed me," you say firmly. "Not you. Hey, look at me!"

Your head is heavily bandaged. There are bruises all over your face, and he knows there is much more evidence of his violence below your shirt and trousers.

"It wasn’t you. It was them. You would never do this to me."

"I did."

"You didn't. Come on, take off your clothes. They’re all wet."

He wants to make you go, make you leave. He will be happy knowing you are somewhere safe and far from him.

You touch his neck, and he can't resist. Astarion allows you to pull off his shirt and then manages to take off the trousers as well. 

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Don't." You start rubbing his back, and he flinches when your gentle fingers touch the edges of the scars.

"Tav... You need to rest..."

"Don't be selfish. I need this, too."

"What? Why?"

You take his chin and make him look up at you. "Because my body remembers you killing me. Because my subconscious tells me to run away. Because I remember these gentle hands of yours driving blades into my chest. I need to forget it before it's engraved forever. So please, don’t push me away. Not now..."

You keep rubbing his back, hands, and chest. You plant kisses on the clean skin. You wash his hair, stained blood, and gore, and make sure your touches are light and tender.

"If you want to talk about it, I am here. I know what exactly it reminded you of," you whisper in his ear.

And at that moment it's too much.

His body shudders as he starts crying, hiding his face from you in his palms. You drop the rags and wrap your hands around his neck.

You sit like that for an eternity, lulling each other until the healer starts banging into the door, demanding you to return to bed. You reluctantly let Astarion go.

You kiss him goodbye and leave, hoping the darkness won't hold his mind again, and he won't run away from you and his guilt.

**

The bed is comfortable as you lie motionless on a blanket. The healer did a great job patching you together. But you will need to fully recover. And gallons of healing potion.

Astarion enters the room. He wears fresh clothes, and if it wasn't for his facial expression, you could think nothing bad has happened.

"Come," you ask him. "I am sorry, but the night of passion isn't an offer today."

"Don't be ridiculous. How are you feeling?"

"Beaten. Wounded. Tired. And you?"

"Violated"

You both are silent. Finally, Astarion lies beside you and wraps his hands around you.

Your body stiffens against your will. Astarion feels it and tries to let you go.

"No. Hold me like that!"

He obliges and gently places your head on his chest. His cool skin feels nice.

Astarion loves me. He won't hurt me.

You repeat it like a prayer before finally being able to fully relax.

"I love you," he mutters. "I won't hurt you. You hear me?"

You nod.

"I love you, too," You smile, and your heart rejoices when he smiles back.

--

Tag list

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

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red

art in the cover by @ave661 and @shkretart !

chapter one | chapter two | ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you'll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won't. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

A/N: Hello girlies! This is the very first time I get the courage to actually post something I wrote. I've been reading y'all fics behind my screen for so much time now I figured I could start postingggg; so please be gentle with the feedbacks, but be also sincere ♥ also, English is not my first language and although I'm fluent, there might be a mistake or two along the way. Don't feel shy in pointing it out if you see any! Moreover, this will be a long ass one I'm pretty sure, but I might get myself some more courage to post my smut oneshots in some near future. Hope you enjoy! x

Chapter 1 - The Incident | 3.3k

There was ash in the air everywhere. That scenario didn’t frighten him – in fact, Ghost was absolutely sure that at that point in his life, almost nothing could fright him. He had seen much worse things before, he thought silently as he walked towards the building completely destroyed. There was debris everywhere – the building had not collapsed completely, but some parts did not survive the flames and now there seemed to be not even a little bit of life in that place. There were still small portions of flames spread through a few heaps of debris, a terrible smell of wood and burnt concrete; but nothing of that could be worse than the smells of dead, flattered human flesh that once or again invaded his nostrils.

His eyes rolled around in search of any record of life. In vain, he knew: there was no chance that any civilian had survived that. A cruel, dark bombing, a violent and destructive terrorist act. The only goal was to destroy any form of life that could inhabit there, and possibly it had been obtained without any further circumstances. When Price sent the radio search order to all members of the 141, he made it very clear that those efforts were in vain. They would find nothing. We lost today, he said. We could not foresee this, nor can we remedy it. It was a burden they had to cope with on a daily basis - the often inability to do something, to act, was a burden that a soldier should carry. It was part of the job.

Ghost pressed the point button in his ear. “Is anyone listening?” He asked, his eyes checking the entire perimeter of the building behind the skull mask that covered his face. “Have you found something, LT?��� Soap answered, his voice hushed by the efforts. “No. I’m making an entrance, there’s nothing out here.” the lieutenant stated, kicking off a few remaining pieces of concrete from the front of his feet and laying the rifle in his hands. Ghost stood in front of the main entrance to the building – that place that should have looked like a reception at some point in the near past - and the movement of his boots against the ground caused the roof above his head to shake a little, and some ash particles fell onto his helmet. He observed the movement, standing still for a few seconds, only for warranty; he did not want to end up becoming one more of those burial victims. 

When the concrete whisper finally stopped stirring his ears, he entered. The lamp of his helmet lit up, and he looked around. His eagle eyes did not lose an inch of that entire perimeter, his ears attentive as those of a bat. He was looking for a sign, whatever it was: a presence, a scream, voices, calls for help. Anything. Anyone.

All he could hear were the sounds of the structure of the building, apparently ready to give in. Ghost tried to enter one of the apartments; his boots sole hit the semi-destroyed grinded surface of the door, and he broke in. He looked around. An enormous smashed chandelier rested violently against the bloody body of a child. 

Many people said Simon was the type of man to have no feelings anymore. That time, scars and trauma had taken from him all and every kind of humanity. He had become a soldier—one of the good, one of the invincible, but nothing aside from that. Nothing but a soldier.

Perhaps that sentence became so repetitive that at some point, he, himself began to believe it. His face remained motionless. The sound of the blood drops hanging on the floor filled his ears, and he snorted for a moment, pressing the point into his ear. “First floor, apartment 102,” he said, coordinating other operators to head to start collecting the bodies. 

His eyes went up to the ceiling, facing the huge blunt in the structure that caused the luster to fall. Maybe the parents' bodies were still there somewhere to be found, he thought. But that wasn’t his job, and unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. He then traced his steps out of the apartment, looking around. As he kept going upstairs, the lantern lit up one hand or another thrown out of a pile of debris. Broken legs, the kinds of horrors that haunt the dreams of ordinary people. 

As Price had said and as he imagined to be fact, there were no survivors. Even when he reached the last floor, without any hope that he would find any movement that were not spasms of lifeless bodies, he tried. He tried to find someone, to do his job with all the mastery he could. His voice echoed through the entire floor, looking for anyone who could answer, but as expected, there was no response.

All that was left was the subsoil, the garage. When he came down the lobby again and found a portion of the staff dragging out some bodies, placing them in black bags, one of the doctors caught his attention. “Lieutenant. Have you finished checking around? Nothing up there?” The man asked, pulling his glasses from the tip of his nose. Ghost is negative. “No, nothing,” he said bluntly.

The doctor seemed to bite his own jaw with some strength, in disappointment. He has baffled. “You don’t even have to check down there. If those above didn’t survive...” he said, giving on his shoulders. Ghost watched him in silence for a few seconds, before finally answering, “Focus on your work, doc. I’ll finish my own.” He said in a nod before starting to push with his crude hands the stones that covered the entrance to the stairs that led to the garage.

His steps echoed. Ghost walked through the parking lot, passed pillar by pillar, checked every car. There were bursting pipes releasing hot steam, a gas leak as well he could tell – and he didn’t want to be there to see what would happen if some kind of ignition occurred. He hastened his steps. He took a deep breath; he was about to press his point and give up, claiming that there were no survivors, but a stifling sound interrupted his action. He looked around, looking for the source of the heavy breath and the little grumbling of pain he heard. His eyebrows cracked almost instantly and he turned around himself, looking around. All his senses were activated at that moment – he began to walk through among the few cars there, following the sound he had heard and then, a hand hitting the air dropped debris to the side of what seemed to be a body. He approached cautiously, throwing the light from his helmet’s lantern in the direction of the sound, and to his surprise, although not perceptible, there was the only survivor of the bombing: you.

A small, female frame shrunk from a pile of debris. Your hair was covered in ashes, your face - the dirty cheeks with the blackness of the material, your arms painted in the scarlet of your blood flowing freely to the ground, glass blades attached painfully to your soft skin. There was a cut down from the top of your forehead until the beginning of your left eyebrow. The completely messy strands of your hair fell against your face, opaque, bright. The expression of fear on your eyes turned into pure terror the moment they met his own, those small cold orbs inside the mask. You instinctively tried to move away from him, push your body away from those debris, away from that huge and frightening man.

When you threw your body to the side, all you could feel was your back against the cold floor, your left leg refused to work. You felt nauseous, stupid, your head turned. Your mouth trembled in a failed attempt to say something, the silence already lasted for seconds enough for you to fear his frame standing ever so tall and quiet. “Please don’t hurt me.” You managed to say, your voice engulfed in a cry that refused to go out. It wasn’t as if it was going to work; if he was one of the terrorists who caused this incident and really wanted to hurt you, then you were at his mercy and there was little you could do about it.

Maybe, if you were in a better mental and physical condition, you’d be able to identify that the rifle in the hands of the man in front of yourself was of a military model. That all his gear pointed out that he was an operator, someone willing to help. Your mind could not process all the necessary information about him at the given moment, although.

“I will not hurt you, lass.” He explained, and for a moment you felt your chest swell in air and it was hard to contain the immense desire to cry. The heavy steps of the man were made against your small, wounded body. He lowered himself, letting the rifle rest next to him quietly. You gulped in dry, still nervous with your eyes raised to his, now a little closer to you. He wasn’t looking at you — he was looking down, seeming to assess how hurt you were. “I’ll tell you what’s happening now. Okay?” He asked, slowly and calmly, his cold eyes now facing your own, visualizing your soul behind the cover of this hurt shell of yours. You stumbled, and he continued. “I’ll take that away from you, and I need you to help me helping you. Alright? You will be well. I just need you to hold your leg and when I push it over, you roll. Understood?” The man asked, his firm and deep voice being the first source of human contact you had since the lightning caused you to wipe out unconscious hours before. You came in for confirmation.

Ghost nodded back and raised his fingers, counting to three. Contrary to what you might have imagined, he didn’t need to do much to lift the huge concrete block that blocked his left leg from moving — he even had some ease in doing so. He held the concrete above his body, his arms backed over you, he sat down. “Roll.” he commanded, and you obeyed as you could. You leaned her hands on the ground and gave a boost; one of your hands instinctively went to the wounded leg, in an attempt to warm up the pain now felt by finally having released it from the rubble. You couldn’t hold a moan of pain, but he was quickly stifled by the sound of concrete hitting the ground when Ghost let it fall back.

You mentally begged that you could endure that. Your eyes were filled with tears, and a certain despair arose through your throat, your mouth. The anguish of finally feeling the unpleasant smell of the environment, the nervousness of realizing that very possibly, few other people survived that disaster, it was overwhelming your already troubled mind. 

Ghost didn’t lose a second in time; he finished positioning the rifle around his body and you felt his arms wrapping you by the waist and the folds of your knees, and he lifted it up with immense ease – it was as if you were featherweight. The gloves in his hands were rough against the sensitivity of your skin, but his touch was as cautious as possible. You could say without a doubt that this soldier of at least twice your height was doing his best not to hurt you any more than you’re already wounded.

“What is your name?” He finally asked, his rifle resting on his back, and you resting over his arms. He wasn’t looking at you – his eyes were fixed ahead, in the direction he was carrying you to, the exit. You answered, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “You can call me Ghost. I am a soldier, yes? We will take care of you.” He said in a clear tactical attempt to calm your nervousness down.

You sat down with your head. “Amelie Miller... Did you find her? My friend, she... did you find her?” You asked, your body trembled as you came to realize his eyes were now boring into yours.

He seemed to look for words that would not hurt you as much as the ones he had to say, but he for one, was not good with words or comforting.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered, in a sigh. “there are no more survivors. You were the only one.”

~ x ~

Your head hurt. Everything hurt; body, arms. There was a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water still sealed in your hands. The look in your eyes was empty, blurred; there were a lot of people there. Many doctors, many operators - soldiers like Ghost. One of them wore a mohican, the other had thick eyebrows. The captain was talking to them in an isolated corner, the doctors were talking to each other about your condition, about what should be done from now on. There were agents from the British intelligence surrounding the site, and there were about hundreds of black bags stretched on the floor, closed. You still felt pain, although the healings now prevented blood from flowing freely through your forehead as before. The glass pieces had been removed from your arms, your face was clean now and even so, you never felt so dirty in your entire life.

Every time you dare to blink, you could swear that you would faint. Your hands were getting weaker, loosening around the bottle. The sudden sound of the bottle falling to the ground caught the attention of one of the men there – the captain. As far as you could realize, he called himself something Price.

“Miss.” He said, coming closer to you. Suddenly, there were eyes on you from every angle possible; all of the other soldiers turned to the ambulance where you were sitting now. You slowly raised your face to look back at Price, and he continued. “I’m not going to ask if it’s okay, this question is rhetorical. You need to be hydrated.” He was bowing down in front of you, taking the bottle he dropped and opening it, offering it to you. Your eyes checked at the bottle for a few seconds and your trembling hand finally grabbed it, drinking until the last drop you could - all at once. You could feel your throat burning, your skin seemed to be in living flesh. The appearance of your wounds was not as unpleasant as the feeling of having them, but you knew that all that would leave you some ugly scars.

You could not care about it now – in fact, couldn’t care about anything at all. Your mind was empty and you never felt so apathetic in such a distressful situation. 

“What am I going to do now?” You asked, in a whisper, your eyes completely lost. “I—what am I going to do...?,” you repeated, and there was nothing but an absolute feeling of raw pain and loss in your voice right at that moment, for as much as you tried to hide it.

Price swelled his chest, and his lips compressed into a line. “You don’t have to worry about anything now. We’ll take care of everything,” he assured. “The government has a great defense program for disasters like this, you won’t be without a roof,” he finished, trying to calm you down. You closed your eyes and shaken your head, but you did not respond. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; what could be done besides trusting that everything would go well? Trust that they would have a plan for you, a shelter, doctors, a chance of living after you were supposed to die in such a horrific way?

You didn’t even know if you wanted all that. Didn’t even knew if you wanted to be the only survivor. Surely not: at that time, you would rather have died among the other more than a hundred people who were now in black bags scattered on the floor in front of you. You felt so much - you felt gratitude for their work, for saving you, but at the same time you couldn’t help but to feel like a fraud for surviving while other died. Others that, somewhat, deserved more than you to live. There was so much in your mind now, but little that you could really synthesize and make sense of.

You drowned your face between your hands, unable to cry, but wanting so deeply to hide from them, from those men, from doctors, from the press, from everything. Wanting to be away from everything, wanting to be dead for once.

A little further away, Ghost observed you. His broad arms crossed, his posture relentlessly perfect as always. His eyes looked at your gestures, scanned your body —all those wounds, poor girl, he thought. Although he was sure there was no more of a heart in his chest, he felt comprehensive towards your emotions. The horrors you had lived in such a short space of time, the unbearable consequences that that meant for your poor mind. The trauma. The pain.

He could not help but think that he saw a bit of himself in you. Not a bit of Ghost – a little bit of Simon. A little bit of the little Simon who felt an immeasurable strain in his chest, a void that could not be filled. 

When the doctors finally helped you to get up in the ambulance and sit on one of the available chairs, your face turned over your own shoulder and you found his eyes stuck to yours. It felt intimidating in some way; perhaps the way his confidence didn’t allow him to look away while you stared at him, or something in the way he seemed capable of reading right through you like a good book of his. He was a savior to you, and somehow it still seemed his persona was conflicting with the one of a savior. He was something else, perhaps still a benefactor, but somehow, a very dangerous man.

There was not a single feeling in his eyes, quite the opposite. There was pure coldness, and yours on the other hand carried some gratitude and ingratitude at the same time. You felt grateful that he had saved you, but at the same time, felt angry at him for not having let you die. You entered the ambulance, and your eyes continued to lock a gaze against his until the moment someone closed the car door from outside.

Ghost turned his eyes at last, and saw Price approaching.

“Fuck.” The captain whispered, laying his hands on his waist, looking at all the misfortune that the incident had caused to that place. “How many bodies?” He asked, looking at Simon with the corner of his eyes.

“A hundred and two so far.” Ghost answered quietly.

“And have you found the bodies of the sons of bitches who did this?” Price said with some disgust and hatred attached to his voice. Ghost assented positively, which made Price crack the dust almost instantly into a distressed expression.

“Motherfuckers.” He grunted, turning to the rest of the team. Soap, who had been remaining in silence for thorough all the search, dared to finally speak.

“We have a lot to report, hm?” He raised his eyebrows, and received a Price assent in response.

“To the headquarters." The captain ordered, making his way to the helicopter that awaited for them, and they left.

[reriart]

Mending A Torn Heart [Astarion x Reader]

Hello everyone, it's been a while! I finally have a new laptop so I can start writing again. I hope you'll like it and if you have prompts for other Tav/Durge x Astarion, feel free to drop one in the ask box!

Please remember that English is not my native language.

TW: +18 MDNI, Tav have female genitals, but you can decide their gender, fluff, angst, penetration, PiV, improper use of spell, blood drinking, depression, mention of parent's death.

Words: 2,487

Tav fails to mend their blouse, so Astarion offer his help.

You can read it on AO3 too.

"Ouch!" you murmur, bringing your index to the mouth, sucking on it to stop the bleeding and the burning sensation.

During the evening, you've been trying desperately to sew up a tear on your worn blouse, but never in your life have you picked up a needle and thread - it was something your mother usually did. As a result, every attempt to fix the damage fails miserably.

"Damn it!"

Tears begin to peep, but you try to push them back. It feels foolish to cry over something so frivolous, and, especially, you don't want others to see you like that. You bend your head and shoulders downward, sighing and hoping they don't see your eyes glistening. When you look up to check, you realize that only Gale and Astarion are left. You were too focused to notice whoever was there before.

"My fellow bookworm, I think I'll go to sleep," Gale says. "I don't deny this is a conciliatory reading for a good sleep."

Astarion remains with his eyes fixed on his book. It has a worn cover, but in the vampire's graceful hands, it looks refined and antique rather than ruined. His free hand caresses the rim of the pewter cup beside him, which you are sure contains no water.

"The books you read always tend to do that," the elf replied. "You should try something that isn't fiction for women of a certain age."

"My pale friend, I don't know if you've noticed, but our book choice is limited to what we salvage among burned houses and dead bodies. At least until we get to Baldur's Gate, there is…"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Good night, Gale."

The wizard sighs, getting up and disappearing into his tent. You lower your eyes and turn back to your torn blouse, biting your lip to keep from huffing.

"Are you going to spend all night poking holes in your fingers like you're squeezing a porcupine, or are you going to ask me for help? You're making me thirsty."

Swallow. Well aware of Astarion's supernatural nature, it had occurred to you that he could sense even a droplet of blood in the air, let alone … well, many droplets.

"Can you sew?" you ask, tilting your head.

Astarion snorts, setting the book down on the floor and getting up with the grace of a cat. He stretches his back and smooths his clothes. "Of course I can sew. Everybody should know how to do it. It's, you know, essential."

Guilt settles in your stomach. Does he always have to be so straightforward? You look first at him, then at the blouse, where two small red patches keep company with the gash in the fabric. "…damn, that won't come off."

"I am sufficiently knowledgeable about blood and tailoring to tell you that yes, those stains will come out," he mutters, sitting next to you. "Let's solve this first. Give it to me," he orders, motioning you with his hand to hand him needle, thread, and whatever else.

You do as requested and move closer to him, still trying to maintain some distance. The terror that he will hear your heartbeat running at full speed or that he might use one of your pitted fingers as a drink restrains you from getting any closer.

"Gods, it looks like a goblin tried to fix it," he comments, huffing and pulling away the thread you tried to patch it with. "How is it possible that you don't know how to sew? Did you grow up in the middle of a forest?"

"I didn't - no one ever taught me. Mom was usually doing this, but she died when I was still quite young. This is one of her clothes, the only one I have left, actually. I don't want to throw it away," you confess, looking at your toes sticking out of your crossed legs.

Astarion looks up at you, then looks down at the lake and clenches his jaw. "I can understand that. I have … something that's been with me for a long time, too, and it's ruined, just like your shirt."

His attention returns to the gash.

"It's too dark to teach you now, I can see well but you can't. I'll sew it, but you'll have to learn to do it yourself. I'm not going to mend your whole backpack," she comments, passing new thread through the needle, and then bringing the cotton flaps closer together. His fingers, long and nimble, move confidently, but they tend to linger on the traces of blood. When he finished, he cut off the excess thread with the dagger he always keeps attached to his belt. "Here you go. For the stains…"

He interrupts his sentence when he sees you with your head resting on his knees, in a vain attempt to hide and make yourself small. The elf is about to say something but interrupts himself. "Is something the matter?"

You mutter a "no," but your body betrays you and you clam up even more.

A hand, cold as a piece of ice, rests on your shoulder, making you wince and look up at him. His red eyes, now a wine-colored hue because of the poor light given by the bonfire, stare at you.

"Despite my years off duty, I'm still a magistrate. I know if someone is playing games with me, and you look like you're not telling me the truth."

Your heart skips a beat.

Between his direct gaze and stern tone, that feeling of guilt that hovered in your stomach before only increases.

Your eyes wander and for a second they make contact with him, and you are certain that the elf can feel your temperature rising and your blood flowing faster.

It's not a surprise that your feelings for Astarion have intensified, but your courage has always been equal to your skill for sewing: non-existent. That's why you are a healer. You don't even have the guts to fight. Confessing your feelings to him is a greater challenge than escaping from an owlbear using slippers on a road full of mud.

You reach out, shyly, to your shirt, which Astarion holds in his free hand. He hands it to you, and immediately you bring it to your chest, hugging it like a plushie. "Thank you."

His eyes become soft, and round. A bitter smile crosses his face, making wrinkles that you were not aware of appear. "You feel less lonely when you hold it, don't you?"

You swallow, surprised by his words, and give him a confused look. "How do you know?"

You see him hesitate for a second, and then in one fluid movement, he gets up and disappears into his tent.

When he returns, he is holding a dirty blanket, which at first glance would appear to be black, but could also be gray or blue - the light is too dim to identify its color - and he sits down next to you, this time almost completely erasing the distance between you.

"This is all that's left of when I was alive," he confesses, caressing the folds of the fabric. "It was in the grave with me when I was turned into a vampire.

I never dared to fix the holes in it. I'm scared…"

"…that it will lose its meaning," you reply, finishing the sentence. "That's why I was afraid to fix the shirt. Beyond the fact that I can't sew, it's just that…"

Your words are interrupted by his lips. He reaches out to kiss you with a snap impossible to predict, one hand clutching the blanket, the other cupping your right cheek. He tastes like wine. You widen your eyes in astonishment, but you immediately surrender to it. The thought of him kissing you has kept you company on so many nights…

It is surprisingly sweet. You always imagined that a kiss from him would be sensual, full of perverse desire, but instead, it is caring. His fingers descend to the nape of your neck, bringing you even closer to him, while your hands abandon the shirt on your waist and search for his curly hair.

An eternity and an instant pass at the same time.

Astarion's wet mouth leaves you without, however, moving too far away. His eyes seek yours and your foreheads touch gently. "Your sad eyes have betrayed you since the first day I met you, darling. Your loneliness is familiar to me. I am an ultracentenarian vampire. Everyone I knew, except Cazador and my brothers, is dead."

You caress, with trembling fingers, his alabaster skin. He does the same, concentrating the touch of his fingertips on the bluish veins that decorate your neck.

He bites his lip and sighs, appreciating the beat of your heart.

This time you take the lead, kissing him. He groans as his hands slide up and down your body, masterfully avoiding any dangerous zone of it. You open your lips just enough for his tongue to begin exploring you.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself lying on the ground, blouse and blanket safely beside you, away from the fire. He towers over you, but he is very different from when he feeds on you - a gesture deliberately offered to him after discovering his secret - he is gentle and wary in his movements. He rolls his hips and his name escapes your lips as you feel the erection press against you. "Astarion…"

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asks, foreheads touching again.

There is a note of desperation, of pleading, in his trembling voice. The white hair, previously carefully combed back, now dances before his very own eyes, giving him a younger appearance.

You wonder if it is the effect of the wine he drank in Gale's company or if he is sincere. If it is just a way of manipulating you for an easy night of sex (and blood), taking advantage of your fragility.

However, there is something that slows down your thoughts, your paranoia, and that is his sad look. His hands are shaking, as is his breath (and to think, you were sure he didn't need to do that) now teasing your skin.

You both want to end the agonizing scream, the black shadow that envelops you when everyone rests.

That aching loneliness that slips silently under your skin. That constant thought of being nothing to no one, of dying without anyone noticing.

And, nourished by that thought, you freed both from your clothes. You don't even notice. There is urgency and sweetness at the same time. The vampire's icy, marble skin gradually warms as he enters you and gasps, blinded by the desire to become one with the one on whom he had set his gaze from the first moment. Deep, precise movements arch your back, leaving marks on his back. Slowly, you let go. Stress and sadness seem just a memory as your eardrums beats in your ears, following the rhythm of your heart. Astarion kisses you, licks you, inhales your scent, holds you under his body, then rolls onto his back to have you on top. He guides you as you abandon fear altogether, his hands explore your chest, his teeth tease your neck.

The first time you climax, you see him fight against his whole self. He growls against your ear as he leads your orgasm with slow thrusts and he whispers your name. You try your best not to scream, but it's hard when the man you've wanted for months is giving all of himself to you. You hear a rustling coming from a curtain - Shadowheart's, perhaps - and you fear the worst.

Near the point of no return, he struggles out of your warm, soft body, so different from his own, picking you up without explanation and carrying you to his tent with no effort. He leans you between the pillows and then searches for something in what you think is his backpack; being an elf he will surely be able to see something, but to you, almost everything's black. You feel him approaching you again, entering you in one fluid movement, this time without holding back moans.

"Come again for me, my dear." You hear him unfurl a scroll and whisper something - a spell of silence- then a flash of purple light breaks the darkness, allowing you to see his profile. He pleads you, lifting your legs onto his shoulders. You almost run out of breath from the position, as his erection kisses the depths of your body.

You tilt your head, offering your neck. Astarion licks your veins, stroking them with the tip of his nose and growling against your skin as his nails sink into your soft hips. "I-I don't know if I'll be able to stop." Teeth scratch the first layer of skin, making it burn, and you know he is fighting against his nature.

You stroke his hair, bringing his face against you. "I'll stop you if it happens," you reassure him. What you feel next is something you felt before: a stinging, similar to the needles that pierced your skin just before; then the languid liquid heat loosens the muscles in your shoulders. You arch your back and he begins thrusting again, drinking in your life. You scream his name, your vision goes white. You suddenly feel a new sensation: pulsations, slow and enveloping. Astarion's dead heart rises in you, thanks to the warm, sweet blood. Your movements become ungainly and desperate, and you realize he's close. Although you're almost out of energy, you won't stop him. A second wave of pleasure hits you, this time accompanied by the liquid desire that Astarion pours into you, distorting your name, unable to withdraw his teeth.

Perhaps it is thanks to the tadpoles, but your thoughts merged. The pleasure soars to the point of knocking the air out of your lungs, but it is what happens next that leaves you breathless for real.

Like a spell, you see yourself from Astarion's point of view: when he first saw you, then when he saved you several times from various enemies. In the heat of battle, you often lose sight of what is happening around you. But he has always been your shadow. You see him watching over you at night, unable to rest. And he sees you, your surreptitiously cast glances, your silent healing spells when you saw him exhausted from being feedless, moments in battle when you can't offer your blood. He moves his teeth away from your artery, but not his mouth. He drinks again until the movements of his hips become slower; then he licks the skin to let it heal. One last long, deep thrust, accompanied by equally languid licks, pushes the hot seed into your womb.

You kiss it and the metallic taste of blood teases your tongue. "You have never been alone."

"Neither have you, Astarion. Neither have you."

[feudalconnection]

The Nomination Period for the 3rd Term 2024 Inuyasha Fandom Awards is now CLOSED!!

Hey everyone!

Below the cut you'll find a complete list of all of the Fanart nominations received for this term! You can also find it on Google Docs.

Click here for the complete list of Fanfiction nominations.

Thank you to everyone who participated in this term for taking the time to do so. We hope you enjoyed your experience! If you do not see your nomination, please reach out to us as soon as possible!

We strongly encourage that when you view a work of art or read a fanfiction, please reblog or leave a review to let the creators know how much their work and talent is appreciated!

As a reminder, we are giving 3 weeks time to enjoy all of the creations. The voting period will begin October 6th and end October 20th.

In order to be able to vote, you'll need to register so we can keep it all neat and clear. We will be posting the link to the voting form on the first day of the voting session.

Got a question? Check out our FAQ or send us an ask. You can also message one of the mods directly!

Thank you to everyone who nominated for making this 3rd Term absolutely wonderful, and happy voting!

Best Action/Adventure

"She was a girl, he was a half dog demon 🌹" by @eleuphii

"Moroha's Bravery" by @jess-oui

"Now I will be the one to protect you" by @geda-art

Best Alternate Universe/Reality

"Untitled (Mechanic Inu & Kagome)" by Hullo Yokai (TW)

"A change in art style" by @weeeting

"Unnecessary" by @mayarab

Best Canon Universe

"Untitled" by @redundantz

"InuKag Slow Dance" by Hullo Yokai (TW)

"All grown up" by @istehlurvz

"Robe of the Fire-Rat (newest)" by _taisana_ (TW)

Best Angst

"Now I will be the one to protect you" by @geda-art

"Moroha's Bravery" by @jess-oui

"Untitled" by @rinsilverstar223

"Protect" by @pachworldx-1

"Cycle." by @anisaanisa

Best Dark

"Passion" by @akulols

"Sesshōmaru-punk 2077" by @june-v

"untitled Inuyasha" by @hycopank

"Protect" by @pachworldx-1

Best Humor/Parody

"Nothing like a fake 'stach-off in front of the mirror" by @clearwillow

"ZOOMIIIIES" by Angel_KagomeX (TW)

"Kagome needs a bike upgrade" by @bandsandwristbands

"Leashed" by @valgreys

"zoomies!" by @purpledemonart

"He's cooking" by @melaugo

Best Kiss

"Love is in the Air" by @cam3llia95

"Untitled MirSan" by Angel_KagomeX (TW)

"Spring Fever" by @stardust414

"Inuyasha & Kagome" by @pachworldx-1

"Untitled" by @bakutenshi

"Hungry like a wolf" by @otaku-108

Best Character

"Kikyo from Inuyasha" by @lynndylee

"Untitled (Bandaid)" by Lenbarboza (TW)

"Untitled" by @little1bird

"Sango, beautiful with her scars" by @eliza-faust-diary

Best Duo/Pairing

"Untitled" by @louffeine

"Untitled (Mechanic Inu & Kagome)" by Hulloyokai (TW)

"Kagome needs a bike upgrade" by @bandsandwristbands

"A Rare Moment" by @moonnueart

"A dip to cool off, you and me ❤️" by cricriart (TW)

Best Doujinshi

"MINI COMIC UPDATE!" by @jhdanes

"Claws and Roses" by Lenbarboza (TW)

"April Fools" by @mitsiepitsie-blog

"Inu-Illiterate" by Garish_Wyvern (AO3)

Best Redraw

"I finally finished Inuyasha 😭💕" by @girls-with-boys-names

"Honesty with Consequences" by _taisana_ (TW)

"I'm a Diva" by @julytheartist

"ZOOMIES" by Angel_KagomeX (TW)

Best NSFW

"Sex at the Well" by @brain-rot-hour

"tiempo a solas" by @lucky-chan34dl

"Morning Routines" by @the-lone-huntress

Best InuKag Romance

"{Born to Meet Me}" by @artblogofanekophile

"Stardust Birthday" by @clearwillow

"InuKag Slow Dance" by Hulloyokai (TW)

"Untitled" by @moonnueart

"Inspired by ETERU" by @geda-art

Best MirSan Romance

"Untitled" by @kalcia

"Untitled MirSan" by Angel_KagomeX (TW)

Best Romance

"A Rare Moment" by @moonnueart

"Nothing like a fake 'stach-off in front of the mirror" by @clearwillow

"Untitled InuParents" by @brain-rot-hour

"Afterglow" by @stardust414

"Mistakes Made at Midnight" by @heavenin--hell

"Unnecessary" by @mayarab

Best Group Depiction

"Untitled" by @redundantz

"Honesty with Consequences" by _taisana_ (TW)

"SessKag Festival 2024" by @julytheartist

"Izayoi meets Kagome and Moroha" by @jess-oui

"Family Portrait" by @mayarab

"Sixteenth Night" by @travelingneuritis

Best Improved Artist

"Robe of the Fire-Rat" by _taisana_ (TW)

"11 years later" by @rin-afananditshows

Best Overall

"Stardust Birthday" by @clearwillow

"Untitled" by @kalcia

"Untitled (Bandaid)" by LenBarboza (TW)

"SessKag Festival 2024" by @julytheartist

"Inuyasha & Kagome" by @pachworldx-1

"Just a piece of My otp 😫🌹🌹" by @wisejazz

[rosedere]

Murder Mountain

(Yandere Azul ashengrotto x Afab reader x Jade leech)

Modern Au

TW: Dark Content, Attempted Murder, Harassment, Non Con/Rape.

Cross Posted on AO3.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 (you are here) END

Want more?- - -> Our spring secret (sequel)

I thought I had a happy life

And the city lights

Didn't bother me

Before I met you

You're always on the go

Don't you love me anymore

Please stay

-

When you arrived to work that next day the usual busy, chattering, environment was missing. No one would look at each other in the elevators nor in the breakroom, some just dilligently typing on their computers or carrying on with their job.

All of a sudden Floyd burst in the cubicle row you were working in informing you to all meet downstairs for a emergency meeting.

Everyone at work was informed via Floyd and Jade in the office courtyard about Azul’s Absence.

Finally someone asked if Azul was still alive.

It was definitely their attempt at damage control, dispelling the rumors the media had spread about Azul being hunted by a bear on the trail or that he had been attacked because of his status as CEO being the few you had seen on TV.

Your ears perked up as you looked at Jade who hesitated before explaining he was in a comatose state and at present, was unsure when he'd awaken, but he was mostly out of any life-threatening harm.

After the slew of questions about the future of the company Jade declared Floyd and him would be temporary acting in Azul’s absence along with rescheduling the retreat indefinitely until Azul came back.

Floyd would be the temporary assistant of finance and assistant director of the company; Jade, however, was to become the acting CEO of Mostro Inc.

You were relieved. Learning you would never see Azul again as long as you got your transfer started before Azul woke up from his coma, you could finally leave. You knew Jade would certainly help transfer knowing he most likely already had certain people he wanted lined up to take up positions in the company. Plus, your lover had already offered you an open position as finance director of Sugar Horned Devil.

Why wouldn't you accept freedom? You would be a higher position than you had in your whole career in Monstro inc.

After the meeting was dismissed, you eagerly went home to submit your notice for transfer as soon as possible, quickly typing the form you got the bright confirmation page. In 3-2 business days, it would take for you to be freed from this corporate hell.

Just a little longer..

As the days went on peacefully, you felt yourself being able to be happy, even engaging more often with your co-workers in the break room and chatting with your desk neighbors at your computers.

You guessed it was because, without Azul's overwhelming influence in the office, people were able to relax.

Especially with Floyd being in charge of the floor, everyone enjoyed his impulsive mood swings and chill demeanor. It felt like you fit in for once, having people ask for your opinions on how to do certain tasks or just to talk as friends.

You were becoming yourself again.

-

It's been 10 days.

You took the week off from work after an on-and-off stomach bug you got one morning a while back, your stomach becoming bloated and a bit, irregular feeling.

Assuming it was bad food the first few times you tried to power through work only for you to have only taken three steps into the lobby before you ran to the restroom to vomit for half of the morning in the lobby restroom.

Nothing was really helping with your stomach so you went to the doctor to get blood work and figure out what was causing your flu-like symptoms after numerous failed flu tests and anti nausea medicine you recieved.

The fear of this being the way you found out you had something dire like Cancer or a Gastrointestinal disease was all you could think as you checked your phone every other hour for any news about it.

Currently, you were lying in bed with the worst cramps and nausea youd had from all the days you had been sick; it was so bad you couldn't even brush your teeth without feeling like you were going to throw up.

Rolling to your side, hoping it would relieve you of vomiting, you heard the familiar ring of your phone, immediately making you perk up out of your stupor.

Your lover had texted you: They had asked you why you declined the position.

“What happened (Name)?”

Frowning, assuming you read it wrong and fighting the urge to spit the rising stomach acid and the overwhelming sense of wanting to vomit that had begun right away during the usual evening hours.

In confusion, you checked if your request was approved.

Previously, when you checked at the beginning of the day it showed pending…

“Declined by manual review??” You whispered to yourself reading the automated letter.

Maybe it was a mistake… you could have gotten lazy and left something crucial out of your application.

Dragging yourself to your computer, ignoring the onslaught of your usual symptoms of overwhelming fatigue. You sent the best short professional email to your higher-ups about your request to transfer.

Sending the email with the small chirp you were about to roll back to your blanket cocoon you were forming ontop your mattress.

Chirp!

Not even 15 minutes later, you received an email saying they had no control over it and instead told you to talk to Jade.

The acting CEO.

-

Jade

Knowing Jade had everything Azul didn't was an indescribable joy. Sure, he was the former Director of Finance in the company, but that didnt come with the ultimate rewards he wanted…

Azul’s company, his friends, his status…

And the biggest treasure…

(Name)

He had to admit the former things were not as important as the latter, but nonetheless, he was waiting for you to look for him.

Just like old times…

Despite the rift in Azul and Jade's current relationship recently, Jade still dearly cared for Azul, just as he did back when he was in high school.

—

It was one Spring luncheon; it was unusual for Azul to invite Jade and pay for his lunch.

He should have known something bad was going to happen as he ordered his lunch that day…

“You might know her, Jade, She's a part of the company." Azul dreamily sighed as he began swirling the fruit infused sweet tea he had ordered with his straw.

Raising a brow Jade only smiled, Azul confiding in him was rare these days.

“Oh? Is she an employee? Or is she a client?” Jade mischievously added, sipping his lemonade.

Watching Azul’s lips twitch into a confident grin he uttered the worst response to the question he could think of.

It being two years ago, but he could still remember his response clear as a bell.

“Oh no, she's actually working in our finance department,” Azul’s face began to blush.

“She transferred from the lower floors a while ago, but she's the one; I just can't get a chance to talk to her,” Azul muttered raising his glass of tea taking a sip.

“I wonder who she might be.” Jade trailed off.

Jade felt the dread in his stomach.

Everyone knew that Jade had fallen for (Name), The office couple, ever since the moment she joined their company.

A small, quiet type, basically lost in the sea of many young professionals at the company, diligently working hard and taking only a few days off.

Jade met (Name) because he had to train them since Azul thought he was too good to talk to (Name) at the time.

Reminiscing to that moment when he helped you take your things to the 86th floor of the Finance department It would be the beginning of a friendship.

But that's all it was; mostly for a little while, Jade didn't know how to progress the relationship since he got promoted to work closer to Azul. Having to follow his tailcoats as he conducted buisness he only would see you maybe once or twice a month.

He couldnt figure out why he wanted to seize any opportunity that would arise to be with you, the one most would look over in favor of anyone else.

“If I tell you Jade you must not tell anyone” Azul looked around under the private dining veranda they were seated at.

“I'd rather not have PR about this— it could ruin the company if everyone knew I was going to pursue a date with someone” Azul’s voice dripping with a haughty tone, setting his glass down before flicking his gaze towards Jade, staring at him with excitement in his hues.

“Her name is (Name)” Azul’s grin never slipping off his face.

Jade only scowled in response, clearing his throat to mask his true emotions.

“Not to come off as rude, but why her?” Jade interjected.

“I mean let’s be honest here, the city’s most eligible bachelor wants to date a regular office worker? Not a super model or a celebrity...”

“She’s a super model to me Jade” Azul sighed, “besides I’d rather have someone Independent and a hard worker like them” he drank some more of his tea for a moment.

“I think she's dating someone anyway, and she’s like a little mouse— it’s hard to even get a hello out of her…” Jade quickly responded, “plus she’s a bit boring once you get to know her” Jade chuckled to himself.

Lies.

She's very much single and has so much personality to her.

“Ah well, I love that in a woman—She does not stir drama, diligently works, and asks question's when she needs help”

“I can just see her by my side,” Azul rambled on.

Jade was in his office, unboxing all of the items from his previous office. The large vast space that was once a reflection of Azul was looming over him as he began to silently place the ugly decor he had decorated his desk with into the same box he used to bring his items upstairs.

Diligently humming he unpacked his replica mushroom statue placing it besides his laptop. Reaching once more into the box however he reached something he had thought was his stapler.

But when he pulled it out of his desk items was when he saw what it truly was.

Smiling down at the crudely made picture frame, the hot glue beads and small candy canes decorating the boarder of the frame. Jade could already picture how adorable you looked assembling the gift you gave him last Christmas; the wobbly Polarbear with a scarf holding a mushroom in the bottom corner on your side of the picture.

Dressed in a long Santa clause themed dress, you had your hand placed on Jade’s much taller shoulder, A nice memory he had on his desk for the longest while he would fondly look at everytime he’s come to work.

And now he could finally place it overlooking his new desk.

With silent admiration he placed it at the center of his desk, hopefully camouflaged enough anyone that walks in wouldnt comment on it.

Especially his brother…

With a sigh he turned to look towards the bright tall windows in front of him.

He hoped today would be the day you would return from your sick leave.

-

Name

After another week off from work, you reached a breaking point.

You felt terribly tired, not as sick as you normally were in the morning, despite being warned to stay at home until your results came in you decided to return to the office.

In your casual clothes since your abdomen was uncomfortable in anything that wasnt stretchy or loose, you approached the door you had been eager to see the whole time of your absence.

Raising your fist to the hard oak doors, you made a small curteous knock against the door.

As you waited for a response, you casually glanced at the title placard on the door.

“Jade Leech, Acting CEO”

I guess he didn't waste any time taking over Azul's office.

Not that it was any of your business anyway.

“Come in,” you heard faintly on the otherside of the door.

Opening the door, you were shellshocked with the new scenery in Azul’s office.

The various glass knickknacks, photos from Azul's high school days, and his coin collection were gone from the tall walls of the office, now replaced with various terrariums filled with mushrooms, different pictures of Jade on top of mountains, and just pictures of mountains were also around the vast walls of Azul's walls.

“Did you redecorate in here, Jade?” You were looking in awe at the change of office space approaching where his desk was, the temptation to sit on it like you use to when Jade had his office downstairs.

“It looks wonderful; it reminds me of your old cubicle,” you laughed to yourself.

You glanced over to see Jade half turned towards the tall windows beside the desk in front of you.

"Well, it might be a while before Azul comes back to work, or even at all,” Jade wryly smiled with his signature hand over his heart gesture as he took his seat in Azul's huge dark leather swivel chair.

It felt unusual to see the normally passive man in a position of power Normally demure and quiet, but when he spoke up, he was actually an intelligent and sometimes silly man. Although, once he became Azul's assistant, you rarely if ever saw him, and when you did, he never talked to you, making you a bit sad at how he made it obvious he had chose Azul over your friendship.

“How so? I heard he might be able to go back to work in a few months," you watched Jade for a reaction.

Jade tight lipped as always eyed you from where you stood.

With a sigh you decided to listen to your intrusive thought to sit on his desk, covering your legs with your dress.

Jade smiled up at you, his sharp, needle-point teeth glinting dangerously at you.

“so why did you request to meet me today, (Name)?”

His hand creeped towards the front of the desk near his laptop, sitting close to where you were currently sitting.

“If I recall correctly, you aren't supposed to be out of bed and yet here you are," Jade spoke, eyeing you with his mismatched gaze.

His fingers tapping at the wood on the desk, anxiously.

Blinking, you remembered why you were here.

"Oh, yeah—sorry," you cleared your throat crossing your legs across the table.

“I submitted a request to transfer a while ago, but it got denied... I'm just curious if this is a mistake or not, '' you informed.

Jade narrowed his eyes, the screech of the chair moving back as the tall man began to stand up from his desk, walking over to, what you thought, him standing in front of your spot perched in front of his desk.

Only, he sat besides you on his desk. His expensive cologne extremely strong in your nostrils as he leaned into your person bubble.

Moving back a little bit only encouraged him to inch closer as he began to rest his hand on your shoulder.

"Well, you see, dear (Name) I can't let that happen." Jade whispered giving your shoulder a light squeeze, his one mismatched eye on you.

Like you were possesed you pushed his hand off of your shoulder, annoyance written all over your face as you felt your chest flutter once more.

"What? Why not?” you almost growled.

Jade only gave a chuckle, suddenly he grabbed you with a strong force watching you struggle as he held onto your bare shoulders with his mismatched eyes, Staring dead into your colored hues.

“Because I finally won, why would I give away the prize I earned, fair and square?” Jade sighed to himself.

He decided to take the opportunity to grab the loose strands of hair that was stubbornly not falling into place with the rest of the hair that was framing your scared face.

You felt yourself flinch away from him, but his grip was almost stronger than Azul’s grip he had on you.

“I dont get it, Jade?” you stuttered trying to hop off of his desk, only for his long leg to pin you into place ontop of the oak desk.

“You see, Azul has been acting as a roadblock for me as well name” Jade lowered his voice a few octaves, “He was catching onto my feelings for the one he also sought after," he clicked his tongue. “So I had to distract him with a rumor about this rival that was talking to the woman he was attracted to,” Jade said, looking deeply at your face.

He then shrugged, “I however didnt anticipate this woman was actually speaking to the Rival I lied about”

Realizing the weight of his words, you got up from your spot and backed away from him towards the skyline window.

“It was you? But why? Azul almost killed me for that incident” you were feeling tears blurring your lash line as you gasped your words out.

So many different emotions; you wanted to scream.

As suddenly as you backed away, Jade came to your side, swiftly holding your face into his chest, his head leaning over yours as he kept you stuck there.

Normally, you wouldn't have minded for Jade to give you a hug, but this wasnt a normal hug, his hands beginning to dip behind your back towards your dress.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were my friend Jade” You shoved him in a rage you hadnt realized was festering inside you, pushing into his chest with the heel of your Palm as hard as you could.

As you pushed him, Jade grabbed your wrists with a bone-crushing grip, stopping you altogether, your face turning red from the exhaustion and anger.

"Please, (Name) don't make a scene—if anyone you should hate is Azul”

“Regardless of whether I told him or not, he was going to know when he’d see you two kissing each other at the company retreat,” Jade calmy explained.

“You dont know what I had to deal with that asshole” you angrily spat shoving him once more to make a point.

“Just stop talking to me; I don't want to hear this anymore”

Fixing your dress you began to walk around his desk past the gaudy decorations before stopping in front of the door.

“And If you don't approve my transfer request— I'll just leave this company with no pay. I don't care anymore." You screeched back at him.

Unfortunately, Jade followed close behind his hands reaching for your own, his mouth about to open and tell you something before you swatted at him, freeing your hands and dusting your dress almost about to open the door.

Jade didnt follow you, only staring calmly at your disgruntled figure.

Eventually, he closed his eyes, exhaling as he did so, placing his hand over his heart.

“(Name) I wouldn't try that if I were you,” he sternly warned with a cold smile.

You turned to look back at his eerie gaze.

“Why are you going to fire me or something? You and Azul already have tortured me enough,” you scrunched your eyebrows at him before scoffing.

Jade hesitated before he laughed.

You only stood watching him laugh and point at you.

"Well, (Name)”

He once again stood close to you grazing the back of your dress with his hands.

“I never told you to go get Azul Friday morning,” he gingerly whispered with a smile.

Eyes widen at the mention you felt your blood go cold.

“Now why would you quietly go behind me and Floyd's back and reach out to meet the man that’s been actively lusting after you?” Jade annunciated with his open needle like teeth.

“It seems like you wanted to meet him alone at the retreat and when he rejected you that morning you snapped and tried to kill him”

“What are you insinuating?” You shouted with venom over your shoulder.

“Just letting you know, I will find out the truth. And you better hope I don't figure it out soon,” Jade leaned his head down on your shoulder, letting his breath graze your neck.

A kiss was all he had time to plant on your bare neck before you shoved him off without another word: You paused for a brief moment turning to look at the still smiling tall man before abruptly leaving Jade's office.

Harshly you pressed the button to call the elevator impatiently waiting to be let down to the parking lot.

After getting out of the towering office you had grown familiar with, reaching the familiar employee car park, you briskly walked to the familiar baby blue color of your sedan.

Clicking open the door, you harshly threw the door open before slamming it hard against the frame.

Throwing your purse and things a into the passenger seat you threw your head ontop of your steering wheel.

The urge to cry overwhelming as you felt your composure fall.

A shaky exhale before you felt the tears began to fall down your cheeks in rivets.

but right before your pity party began it ended.

The little constant melody coming from your phone that was now thrown under the passenger seat.

Angrily, you shifted over to look under the seat, finally grabbing your phone. Normally when you were in a pitiful mood you’d just decline and forget about it, but the caller was someone you’d been waiting desperately for.

"Oh, thank God, it's the clinic; hopefully it's good news,” you muttered to yourself, grabbing a tissue from your middle console you wiped your face before clicking the green icon.

“Hello, this is (Name)”

“So… What's wrong with me? Is it bad or...”

“Oh yes, (name) we just got your blood results back since as we know we tested you for everything after your flu test came back negative..”

You kind of dreaded the answer, especially with the hesitation from the nurse who was calling you.

Well (name) at least you have a perfect mountain to end it all on if the worst news comes out of this sweet nurse’s mouth…

“Well, first off, congratulations (name)…”

“Congratulations for…” You winced.

“Congratulations on the little troublesome bloom causing all that ruckus in your body” the nurse chuckled.

Cancer…

“Your four weeks along, according to the bloodwork it's causing you to have a storm of hormones right now”

What.

“Since we found out the true reason for your vomiting and nausea, we'd like to see you come in around the 15th of January so you can have your specialist visit and get you prescribed some medicine so you can go to work soon”

"Alright”

“Works for me”

The tears were falling like a waterfall now.

“Thank you have a nice day (Name)”

The line cut off. You dropped your phone under the pedal this time barely registering it.

What.

But..

4 weeks pregnant.

You laughed— a loud maniac Laugh from you belly until it started to melt into a heartbroken wail eventually dying down in a messy sob.

Any people walking by would have probably thought you were insane. Your disheveled dress and running mascara as you wailed into the leather steering wheel.

You thought you'd puke.

What horrible irony was this?

The only person you've ever had sex with…

Was the man laying in a coma in the hospital right now, unknown to the true consequences of that morning four weeks ago.

He might not even make it, and this baby would be the cruel reminder that…

That.

Azul had gotten you pregnant with his child.

You felt like you wanted to die.

What were you going to say? How do you tell anyone about this?

Your lover would leave you.

And…

Worse, what would Azul think?

Would he even want to keep the baby? Or hell even you?

Would you have to marry Azul? He wouldn't want you at all as a wife.

You felt a headache coming on as you started to feel your tears building up again. As you were spiraling from your driver's seat, you heard your phone's delightful ping noise alerting you of its location below.

Azul woke up yesterday.

Your face flushed as hot as ever.

You knew what you had to do.

Or at least what you should do.

But why say anything? You calmly thought to yourself.

It's only been 4 weeks, and you're not even showing… apparently Most of the time, people don't tell anyone until about 5 months, so... at most there was 4 months to go to do the deed.

So Why don't you keep this as your little spring secret?

[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven

Also available to be read on AO3, here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 6109

Notes;

this chapter includes particularly dark themes, it is of the utmost importance for me to remind you to please check trigger warnings again if needed. sorry for the delay in updating! this chapter was especially difficult for me to write, i will say that good things are on the way but this story will continue on track with its darker themes.

with that, all the love in the world xx

(Not Beta Read)

The sliver of heaven you shared with Charlie was all you had to hold on to. The autumn air was growing bitter and cold at a head splitting pace.

Friday morning came with a sharp dose of reality, pulling you from your thoughts that had, for the better part, been consumed by Charlie.

It was the early hours of the morning; the sun had only begun to rise. You were in bed all alone, awoken by the deafening buzz of your phone’s ringer.

You scrambled straight upwards, searching for your phone in the mess of your sheets, subconsciously searching for Charlie’s body besides you as well. This had been the first night this week that he had not spent beside you.

You mumbled, finding your phone, answering it without looking at the caller ID. Your eyes were heavy and still half clouded with sleep.

The half-hearted sedation was quickly shaken out of you as your aunt’s frantic voice came through in the other line.

“Oh my God, Oh my God! You’re okay!” Irina sobbed in relief.

Your entire body stiffened in an instant, as though a bolt of lightning held you straight up in bed. You pulled your phone away from your face placing the call on speakerphone, now seeing the previous missed calls and voicemails your aunt had left you prior flash on your home screen.

You could barely make out your own voice over the now deafening drum of your heartbeat. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m so sorry I missed your calls. What happened?”

Your stomach had already begun twisting itself up in knots, you subconsciously knew what must’ve transpired.

The line was silent for a moment; you understood that you were both just trying to find the right words to say.

“Do you know who it was?” You whispered. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know. There was only one reason she must have called you so frantically and so early; another murder had taken place in Woodsboro.

Your aunt’s voice was muffled as she answered.

“What?” You croaked out.

She spoke the name again. Still, it was entirely too surreal. You couldn’t have caught it without asking her to speak again.

“No…” you stated, “who was it?” the tears were now steadily pricking up against your lash line.

“Scott Anderson. Did you know him? He was in your grade. Oh, dochka. I’m moving my flight. I’ll be home as soon as possible. I promise. I’m so sorry…”

You were swept through a wind tunnel, head blaring at her words. Her voice just seemed to ramble on and on into a catatonic hum.

Anderson? Dead? Murdered?

You couldn’t recall what you said afterwards. Couldn’t recall the end of the phone call. Couldn’t recall how you pulled yourself out of bed and made your way into the parking lot of Woodsboro High School.

You had hardly known the first two girls who were murdered, but knew from others that they were good, that they were decent people. You tried your hardest to convince yourself that they must’ve been targeted, specifically, for some unknown reason. But their murders must have been isolated. Right?

“The Woodsboro Senior, captain of the football team, Scott Anderson, was found butchered, gutted, in the early hours of this morning. This brutal murder can now be reasonably placed in correlation to the murders of two Woodsboro girls who had been killed just days prior.”

A female newscaster’s voice spoke from somewhere behind you as you pushed your way through the growing crowd that had formed outside of the school.

“It is now more apparent than ever that Ghostface has returned to Woodsboro. Their clear motive is still unavailable at this time.” The newscaster continued as you moved just out of earshot.

It was undeniable now; you had tired your very hardest until this point to deny it.

You dropped your things onto the floor beside your first period desk.

You couldn’t pay any attention to the surrounding students, to Kirby, or Jill.

You didn’t know what you needed, didn’t know what to do. You sat paralyzed until the first bell rang out around you.

You couldn’t get the image out of your head. The newscaster’s words buzzed in your mind. ‘Gutted.’ ‘Butchered.’

You gripped the corners of your desk with white knuckles, watching the clock tick onwards as the pit grew in your stomach.

You did your best to hold it all together until the feeling of nausea sent you up from your desk before the class was even dismissed.

You ran to the bathroom towards the end of the hall, falling to your knees in the stall, letting the contents of your stomach fall from you like loose change in your pockets.

After you spent minutes dry heaving above the toilet, you sat back against the cool tiled walls, pulling your knees into your chest.

You were sick.

So sick.

But it wasn’t the thought of Scotty begging for his life, or the thought of his insides turned outwards that caused this feeling alone.

It was the fact that the thought of all of this brought you so much relief, alongside a feeling of twisted vindication. You were quick up onto your knees again, retching.

You sat there on the bathroom floor until well into second period.

You forced the thoughts away, trying your best to clear your mind. Anderson was gone. There was a serial killer somewhere close whose motives and next course of action were completely unknown. There was nothing you could do about any of it besides pull yourself up and be strong.

You were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, rinsing your mouth out thoroughly when you heard your phone buzz in your back pocket.

You used your elbow to wipe your face in lieu of a paper towel and reached for your phone.

A message from Irina appeared. “The earliest I could change my flight was for Sunday morning. Less than two days, love, I’ll be home soon.”

You cleared your throat, typing your response. “Okay, I’ll be okay.”

You were sure you must be okay. Your aunt would be home within the next few days. And maybe you wouldn’t have to spend the nights alone. You could always invite Charlie to stay again. Charlie-

How could you have not spoken to him yet today?

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to stay again last night. You knew he had things to attend to in the home he was responsible for. He hadn’t pushed to stay either, you had assumed he also did not want to overstay his welcome. There was no welcome he could possibly overstay with you, but you knew he was trying to be respectful.

But, with another murder, you were certain you’d both finally be on the same page that it wasn’t smart or safe for either of you to be alone.

You went to call Charlie but immediately ended it after the first ringer tone played through.

‘Idiot.’ You murmured to yourself. He was surely still in class, just like the rest of the student body, unlike you were.

You looked yourself over in the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot, skin sallow and pale from the episode you had just pushed through. This wasn’t a good look for anybody.

If there were any day to just go home and lock the doors behind you, it was this one.

You fixed yourself as best as you could, adjusting the hemline of your shirt, splashing cool water over your warm face once more.

You pulled out your phone again to send Charlie a message before exiting the bathroom.

“I’m going home for the day. Not feeling well, please let me know if you’re okay. Call me after school.”

You sent the message, shoving your phone back into your pocket and pushing open the bathroom door.

The hallways were a cruel and cold sort of empty. You kept your eyes glued to the ground, kept your body close to the lockers that lined the walls.

All you could hear was the dull hum of the fluorescent lighting above as you rounded the corner that led to the exit of the building, until-

Familiar voices reached your ears before you could make out the words they were saying. You spotted the familiar frame of Jill’s back towards you. She was speaking to someone in a small nook in the hallway. It wasn’t until you were nearly right beside Jill that you made out who she was speaking to-

“No, no. I’m done Jill.” Such a familiar voice. Even though hushed and barely audible, you could’ve recognized it anywhere. “Please.” It was Charlie.

Your heart skipped into your throat as you caught his line of sight.

His eyes were deep red, black circles laced tearfully under his waterline.

You couldn’t have spoken up if you had found the words.

He immediately stiffened as he realized you were passing by in front of him, as though you were the last possible person he could’ve expected to see.

You must’ve only held his gaze for a second. A minute.

You couldn’t have been sure.

Jill’s head snapped back to face you as your hands met the school entrance’s steel handles. Her expression overflowed with sickly venom.

Click.

You were out of the school within a second.

‘Done?’ Done with what?

Your head felt as though it had been crushed and spun by a mallet.

What could that have possibly meant?

You had no idea they even spoke to each other anymore. Charlie had made it seem as though they hadn’t kept in contact in years. And what could he have meant by ‘done?’

Your feet carried you forward mechanically, left-right-left-right.

You weren’t sure why your eyes were welling with tears.

You could hear your name being called out from somewhere behind you.

Click.

You slammed your car door behind you, peeling out of the parking lot as quickly as you could possibly have had.

What could he possibly have been speaking about with her?

The thought of it nearly sent you spiraling again. It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t almost had to pull over a number of times to empty your stomach all over again.

Was he seeing her? Was he telling her that he was done, done with whatever relationship they had formed?

You knew they weren’t friends. You would’ve seen them talking more, he would’ve mentioned it if that were true.

You slammed your front door behind you, stumbling up the steps to your bedroom.

It was just too much. You needed a second, a single second, to just pretend that this day had never happened.

Your phone began to ring, over and over and over again.

You knew who it must’ve been without checking the Caller ID.

You’d call him back later, you just needed a minute to try to sort this all out.

You turned off your phone, curling up in your bed below you, rocking yourself to dispel the thoughts of the day.

You weren’t sure when you had eventually drifted off into a sickly and disturbing daytime slumber.

In your dreams, you stood above Anderson’s body. You watched intently as he cowered in fear below you.

There was something sick there. Something that built and consumed you.

You had all of the control.

It was power.

There was a sudden sense of starvation for it as you thought back to the horrible things Scotty had said and done to you.

The twist of the blade in his stomach, the smile you felt on your face as you cut him again, and again.

A familiar coo could be heard behind you, somewhere in the distance. The voice praised you, instructed you on how to twist the hilt of your knife.

The familiar figure grew warm, traced its hands along your waist as you slashed the man who had previously made you feel so weak and powerless.

“Just like that doll, so perfect.” Charlie whispered behind you, urging you to turn and face him as your knife caught in Anderson’s chest.

You let the handle go, face contorting in pleasure as you watched Anderson’s breathing grow shallow.

You turned to face Charlie then, turned to return the kisses he placed gently alongside your neck. It was bliss.

You had never felt so strong as he carefully guided you and urged you on. You had never felt so safe and protected as you had in that moment. It was real to you. It was so incredibly real.

Click.

You shot up in bed. Chest heaving, hands grasping at your throat to try to catch your breath as the dream you had just had replayed itself over quickly in your mind. You were drenched in sweat; the room spun and shrunk around you.

The sun had set, you couldn’t have possibly made an accurate guess at the time.

You brought your hands down in front of you, your fingers trembled as you searched for blood you knew realistically could not be there under the dim lighting of the lamp on your desk.

You sat there for a moment, eyes glued to the ceiling, adjusting in the dark. A burn in your throat sent you carefully out of bed.

It seemed as though every sound was amplified as you crept to your bathroom down the hall.

You tore out of your damp clothing that clung and suffocated you, dropping it all in a disregarded pile on the tile flooring. You turned on the shower faucet, allowing the water to cool as much as possible.

You stood under the steady stream. The icy water was a needed comfort. You held your mouth open, swallowing the water until it made your stomach heavy.

You nearly fell back against the shower floor, pulling your knees into your chest again, letting the frigid water shock away any horrible thoughts that could cling to your mind.

After an indescribable amount of time had passed, you worked slowly, lathering soap across your body and through your hair. Your nails scraped and scratched across your skin in the process.

After getting yourself together as best as you could manage, you made your way back into bed.

You grabbed your phone, knowing it was time to face Charlie. You weren’t sure what you would say to him, he had left you more missed calls and text messages than you could easily count.

The phone rang, rang, and continued to ring until you were sent to his voicemail box.

You pulled the phone away from your face, ending the call. ‘Strange.’ You hummed to yourself.

You called him back again. You were met by his voice mail, again.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard as you thought up what to say.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I am ready to talk. Please call me back ASAP.”

You sighed, setting your phone back down on your chest.

The house was so quiet, you could make out the distinct sound of the crickets outside. The noise of your stomach groaning in hunger was quick to fill the air. You pushed yourself up and out of bed, sliding your phone into the waistband of the shorts you had put on after your shower.

There was no point in waiting around, starving, for Charlie to get back to you. You prayed that this was all just a simple misunderstanding, something he could easily explain. You refused to let yourself dwell on any other explanation.

You just hoped he’d get back to you quickly, the thought of going to bed tonight entirely alone after yet another murder sent a chill up your spine, made the dread build up inside you.

You rounded the top landing of the staircase, the far-off dim lighting of the kitchen illuminated your way down the steps.

You had just nearly come into view of the entryway when your heart skipped up into your throat.

The front door was opened just a sliver of the way, just enough so that you wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn't been paying careful attention.

You froze immediately, all of your senses heightened at once as you tried to steady and conceal your breathing.

You could’ve sworn you had closed it on your way in.

A terrible thought hit you then. Had you forgotten to lock it in your hurried daze to find some semblance of solace in your bedroom?

You listened as hard as you could for any sound that seemed out of place, searched for anything else that seemed out of the ordinary.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there in silence. You debated running back up into your bedroom, debated making a run for the front door.

But if someone would have come in… you would have heard them, surely, right?

Right?

You took an unsteady step forward, wincing as you heard the step creak below you.

“Hell- hello.” You called out, cleaning your throat.

You waited for another moment for a response.

“If there’s someone here, show yourself.” You took another step forward until you reached the entryway, your eyes quickly darted around as you reached for a candleholder that sat on the entryway table.

Nothing.

Complete and total silence.

After another moment, you sighed in relief, placing the candle holder back on the table and hurriedly shutting the door the rest of the way. You made sure to slide the lock shut this time.

You must not have closed the door like you believed you had. You scolded yourself for being so reckless. You had to be more careful than this.

Your stomach was still in knots as you made your way towards the kitchen. You were just on edge, that was all.

Click.

You processed the feeling of your phone slipping from your waistband and the sound it made falling to the floor and just out of reach before you processed the sudden overbearing feeling of a figure pressed up behind you.

You processed the feeling of a heavy and strong arm draped around and in front of your chest, holding you in place tightly and without room to writhe away before you noticed the sharp, nearly piercing, cold blade against your neck.

Silence.

This couldn’t be happening.

A thousand thoughts seemed to pass through your mind in an instant.

This was it.

It was all over.

You imagined Irina coming home to find your lifeless body in the hallway beside the living room, the room where you had shared so many of your most precious memories with her.

You imagined Kirby’s reaction when she learned the news of your passing.

Imagined how this would make Charlie feel-

Charlie…

Oh God, you would never see his face again; be in his arms again. You said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t hold himself responsible for any of this. You wished you wouldn’t have ignored his calls earlier in the day, you wished more than anything that his last memories of you alive would have been of something good. It all seemed so meaningless now.

You wished you could have just told him you loved him one last time.

You were truly just so grateful in that moment that he was not there, that he would not have to face the same fate you were about to.

Your eyes welled over with tears, the surrounding air had long been sucked away. You were standing in an empty vacuum of time and space.

The fear you held was quickly consumed by resignation and peace. There would be no fighting your way out of this.

You sucked in what you assumed would be your final breath. The first tear slipped down your face, you waited, waited for the searing pain that was bound to come.

Only it never came at all. The grip around you tightened incrementally, if only for a second longer, before disappearing all together.

You heard a heavy thud behind you as the assailant fell to their knees.

You coughed and sputtered as you realized what had just happened. You scrambled for the knife that laid in front of you, your adrenaline now kicking into high gear.

You held up the knife and spun to face the masked figure that knelt in front of you.

You watched with shaking hands and blurred vision as a dark gloved hand came up to rip off the Ghostface mask to be thrown across the hall.

The sight that unfolded in front of you was more horrible than anything you could have prepared yourself for.

“No…” Your voice cracked on your words.

Charlie sat before you. The tears streaked down his face in a constant stream, his hands grabbed through his hair before falling back at his sides in resignation.

“I can’t do it, fuck I can’t do this.” He spoke more to himself than you. It nearly seemed as though he was begging you to do something, anything.

You couldn’t even begin to process the emotions that took hold of you at that moment.

Charlie went to move closer to you, you instinctively held the blade tighter pointed towards him in response.

He looked so incredibly pained by your movements.

“Get the fuck away from me.” You spat between broken breaths.

Charlie Walker was the murderer who terrorized Woodsboro. And what was worse, you had trusted him. You loved him. Loved a killer.

And now he was here, to hurt you. To kill you. In a single instant, he had destroyed every shred of faith you had in him.

The entire rug of reality was swept from underneath your feet in one swift motion.

He shifted backwards, putting more space between you in some sort of offer of comfort.

He raised his hands above his head, grimacing as he watched you flinch.

“Please, you have to kill me. Please, I can’t hurt you. I can’t do this anymore. I’m begging you.” Charlie’s voice was just above a whisper. You could tell he was trying to hold it together as best as possible. He was failing miserably.

The entire room seemed to tilt and turn upside down and back again at his words.

What did he mean by this? Kill him? He had come here to kill you.

The sincerity in his tone and expression as he softly pleaded with you over and over broke you completely apart again.

Could you do it? Could you really kill him?

Your grip on the knife faltered for a moment as you looked him over.

“What are you talking about, Charlie?” You begged, you wished he could give you some sort of explanation for all of this.

He shook his head violently, you could tell each second that passed brought him even more pain.

“I couldn’t let her do it. I couldn’t…” He continued, catching on his own words.

“Her?” Your eyes were wild now, your mind worked at breakneck speed, trying to puzzle this all together.

“She didn’t give me a choice, she decided you had to be next. I couldn’t let her… If she would have been the one to get her hands on you,” Charlie continued, seemingly ignoring your question. “I thought I could at least make it painless, take away any of your suffering. But I can’t, it has to be me. If you kill me, there will be too many eyes on you. There won’t be any way she could touch you then. You’d be safe.” He spoke in rapid succession.

It hit you then, Jill’s expression earlier that day in the hallway, the conversation you had overheard, the both of their absences that night of the party when the first murders had taken place.

Clang.

The knife slipped from your hands as you went nearly completely slack at the realization.

Jill and Charlie, working together, murdering together. She had decided you were to be their next kill.

“With Jill?” Your lip quivered at the question. He nodded, you already knew the answer.

You dropped to your knees in front of Charlie.

Your vision went in and out, dark and light splotches clouded your line of sight. You could barely make out Charlie’s figure or voice just in front of you.

This couldn’t be happening.

“I didn’t have time to plan, I would’ve gotten you to safety. I would’ve turned myself in. I had no choice but to come tonight, come when I did. She thinks I’ve told you something, that you know something about all of this. She decided today, she would’ve come if I hadn’t begged her to be the one to do it instead. All I could think about was keeping you out of as much pain as I could.”

You could hardly understand what he was saying. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing.

He wiped away at his tears, composing himself before speaking again. “But now I see. You have to be the one to kill me, she’ll let you go then. She’ll have to.”

“No…” You murmured. How could you bring yourself to do something so horrible?

How could he have been involved in these crimes? The man in front of you now seemed entirely transformed from the sweet boy you once imagined.

You thought back though, carefully, on the story about his father, that night he had stepped in between you and Anderson. You had so many questions; it was right in front of you all this time.

“Please, doll. You have to do it.” He was growing increasingly desperate.

You shook your head again. If he were truly just a monster, truly just began all of this because it was something he wanted to do; then maybe you could choose your life over his own. There had to be more than this, though. There had to be a reason behind this all.

“How did this all begin, Charlie? I mean, was any part of you that you’ve shown me even real? If you tell me the truth…” you paused for a moment, swallowing hard, eyes flicking between the discarded blade and Charlie’s gaze. “I’ll do what you want.”

He took a deep breath, nodding, easing back a bit more.

You tried to keep yourself as composed as you could possibly manage in that moment. You made sure to settle on your knees with easy access to the blade if you needed it at any time. Something in his expression calmed your nerves, even if only slightly.

If he had complete intentions of harming you, he would have done so when he had total control, right? You could allow him to explain all of this.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “I just want you to know that this, us, is real. I do love you. I’ve always meant that.”

You bit your lip hard, nodding, urging him to continue.

“The story about my father was true. I did murder him to save my mother and I. Jill was the only one who knew, and she…” He paused for a moment, eyes dropping to the ground. “We lost contact after everything had transpired years ago. It wasn’t until this summer that she approached me, told me her plan.”

“What plan, Charlie?” You were trying your hardest to process and retain all the information he was sharing with you.

He inhaled deeply. “I’m sure you know by now who her aunt is.”

You nodded yes, Sidney Prescott. But wouldn’t her relation to Sidney make her a likely victim of all of this? How could she resort to perpetuating a nightmare her aunt had survived years ago?

As though Charlie understood your confusion without having to voice it, he continued. “She is tired of living in her aunt’s shadow. She wanted the fame. She wanted to be the perfect victim.”

You felt your face twist in disgust and horror.

“And you… you’re doing this to help her… become famous? Are you doing this because you want the fame too?” Your voice raised as you questioned him. You subconsciously shifted closer to the knife.

Charlie looked devastated at your words, as though he felt entirely ashamed that you could assume so low of him.

He shook his head vehemently. “No, no. Not at all. When she first told me her plan, I laughed in her face. I didn’t think she was serious. But she- she grew angry, told me I didn’t have any other option but to help her in all of this.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t have a choice?” You questioned him, not fully believing what he was telling you. He had to have had some other option than to resort to planned murder.

“What I didn’t know before all of this, she had recorded the phone call I had made to her after my father’s death. She had proof that I had planned to do it. She said if helped her, she would delete the evidence. When I told her no again, told her I’d rather turn myself in…” the tears began to run down his face again. “She threatened my mother, and I knew she meant it.”

You sat in stunned silence. How could she be so cruel? So calculating? She would’ve turned him in if he refused, then with him behind bars she would’ve murdered his own mother. You wouldn’t have ever imagined her capable of this.

You weren’t sure why you trusted Charlie at this moment, but you believed him, wholeheartedly.

“That was months ago now, when the school year started, I still had hope that she would let this all go. But she only grew more obsessive. I should’ve known better. I should’ve stayed away from you. I almost didn’t go through with those first murders that night of the party, but…”

He held your gaze intently, you hadn’t realized just how long you’d been holding your breath.

“But what, Charlie?” You knew the answer already.

“She threatened you.” His voice cracked on his last word.

“She promised me that you’d be safe through all of this. She promised me that you would be off limits.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing you in his arms then, pulling you closer to his chest. You shivered at his touch, only you couldn’t pull away, couldn’t bring yourself to love an inch away from him.

“I’m so sorry, I know you’ll never be able to forgive me, never be able to remember me the same way. I’m so, so sorry. I love you more than life itself, and I’m the reason you were ever in any danger at all.”

You were in shock, complete and utter shock. You knew something had been going on with him. You had no idea how much he was hurting, how much he was carrying. He’d done this all to protect his mother, he’d done this all for you.

And now…? It couldn’t all be for nothing. It couldn’t end like this. That evil, manipulating bitch has used and abused Charlie into nothingness with complete disregard.

You knew he meant what he said, could read him like a book. He would never hurt you, would choose your own life and well-being over even his peace of mind. She destroyed your sweet boy, used his most traumatic experiences against him to bend him to her will, knowing he’d comply for the people he loved.

Your hurt and terror and confusion was slowly but surely bubbling up into something dark, something you had never felt before. It was rage, murderous rage.

Your face contorted, the tears that streaked your face grew hot against your skin and dried completely.

You pulled away from Charlie, holding both of his shoulders in your hands. Your face was just inches in front of his own.

“We have to end this.” You spoke with more determination than you had ever spoken with before.

Your expression was drawn in shrewd control as your growing plan developed in your thoughts. Your solution and way out was decided at that moment.

Charlie seemed equally surprised and confused by both your sudden actions and words.

“What do you mean?” He asked, trying to steady his voice to meet your focus. You could tell your idea had not yet been thought up by him.

Your lips twitched upwards cruelly, as if you were about to recite some sick joke. “We have to kill her, Charlie.”

He shook his head, eyes widening in disbelief. “No, no. If we both live tonight, she will know for certain that you know. You will be in even more danger, I’m the one who has to die.”

Your smile widened. You could both come out of this. You knew you found your only other option.

“No, see,” you grabbed the blade in one hand while forcing the hilt into Charlie’s grasps with the other. He seemed in pain to even be holding it. “If you just make it look like you tried, like you tried to kill me, she won’t suspect anything. It’ll at least buy us time, Charlie, to figure out a real plan.”

He looked at you in disbelief, the disbelief was quickly overshadowed by realization as you gently guided his hand upwards until the tip of the knife pressed against the small space below your shoulder.

“No, baby, I can’t hurt you.” He was so sincere, so gentle.

You would need time to process this, need time to heal. But at this very moment, neither of you had the gift of another option that didn’t result in certain death and time was ticking by.

He had done so much for you, because he loved you.

It was your turn to return the favor. You would do this because you loved him, you would truly die for him, die to bring some safety and peace back into his life.

“Please, if you help, just here,” you shoved the knife forwards a bit until it just pierced your skin through your t-shirt. You both winced at the contact. “It will be done and over quickly. I’ll phone the police as soon as you leave.”

You tried your best to be convincing that this plan would work.

He knew this was the only way, completely hated himself for it all. You could read it all in his expression. If he took your place here, it would be too obvious that he was involved.

You wrapped both hands around his own and held the blade even tighter. He needed the reassurance more than you did.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. No vital organs here.” You tried to laugh, giving him a sorrowful half smile.

His lip quivered, eyes darting between you and the blade quickly before landing steadily and softly on your face.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his own. The kiss was so incredibly gentle, it was the kind you knew you’d never experience again.

He kissed you back, running his free hand gently over the back of your head.

“I love you Charlie.” You whispered, inching forward even closer.

“I love you, more than life itself.” He replied earnestly.

With that, you pushed his hands forward with all your might.

White, scalding, blinding pain.

You couldn’t hold back the throat tearing scream that escaped from between your lips.

Charlie removed the blade quickly as your hands fell to your sides.

He recited a string of obscenities and ‘I love you’s’ as he took such gentle care to lower you to the ground.

He stood, you could barely focus on his frame in front of you.

He knelt down one more time, kissing across your lips and face. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

He wouldn’t let go, you knew this was killing him. It was killing you.

“Go, I’ll be okay.” You stated as firmly as possible, time was of the essence.

His lip quivered as he stepped back, quickly grabbing his discarded mask and blade.

You reached for your phone that laid right beside your fingertips and dialed the numbers 911. You could hardly bring yourself to answer the operator’s questions. You pressed your hands tightly to the wound as your vision came in and out in darkening waves.

You willed your eyes open to watch Charlie walk out of the home through the front door until he disappeared, closing it behind him.

The last thing you could recall before slipping into unconsciousness was the familiar blare of sirens and flashing lights coming through the bay window.

You could only pray that this plan would be enough, even just for now, even just to buy some time, to ensure safety.

It just had to be enough.

[ficbrish]

Threadbare

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 11th - New Beginnings]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, interrupted masturbation, alcohol, light hurt/comfort

Late in Act III, Astarion finds Vistri cuddling with his old shirt alone in their rooms at the Elfsong.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

“...And gave him a taste of a flaming fist! ” Karlach howled, leading the whole tavern in laughter.

Other mugs echoed her pounding on the bar with a dull, banging rhythm. Little golden drops of mead spilled over the tops, dripping down the glasses and mixing with condensation.

Astarion personally never tired of this story of hers. A Flaming Fist had been inappropriately whistling at Shadowheart, and Karlach responded by knocking the man flat on his ass in one swing. While Astarion smiled quietly and nostalgically at her recollection of those events, the other tavern patrons, who’d never heard it before, were an eager and raucous audience.

Shadowheart’s face turned Karlach’s color. Shouting over the Elfsong’s laughter, she protested, “I could have handled it myself. Really!”

Wyll threw an arm over her shoulder, “Come, come, Shadowheart. Was it not a bit satisfying for such a gallant devil to step in and exact your revenge?”

A huge smile spread over her face, “Galant devil could describe any of us.”

Astarion raised his glass, “Cheers!”

Wyll met his delicate wine glass with his own burly mug of mead. Unprepared for how much enthusiasm Wyll would use, Astarion ended up with red all down his front. A collective groan sounded along with wild laughter.

“It’s all right,” he assured Wyll, whose eyes were apologizing faster than his mouth could move.

“Astarion, I’m so—”

Funny thing, how such a sight affected him. Astarion wasn’t used to apologies. Or friendships for that matter. Wyll’s genuine sorrow over such a small inconvenience was like a hearty meal to a starving soul. He couldn’t let the apology continue. It was too painful to witness.

“No, no! It’s all right,” Astarion insisted, “Please don’t put yourself out. I’ll just go change. This tunic is hideous anyways.”

It wasn’t. It was a pretty blue thing with silver thread. But there was a prettier blue thing with silver scales waiting for him upstairs in their rooms, one he was eager to get back to.

Vistri was having a lie down. She wasn’t sick, just exhausted. Her body was fine, but her mind was ragged. Astarion was only reluctantly dragged from her side through her stubborn, repeated insistence to be left alone for a little while. He had the sense she’d been saying it more for his sake than hers. She didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t spend time with the others.

“You say no one else has my heart, but they do!” she’d said, “You do!”

He’d frowned at the way she used his own words against him. Especially so inaccurately. Astarion was right, there was no one else like her. He’d stand by that forever.

“That’s not—!”

“Yes, it is! Go down there and have fun. Let them earn your trust as I have.”

Raising his brow, he left her with one last tease, “Certainly not in the same way you have?”

His charm wasn’t enough this time. He was dismissed.

Let the others in .

Well, he’d gone down with the others, had a bit of fun, and now he was covered in wine. He had the perfect excuse to go back up and check on her. The fretting in his stomach turned into excitement. 

So much had changed in so little time, after two centuries of endless, torturous consistency, spilled wine was now just spilled wine. He would just change his clothes, maybe wash up a bit, and there would be more waiting for him to wear. Choices.

Sewing was a skill Cazador forced on all his spawn. Keeping them all as cheaply as possible, they had to make every article of clothing last. No matter the care, or the tending, their clothes always ended up degrading into rags and tatters. Astarion was almost jealous of the way his outfits got to age and die. They had a temporal escape, while his torture was bound to be endless.

It also had the side benefit of shame. Sewing was for servants. It reminded the spawn of who they were.

Now that was all over. Cazador was gone. Ended by his hand.

And he had so many new clothes.

He had choices. How bizarre! Astarion was sure he’d forgotten how to make them.

And then he chose her.

A smile brewed on his face just at the mention of her in his thoughts. He took to the steps three at a time, surely looking absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t remember much from his life before undeath, but the more time he spent away from Cazador, the more he realized how much his desire to avoid appearing foolish was part of the weight of those old chains. If he tripped and fell on his face, he would probably laugh from the rebellious feeling of it.

The tadpoles brought him the sun and then Vistri. She helped him find love, true freedom, and then true love.

He decided looking a fool was worth it the moment he stepped through the door. His eyes found her immediately on one of the sofas by the fireplace. The dancing reflections of the flames rolled over the silver scales on her brow in waves. He could see it from the door. She was lying down; her eyes opened at the sound of his entrance.

She seemed a little shocked, “Astarion!”

“Hello, dear!” he greeted with open arms and a wide smile. It felt like ages since they’d been in the same space.

Although, reading her expression, he was a little worried she wasn’t as happy to see him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, “Are the others—?”

“Just me,” he stated, then dramatically drew attention to his ruined shirtfront, “I’ve been decorated with libations! I need to freshen up. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right! Don’t be silly.”

Vistri was a sorcerer; she was used to her thoughts becoming reality. But her mind was reeling from his sudden appearance. Like he’d stepped from her thoughts, but with an entirely different attitude. The Astarion in front of her was all lightness and soft good-humor. The one in her head was a whole other, harder side of his.

Their storage trunk was near the fireplace as well, by the other sofa. As Astarion walked towards her to rifle through it, she slowly removed her hand from between her legs, careful not to let the movement show under the blanket, which wasn’t even a blanket, but his old shirt.

Gods! It couldn’t be more embarrassing.

He came over to her first, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on her damp forehead. Astarion looked at her curiously, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Vistri nodded, humming a high-pitched, “Mmmm-hmmm.”

His brow was all questioningly screwed up, but he decided to drop it, and started unbuttoning his tunic.

Vistri subtly wiped her fingers on her thigh, then sat up, “Here, let me help you.”

“I’ve got it love,” he insisted, “You just lie down. Say… Why aren’t you in our bed?”

The way she smiled and repeated the words, “Our bed,” in that bright tone allayed all Astarion’s fears in an undead heartbeat. He was welcome. She was just as happy to see him as he was her. Poor love was just worn out.

He sighed and bent back down to kiss her. Her pulse pounded, he could feel it rush at the brushing of his lips. A rumble brewed in his middle and his fangs ached. She gave a little moan without meaning to, losing herself in the power of his affection.

“Don’t get too excited,” he teased, “I’m only here for a moment.”

“Why only a moment?” she asked genuinely.

With a smile, he tucked her braid behind her ear, “Didn’t you want to be alone?”

Her eyes were wide, like a begging dog, “I can be alone with you here.”

Astarion froze. He swallowed heavily, then giggled, “What a silly idea! Doesn’t that defy the whole concept of being alone?”

She pouted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he scoffed, sitting down next to her, “I can be—Hang on!”

Upon reaching for her hand, he finally noticed her blanket. Her expression filled with panic at his recognition, and too late, she tried to hide it.

He chuckled with sinister delight, “Why, is this my—?”

“No!” she stubbornly refused.

“Bloody liar! ” he laughed.

“It’s not!”

Vistri was cuddled up with his old shirt. She must’ve taken it out of the trunk and sat down nearby.

“That’s why you’re not in bed! You came over here for my shirt!”

Blushing deeply, Vistri was struggling to accept her fate. She couldn’t get out of talking about her feelings now. Eventually, she admitted, “...I did.”

His query was meant to tease, but there was something… raw and needy in his voice that made it something entirely different, “You were…”

She was nuzzling his old rags like they were something precious. Intentionally. Used her alone time to fish it out of the stuffed trunk, and secretly treasure it. While he was just downstairs in the tavern, missing her, she was up here longing for him.

“You were holding onto my old shirt?”

Vistri rolled her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed.

Astarion made a “tsk” sound and smirked, “Aw, don’t reject it now, darling. My poor shirt! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“No! I don’t want that!” she whined, as if that were something possible to really do.

He held it away from her reaching grasp, “Nuh, uh! Apologize first.”

“Astarion!”

“That’s my name, dear. Not an apology.”

Vistri frowned. Astarion leaned in and kissed it into a smile.

“I hate you!” she giggled, playfully pushing him off her.

“I hate you too,” he said lovingly, “Now! Walk me through the process of deciding to take out my shirt. Was this before or after you shooed me away?”

“Must I?”

Savoring the look on her face, he nodded, “You must, dearest.”

She bit her lip, “Okay. Ugh. Fine. You left and I…”

“You what?”

“I missed you! ”

“Hah!” he boasted.

“Arsehole!”

“An arsehole you love to kiss,” he grinned, “Shall I call you butt breath?”

“No!” she protested, laughing, “Please no!”

“Here,” Astarion handed her his old shirt, “Hold this.”

He stood and finished undoing his tunic, then threw off the soiled shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he climbed over to her side.

“Scoot over,” he demanded.

“There’s no room!” she laughed.

He pulled her tight once his body was flush against hers, “We’ll make it work.”

Vistri felt dizzy. Like she was flying.

“Okay.”

Not letting it go, Astarion asked, “So you missed me, and then what happened?”

With his fingers absently drawing figures on her waist, Vistri had no fight left. Sighing, she continued to expose herself, “I started thinking about… When we met, and I first saw you.”

“How you adored me instantly?”

“No, actually. How much I despised you. Like really, really just wanted to… shake you.”

“That’s so romantic.”

She chuckled, “I’m sorry. It’s horrible, but it’s true. But then… I also…” She shifted so they were chest to chest, and she could look at his face as she spoke. Without thinking, her nose nuzzled his as she admitted, “I really liked you.”

He sort of snorted and sighed and called out in the same second, like a baby that didn’t know if it was hungry or tired or perfectly content. That didn’t know whether to coo or cry.

“You did?” he asked, heart on his tongue.

Nodding, Vistri admitted it all, “I think I’ve come to learn… It wasn’t you I was mad at, but everyone else you reminded me of. And part of me knew that, and the unfairness of it made me hate myself more.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

“What?” she chuckled.

“I hated myself and liked you too.”

Grinning, she humorously exclaimed, “And that’s why we had sex!”

Astarion gave a hearty laugh. It was rich and deep, and sounded like relief from a long-ago burden.

Instead of joining his mirth, Vistri’s expression grew more serious, “I don’t believe there’s a single thing I could hate about you. Not now that I know you.”

“Not a single thing?”

“Impossible.”

He caressed the length of her ear, gentle like a caretaker, then kissed her cheek.

“So what was that you were saying, about thinking of how much you hated me when we first met?” he whispered, stroking the side of her face with the tip of his nose.

“I didn’t hate you, I was falling in love. That’s what I was thinking of. Falling in love.”

“With me?”

She laughed, “Who else?”

He kissed her forehead, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

She breathed deeply, leaning into his kiss, “I wanted to run down and get you, but we can’t be together all the time.”

“Who says?”

Chuckling, she shook her head, “We can’t!”

“And the next best thing was my shirt?”

“The one I met you in.”

He’d almost thrown it out. Now that he had new clothes, he no longer needed Cazador’s old rags.

But he couldn’t. And he was glad he didn’t.

“And then you just decided to relax here? And daydream about me?”

“Uh…” she said way too awkwardly for him to just accept.

Brow raised, Astarion repeated, “‘Uh? ’”

“It’s just so incredibly lame!” Vistri looked horrified.

“Then I have to hear it!” he giggled, thrilled to have her in this little trap she set up herself.

“I was… Oh gods! ” she rolled her eyes, “Can I just… tadpoles?”

He laughed, “It’s so embarrassing you can’t speak it?”

“Yes.”

Laughing even harder, he agreed. He put his forehead to hers even though they didn’t need touch for brainworm-to-brainworm communication. Relaxing into his embrace, she let her memory play out through his senses.

Vistri was thinking of him, and Astarion found beauty in himself he could only see through her eyes. Like freedom, it was overwhelming. A goodness he could drown in. That she could drown in. He was her, and she was him.

Knots in her stomach, tied like strings of fate, spelling his name in her blood.

Rushing, pounding, flowing. Her heart.

Stillness. Serenity. Bliss.

After lying down on the couch, she held his shirt to her face and breathed into it. Even washed, it smelled like him. Like his heat and his lusts and his heavy soul. She kissed its loose threads like it was his chest, where his heart was. Imagined his arms around her like they were now.

Astarion felt Vistri loving him; fell into her blurred line of desire and devotion. He could taste it on her tongue as he kissed her now and felt her love him through that too. Past and present blended, and they shared all of it like one being. In her memory, her hand traveled between her legs at the thought of his laughing face. Then there was the sincerity in his eyes as they both kneeled over his grave. I want you, spilling out of his lips. She was touching herself, thinking of him, adoring him, with the shirt she’d met him in clutched to her throat. As they lived through it together on the same sofa, he kissed her again and again.

She didn’t even mean to break the connection, but his mouth was too distracting. He just couldn’t help himself. It felt like coming home after two centuries.

“How rude,” he muttered, “I seem to have interrupted.”

“It’s fine,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you came back.”

He chuckled warmly, “Darling I was just downstairs. At your insistence!”

“I know,” she said plainly, holding him tighter.

His heart ached, still absorbing what he’d just felt and seen through her memory, “You… Thinking about me–how you love me–makes you…?”

Unable to look at him, she buried her face in his chest, “I told you it was lame!”

Helping her out of hiding, he lifted up her chin, “I don’t think it’s lame.”

His tone sounded like he thought it was the most extraordinary thing. A miracle that couldn’t even be perceived, even with it plainly in front of him. It tore her heart open, but filled it rather than took.

Astarion kissed her neck, “I think it’s quite hot actually. Makes me want to finish what you started.” Vistri felt the heat of her blush again, and he moaned, “Fuck! I love when your blood rushes.”

He scraped his fangs hungrily against her skin. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of his need. She wanted to be the reason he felt better. Stronger.

“Go ahead, Astarion,” she said comfortingly, “Have a bite.”

He kissed her neck, from her chin down to the base of her throat, and bit into the muscle that connected her shoulder. Vistri gasped, surrendering to the sharp pain, and to him, leaning into his bite. Her blood dripped between them as it rolled messily off his lips.

Just allowing himself a taste, Astarion released Vistri from his fangs, licking up the remnants and kissing her wound until it closed. The hunger wasn’t sated, but he was dizzy with power nonetheless.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, still concerned despite knowing how much she loved it.

“More than all right! Are you—?”

He met her warm smile with one of his own, “More than all right.”

“Good.”

No other partner ever cared. Neither had ever been asked genuinely what they wanted or who they were. No one else but them, making such questions a lyrical aphrodisiac for them to exchange.

Astarion could read her arousal in a thousand different languages. His tongue could feel it in her frantic heartbeat. His teeth could smell it in her glistening sweat. She was a meal ready to be devoured, prey begging to be taken. His hands traveled along her waist, and she twitched pleasantly. All the places that usually tickled made her shiver with want.

Vistri was always so ecstatic that it was him touching her this way, and no one else, that her skin would cry if it could. He could have clumsy hands and awkward touches, and still his embrace would make her shake. Astarion could easily bring ecstasy to her, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, just because it was him.

But gods did he know what he was doing! He played her body like it was one of her instruments, and all he did was fondle her torso.

His fingers lingered just under her waistline as he rubbed his arousal against her thigh. Throbbing under his pants, Astarion let his hand dive into her knickers. The wet lace made him groan.

“You’re soaking,” he sighed, licking his lips, “Might I have another taste?”

Whimpering as he teased her sensitive skin with brushing fingertips, Vistri pleaded, “Yes!”

First, he undressed her one article at a time, unwrapping her like a gift.

It was better than being alone. The whole purpose of her rest was to not think. She didn’t want to disappear, not anymore. She wanted to be present, but out of her head, and this was so much better. However, her heart still ached and missed him. Demanding more touch, more feeling. 

Being wanted by Vistri was the prettiest sight. Astarion had only ever known admiration, not adoration. Images of her in her memory ran through his mind; and with them came echoes of her emotion as she’d nuzzled into his old shirt, desperate for his lingering smell, pretending it still held his warmth. As the monster in his head screamed to devour her, he slid a finger up and down her soaking slit.

Following the roll of her hips, he almost lost himself in their rhythm as he teased her clit. Her desire was one he’d never known, a love he’d never felt. Vistri gave herself to everyone, but never like this. It was the same for him. Everyone had him, but no one knew him like this. Between them, old habits were entirely new.

Crawling his way down her legs, he had another taste. Vistri’s hands caressed his head and her fingers wrapped around his ears in a way that made him hum with security.

She cried out at every lash of his tongue.

He whined licking her, the rushing blood just under her skin overwhelmed his senses as much as her taste. It made him feel alive. Pangs of need made his fingers tremble as they pushed into her, stretching her. She moaned, a song promising this would always be his. He wanted to fuck her until he saw stars.

And it felt good to want. The desire he felt was his. All his.

“Astarion,” she called out his name in a breathy voice, her body tensing with pleasure. Even without tadpoles, he knew how close Vistri was.

The next words from her lips yanked his heart out of his chest and brought it to his sleeve.

“Yours. I’m all yours.”

He’d planned to pleasure her in so many ways, but those words took away his will to perform. They didn’t need ecstasy as much as each other. She’d touched herself thinking of his laugh and his expressions; of his being, not his figure. Vistri just wanted him.

Lifting his head up, he asked, “Can I—?”

“Get back here!”

She pulled on his shoulders as he rushed to her lips, climbing her torso. She was so small, but it felt like miles. Ages until they were face to face.

His mouth was like a bully, commanding hers about. Vistri struggled with things like self love and acceptance, but could adoringly savor her taste on his tongue. It was so sweet mixed with his underneath. Astarion took her by the wrist to rub her hand along the outside of his trousers, almost growling as rutted into her palm. Being used by him was the best thing in the world, just as being used by others was the worst. Her ecstasy from it was as sharp as her bruised soul.

One long, deep, “Uuuuh,” from Vistri was the final snap in Astarion’s composure. One hand went to her neck as the other started undoing his laces. 

He licked along her jaw, and spoke in the crook of her throat as it called to him, “Do you know what it means? When you say you’re all mine?”

“I know what it means,” she looked him squarely in the eyes, seriously, which was unusual for either of them, “I say it because I know what it means.”

When there was enough give, Astarion pulled his trousers and pants down in one motion, just far enough to reveal himself. He spread her thighs apart and rubbed his aching cock along her belly to show off how deep he’d go.

Writhing, wanting him, she uttered, “Fuck, I love you.”

Astarion buried himself in her, saying he loved her too. Vistri screamed his name so loudly it probably answered what was taking him so long to change to the others downstairs.

“Wait, is the door locked?” he asked, suddenly remembering.

Vistri groaned, realizing it wasn’t, “Shit. Nooo.”

It was a rare occasion for their rooms at the Elfsong to be empty of everyone but them. Anyone could come back at any time, and they were in the middle of the room.

“Well, we don’t want to make an unsuspecting audience out of Shadowheart’s parents. Do we?”

Cackling, she suggested, “Or Withers.”

Astarion giggled, “Old bastard might try to join.”

Vistri’s laughter made her shake and pulse so pleasantly on his cock, he didn’t want to leave.

“Go lock it,” she could barely get the words out, overtaken by hilarity. Like she was wearing that cursed amulet again. 

Sighing with frustration, he reluctantly pulled out of her and got up, tearing the rest of clothes off of his legs. Her slick covered his whole length, making the air cool on his dick as it bounced with his steps.

At the sound of the lock snapping shut, Vistri stupidly called out, “Please!”

He stood by the door smiling with his arms crossed, “Please, what?” The crimson-violet scream of his skin, his retreated foreskin, and the precum pooling at his tip betrayed his casual nature.

“Fuck me!” she begged.

He smirked and held up two fingers.

Vistri buried her face in the side of the sofa to hide her laughter, “I cannot stand you!”

Wishing to see her face again, Astarion dropped his game and broke into a full run. She squealed as he leapt to her, and then cried out as he tore through her again. He savored the look on her face. Her eyes spilled the truth of her heart. Their expression exposed her even though she wasn’t trying to hide anything. Vistri belonged to him, gave herself over to him to use and take care of at whatever whim. As long as she was his .

“What was that about not being able to stand me?” he smirked, distracting himself from the pleasure shaking his spine like a tree in a rough storm. He wanted Vistri to find ecstasy at least once before giving into his.

Running her hands along his chest and stomach made him almost whimper. Vistri licked his earlobe and kissed his ear before whispering, “I lied. I actually adore you, and want you all the time.”

Roughly, he pushed her down into the sofa. He wrapped a big hand around her delicate neck and held it firm, like a brace. Slowing his thrusts to an unbearably slow pace. A teasing rhythm.

“Do you adore me now?” he asked. It was impossible for even Astarion to tell if he was asking out of seduction or sincerity.

“Even more,” she promised.

A devious smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Turn around.”

After tucking pillows, and his old shirt, under Vistri for a better angle, Astarion playfully bounced his hard cock against her ass. They both laughed at the smack, but grew serious as he began to touch her from behind. She rocked back into his palm so deliciously he had to angle himself against her. With a slight push, he was covered to the hilt. They shivered in tune with each other. Vistri felt ripped open at his thrust; his hands firmly holding onto her hips grounded her.

She reached back for one of them, and his finger twisted around one of hers as they met.

He froze, “Is this still what you want?”

“It is all I want,” she answered, caressing his finger.

Even though Vistri couldn’t see his smirk, she could hear it, “Then let’s give the others an update on our whereabouts.”

He roughly pumped his hips, angling deep.

“Astarion!”

He wanted them to hear it, everyone her voice could reach; hear the news that she was his. Going faster made her louder.

“Astarion! ” 

“Yes,” he groaned, as he felt her tightening around him, “Yes.” It was a word he wasn’t used to meaning, and the truth of it felt like the sun tingling like home on his skin.

Gasping through the edges of death, in unison, too quickly, they cried out.

Astarion wanted to see the stars, and there they appeared behind both their eyes. They never really knew why it was called a little death before they met. It became clear the first time they transcended flesh and spirit together under the thrall of an all-consuming ecstasy. In that bliss, they were gone from the world, and in coming back to it, were reborn into their shaking embrace.

He rocked his hips gently, even when there was nothing left to spill into her. Just because he didn’t want the moment to pass yet.

As Astarion sat back on his knees, Vistri turned around and covered his face with a flurry of breathless, grateful pecks. He chuckled, and wrapped his arms around her. Vistri threw hers over his shoulders too and pulled him tighter.

“Never leave me alone again,” she half-joked.

Astarion was so happy his words had a sobbing laugh under them, “Oh, I’m never leaving you alone again!”

They squeezed each other even closer at the same time. Never wanting to let go.

Miraculously, nothing got on the couch. So all they had to clean off was each other. After freshening up, they crawled into their bed. Which wasn’t really their bed. It was rented. But, unless tents and bedrolls counted, this bed was the first sort of home they’d claimed together.

“This is my favorite part,” she said as she nuzzled into his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

Vistri hummed happily and sighed, running her fingers along his arm, “This.”

Smiling, he bent to kiss her head. She gave another happy hum.

“You’re perfect,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Looking up, she poked him on the nose and refuted his denial, “Yes, you are!”

Astarion smirked and made a show of trying to bite her finger. Vistri squealed, laughing.

“No, don’t bi—”

A series of loud, rapid bangs on the door snatched them from their lighthearted moment, and instinctively, they got ready to fight. Each made a protective gesture over the other. Astarion sat up and pulled her closer by the waist, as she positioned her body in front of his.

Drunken shouts answered them before they could call out and ask who was there.

“—en it!”

“‘S’locked! ”

“OY! WHY’S THE DOOR SHUT?!” That would be Karlach.

Vistri smirked at Astarion.

Brow raised, he remarked, “Looks like this time, we forgot to unlock the door.”

She snickered, “Ready to let them in?”

He made a show of thinking about it for a moment as kicks and insults shook the door, “Hmmm, I don’t know. I think we should make them wait.”

The burst of laughter that left Vistri was loud enough for the others to notice, and the muffled shouting now included their names.

Astarion rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “You’ve done it now, love.”

As he walked to the door, he took a look back at Vistri, who had sunk back into their bed, holding her sides in a laughing fit. He felt as free as she sounded, and so full of happiness Astarion couldn’t feel his feet on the ground.

Vistri was wearing his old shirt. She’d insisted on changing into it when they got dressed. Telling him she didn’t want to spend a second without him wrapped around her.

The sight made him smile so broadly his cheeks ached.

[writingjourney]

⛧ Ghost Masterlist ⛧

My fics are all reader inserts for female, afab or gender-neutral readers. Please check the individual tags for more content information. I loosely structure my fics in multichapter fics, one-shots (over 5k words), ficlets (up to 5k words) and headcanons/blurbs.

>> Multifandom Masterlist

>> My Ao3

multichapter fics:

⛧ I Knew Nothing But Shadows (ongoing, 19/?) 18+ (only on Ao3, f!reader, artist!reader slow-burn with horror/mystery elements)

Curious circumstances and a questionable curse from your childhood led you to becoming the resident artist of the local Satanic Church – and a sinister night you’d truly rather forget. Years later, you’re presented with another chance at proving your artistic worth. Only this time, you’re kind of falling for the awkward anti-pope who sits for you and he is oddly interested in the intricacies of your past that you’re so desperately trying to hide.

Check out the amazing fanart to the story here, here, here, here (18+), here, here, here (18+), here (18+), here, here, here. Click here for more posts about the fic.

Many kisses to @delulluart, @nocterish, @rinakosus, @foxybouquet and @ladymorguesblog. Please mind that the artworks contain spoilers ♡

one-shots:

⛧ Honey and Venom (on Ao3, 9.5k words, f!reader) 18+

Or: The four times you fell for your best friend without noticing and the one time you did.

⛧ A Lesson In Patience (Ao3 only, 8k words, f!reader) 18+

You haven't seen your papa all day and while he missed you just as much, he's not going to give you what you want so easily.

ficlets:

⛧ Late Night Reading (on Ao3, 3.6k words, f!reader, smut) 18+

⛧ Don't Make Me Wait (on Ao3, 1.5k words, f!reader, dom!copia smut) 18+

⛧ On your Knees (on Ao3, 1.3k words, gn!reader, smut) 18+

⛧ Let Me Help (on Ao3, 2k words, gn!reader, helping Papa do his make-up)

⛧ Rough Day (on Ao3, 1k words, f!reader)

⛧ Pain Relief (on Ao3, 550 words, gn! reader, pain comfort)

⛧ Falling asleep at Copia's desk (480 words, gn!reader, fluff)

⛧ Never Alone (550 words, gn!reader, hurt/comfort)

⛧ Freckles and Rigatoni Lines (850 words, gn!reader, fluff)

headcanons:

⛧ Analogue Date Nights and Polaroids (set after chapter 16)

⛧ Click here for more Copia headcanons

multichapter fics:

⛧ Dance Macabre (completed 4/4) (only on Ao3, 15k words, f!reader) 18+

Working with the Cardinal has been the best part of your day for months now, possibly because of your not so small crush on him. A night out with some of the Sisters of Sin gives you the courage to finally tell him – and explore what you really feel for each other.

one-shots:

⛧ 5 Types of Christmas Kisses with Copia (+1) (on Ao3, 8k words, f!reader, festive fluff) – check out this beautiful illustration by @thew0man ♡

You and the cardinal have been tiptoeing around each other for a while now – it’s time to let the festive spirit do the rest.

⛧ A Message from the Bulletin Board (on Ao3, 9k words, gn!reader, Copia posts a lonely hearts ad, sickening fluff ensues) – See the cute art by @tasty-ribz ♡

The ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad.

ficlets:

⛧ Trust Your Cardinal (on Ao3, 1.5k words, afab!reader, dom!copia smut) 18+

⛧ Bound by Lace (on Ao3, 2.8k words, f!reader, dom pervy copia smut) 18+

⛧ One More (on Ao3, 750 words, gn!reader, lots of kissing)

⛧ How it Feels (on Ao3, 2k words, hurt/comfort, tw: body issues, gn!reader)

⛧ Spring Walk (on Ao3, 1.4k words, anxiety comfort, gn!reader)

⛧ Ouch (on Ao3, 1.3k words, gn!reader, fluff)

headcanons:

⛧ Date Night Polaroids

ficlets, drabbles:

⛧ No Games (on Ao3, 1.6k words, gn!reader, friends to lovers ficlet)

⛧ Better Than Your Hands (on Ao3, 1.1k words, f!reader, smut) 18+

one-shots:

⛧ Unprecedented (on Ao3, 12.7k words, gn!reader, contains smut) – see this cute illustration by @tasty-ribz 18+

Working with Secondo is only half as bad as people make it seem – at least until you fall in love with each other. Or: The four times you almost get Secondo to admit his feelings for you and the one time you succeed.

⛧ Friday Nights at the Vinothek (on Ao3 in three chapters, 26k words, vampire!secondo, gn!reader, romance, horror, smut, Part 2 of the Friday Nights Series) – check out this cool animation by @tasty-ribz ♡ 18+

When the local vintner who buys his cigarettes at the kiosk you work at offers you a job you can’t believe your luck. But after moving to the vineyard where the attraction between you only grows, you soon realize that he is not quite who you thought – and that working for a vampire comes with unexpected dangers.

ficlets:

⛧ Peppermint Oil & Kisses (on Ao3, 1.6k words, gn!reader, fluff)

⛧ Of Lemon Tarts and Tiny White Rabbits (on Ao3, 4.6k words, f!reader, regency AU)

⛧ His Body and Blood (on Ao3, 2.6k words, gn!reader, ANGST, you try to resurrect secondo, contains gore/horror elements)

⛧ Starved (on Ao3, 1.6k words, afab!reader, just smut) 18+

⛧ Heavens Away (on Ao3, 2.8k words, f!reader, loving, affectionate smut) 18+

⛧ Skin to Skin (on Ao3, 400 words, gn!reader, fluff)

headcanons:

⛧ General SFW headcanons

⛧ Click here for more Secondo headcanons

one-shots:

⛧ Friday Nights at the Cinema Club (on Ao3, 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, romance, horror, smut, Part 1 of the Friday Nights Series) – See this amazing fanart to the fic ♡ 18+

The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

ficlets:

⛧ The Devil's Ivy (on Ao3, 900 words, gn!reader, wholesome fluff)

any or multiple Papas:

⛧ Soft, Sleepy Sex with the Papas (on Ao3, 4.8k words in total, 1k-1.4k for each Papa, f!reader) – look at the Terzo art by @ghuleh-recs ♡ 18+

⛧ Ghosting (on Ao3, 2.5k words, any Papa x gn!reader, sick care ficlet)

⛧ Coffee HCs for the Papas (+ tasty-ribz's art)

⛧ Click here for more Papa headcanons

⛧ Papa Short Fic Collection

multichapter fics:

⛧ Ziplocked Love | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 – 18+ (on Ao3, 20k words total, dew x f!reader, 18+, completed)

Dewdrop and you start preparations for their upcoming tour early. Just the prospect of being parted is more than you two can bear, so you’re finding ways to cope. Shenanigans ensue.

If you want to support me, please consider reblogging my work, leaving comments or kudos :)

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 16 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Rough SEXXX. Restraints. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Woo, boy, y'all. Get yourselves ready, cuz the snowball is rollin' and the shit storm is comin'. This part is a little bit of everything--a little sweet, a little salty, a little smutty. It's what y'all deserve!

For the flashback, I had E's 1960 It Feels So Right playing in my head on repeat, so if you are one who likes music to set the mood, then you might give it a listen before/during/after you read that part!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Graceland, Christmas 1960

The mansion is finally quiet, or at least you’ve managed to find a quiet part of it in the midst of all the holiday revelry. Elvis loves Christmas, and this is his first one home in two years. And the first one without Gladys.

You had thought that maybe his grief would make the holiday a more solemn affair, but he’s gone in the opposite direction. It’s as though his loss has fueled him to make Christmas as joyful as humanly possible. Even though he’s been away filming for most of the month, he still directed the mansion should be decked out in all the Christmas finery for his return. And so it is.

You wish you were more in the spirit to enjoy it. Usually, you would be—Christmas is one of your favorite times of the year—but this year it sits heavy for you. Heavy because if all had gone well, you’d be sharing it with your newborn baby.

The thought brings you to tears again.

You’ve been hiding your grief as much as possible, sliding on a quaint smile, singing carols, and making cookies with the rest of them, but in these solitary moments, you grieve. You cannot help it. You know it’s futile and silly. How can you grieve someone who barely even existed, someone who was never born? And yet, here you are, alone, sitting in a quiet corner of the house at the piano, a couple of glasses too many of champagne in, being sad over what could have been.

So you begin to play. You know practically every carol and hymn by heart, so you just close your eyes and let the music take you away. It doesn’t erase your grief, but it does help you let it out in some way. You barely notice the tears rolling down your cheeks as you play Away In A Manger and What Child Is This?. You let the dramatic chords of O Holy Night linger in the air at the push of the pedals.

And after a bit of playing, that image of a baby in your arms feels fuzzy and faraway. Or maybe that’s the champagne. Maybe it’s both.

The air shifts. You notice it but play on anyway. You’re not sure how, but you are able to sense him, his presence, his essence, as it pushes in around you. But he remains quiet, and your eyes remain closed as your hands continue to fly over the keys.

Elvis does not interrupt, he only watches. You’re not sure why. You feel as though he barely speaks to you anymore. Yes, he is away and busy and all the usual excuses. But he used to seek you out when he returned. He’d bring you silly little trinkets and sing to you and tell you stupid, off-color jokes.

Now, since that horrible day in March, it’s as though an invisible wall has come between you two, and you don’t understand why. It’s nothing overt—he treats you kindly in the group and doesn’t outwardly ignore you. But something significant has changed, you swear it. Perhaps it is your ultimate failure as a woman that has turned him away. Or maybe with the explosion of his stardom since returning from Germany, he just doesn’t have time for you anymore. Maybe it has nothing to do with you at all; maybe he’s just a different man now.

Your tears of grief now include the loss of him, too. Losing your friend is heartbreaking in its own right, much less coupled with the loss of your child, of your fertility. It doesn’t help that Jack has been gone with Elvis on his travels and feels distant, too. You’d initially thought the space would be good for you two, but instead you just feel achingly lonely.

God, you wish you’d never been pregnant at all, as all it seemed to bring you is heartache.

You stop playing and open your eyes. The room is dim, lit only by one of the many Christmas trees in the house, but when you turn towards the door, Elvis is still there, his blue eyes shining with emotion as he leans in the doorway. The man looks ready to weep, which takes you by surprise, as he’s only shown enthusiasm and excitement since being home. You recognize the look though: it’s grief and melancholy, similar to your own.

Then Elvis looks at you unabashedly for a moment, almost like he is really, truly seeing you for the first time in months. The air sits heavy and silent. You don’t bother wiping the tears off your cheeks, though your heart races a bit. Must be the champagne, you think. It certainly isn’t the way he is looking at you now, how you are being laid bare and vulnerable by his intense gaze.

Something builds between you, though you are not exactly sure what, and he suddenly straightens and crosses the room to you. He towers over you now at the end of the piano bench and an overwhelming need to be near him comes over you. It’s as though you are both magnetized to each other, so when he holds out his hand, you cannot help but take it. The warmth of his hand surrounds yours as he pulls you up and into his waiting arms.

You fold into him, your arms tucked into your chest and your head buried into his collarbone as he wraps his arms around you. His spicy, distinct scent surrounds you and his warmth engulfs you and you cannot help the sob that escapes you at the comfort of it.

Elvis holds you close and lets you cry, and you feel his chest shudder and his breath hitch as though he is as emotional as you are. His mother, you think; he’s been hiding his grief as you’ve been hiding yours. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your temple as they run down his face and onto yours, and this prompts you to unfold your arms and wrap them around his torso, comforting him as he is comforting you.

He sways you, moving to the unheard music you assume is always playing in his mind, and pressed against him like this, you can feel the quick and steady beat of his heart pounding in his chest. You don’t remember the last time you were this close to him. He feels bigger, broader than the boy who went to Germany, but is no less Elvis. His sensitive spirit is the same after all.

You are not sure how long you sway there, crying in each other’s arms at your respective losses. But you know it’s more than just that. You know because as your tears start to ebb and you move back the slightest bit, he grabs your hand and pulls you in close, unwilling to part with you. He dances with you now, slowly pulling you back into his silent rhythm.

And you let him. You let his hand clasp yours and he draws it over his heart, holding it there. His heart beats quicker, you think. It’s too intimate now, the way his warm, damp cheek presses to yours, the saltiness of your tears mixing and binding your grief together. The air shifts again, still heavy and thick, but with a million unsaid words hanging there in the silence.

Your heart skips, flutters, and your breath catches. You’re not exactly sure what is happening. But you still let him hold you and sway you in slow circles. His hand splays hot on your lower back, burning through you, setting your body aflame in a way you don’t understand.

But you are a few glasses in and on a roller coaster of emotion and right now the feel of his strong, lean body pressed against yours makes you feel alive in a certain kind of way. You’ve been lonely and you’ve missed him more than you thought. It’s almost as if this is a silent plea for forgiveness from him.

Yes, that’s all it is.

You feel hyperaware of him and his closeness, so when Elvis nuzzles his head against the side of yours, you feel breathless. Your mouth pops open with a puff which, considering his proximity, he must feel, but he does not stop, and you cannot help the way you return the gesture in kind.

His breath is warm in your ear, and you can feel the softness of his lips brush against it, sending a decidedly inappropriate cascade of shivers dancing through you.

Oh, god.

Involuntarily, your hand contracts in his, your nails scraping lightly at his button-down shirt. Elvis presses your palm down onto his heart in response. You feel out of control, completely at his mercy, knowing this is too much, too close, too intimate but you can’t seem to stop, intoxicated by his strength, his affection, his essence.

Elvis’ still-damp cheek lingers against your own, and he presses his forehead gently to yours with a soft sigh. Then he pulls back slowly, just far enough to look at you, and you feel knocked over by his pure beauty. Honestly, you feel absolutely heady as you threaten to tip over and lose yourself in those churning, deep blue eyes of his. And, boy, they are churning, with things you can’t quite grasp. You watch as they search your face, his impossibly long lashes punctuating their every slow move. Holding your breath, your heart speeds up ever faster, and you wonder what it is he seeks in you.  

Your sadness and grief feel far away now as he plunders your soul, his gaze so alluring that you cannot even begin to piece through what is going on in any sort of logical way. You don’t understand any of it. All you know is you want more, and that feels forbidden in every way.

As if reading your thoughts somehow, his lips part. His eyes flutter down your face and land at your mouth. A shock runs through you as you think Elvis just might kiss you, and that terrifies you, not just because it would be crossing a line but because in this moment you want him to.

You want to feel his lips soft and sweet against you, then crushing into you. You want his body passionately pressed into yours as you cling to each other in the sparkling light of the Christmas tree. You want his large hands roaming your curves. You want to feel the strands of his dark hair between your fingers as you tug him closer. You want him to make you forget everything but the taste and feel of him.

These wants flash through you in an instant, shocking your system because he is so close that you almost can taste him and panic shoots through you. Never have you let your thoughts truly drift to that place with him, and opening that door feels very dangerous. Suddenly, with a wave of absolute certainty, an intuition you cannot explain at all exclaims that Elvis wants you more than anything in this world.

And that makes you gasp and pull away.

That cannot possibly be true. Nothing about the way he’s acted this past year supports that but something inside you screams that it’s real. It makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.

Elvis blinks and shakes his head as though snapping himself out of a daze. His hand falls from your waist, the spell broken. The soulful look in his eyes flashes with what almost seems like hurt, then apology, then regret. Without a single word, he turns and leaves.

Your heart plummets for reasons you don’t understand.

You must be confused. You are drunk. You are emotional. You couldn’t possibly have read the situation correctly. And yet the feelings awakened in your body surprise you and the look in his eyes haunts you as you sink back onto the piano bench, left alone in the silence.

*

Your eyes pop open at the memory. You had been very drunk that night and hadn’t remembered that moment until this very minute, yet another hidden facet of your long and suddenly complex relationship with your friend making itself known. Elvis had continued to keep his distance from you after that Christmas and had never even alluded to such an intimate moment happening, so you’d had no reason to think anything strange had happened at all. In hindsight, it seems awfully significant and feels like yet another thing he’s keeping from you.

Running it through your mind again, you swear he’d almost kissed you that night or at least had wanted to, which is shocking to you because 1960 was a long time ago. Still more shocking was that certainty you’d had about him wanting you more than anything, which couldn’t possibly be true.

Could it?

You shake off the thought. Emotions were high for both of you that night, and he obviously had thought better of it, but still…that prickle at the back of your mind keeps gnawing at you, those pieces of the puzzle attempting to slot into place. Maybe if you weren’t so damn tired and emotionally spent, you’d be able to figure out what your mind is trying to tell you. Maybe if your body wasn’t still aching with the memory of losing your child and almost dying, you’d be able to think clearly.

And your conversation with Sandy also sits uneasily in your mind. Running away ain’t gonna solve anything, her voice echoes in your head. You wish you had the strength she hoped you did, the strength to tell Jack to fuck off, to tell Elvis how you really feel, but it all feels so overwhelmingly insurmountable that you can barely even entertain the thought.

Heart pounding and wheels turning, you know sleep is out of the question and sit up in the bed. You get up and busy yourself instead. You feel as though you are racing the clock. It doesn’t take long to pack your bag, and while you are not frantic, you are determined. Mentally, you are ready to go. You have to go.

Unfortunately, things are not working out as you hoped they would. When the concierge calls you back with your fight arrangements, he informs you that there are no flights out of Vegas until 7:30am tomorrow morning. It being a Sunday night and with such short notice, there were no seats headed back east to be had. You thank him and reply that of course the morning flight would be acceptable before you set the receiver back on the hook and let out an aggravated scream.

You need out now. You are half inclined to rent a car and drive back to Memphis, but you know that is a terrible idea for a variety of reasons, namely being that you had no idea how to get to Memphis from here and being alone on the road for so long with no preparation sounded dangerous.

Fine, you think, I can make it through the night. I should tell Elvis in person anyway.

The thought makes your stomach churn because you know he will not be happy with this development. You’d rather not see the look on his face, but you also know it is the right thing to do. You just need to steel yourself to see your decision through and not be swayed by his charms.

Easier said than done.

And it doesn’t help that you are running on fumes and adrenaline. With everything that happened last night, the only sleep you’ve had was on the roof and that was short-lived and filled with nightmares. You took a shower after getting back to the room, but your mind is spinning too much to sleep, plagued with returning memories and creeping doubt.

You decide to get ready for the show as originally planned. It’ll be easier to gain access to Elvis between shows to talk if you do so. You dress accordingly, carefully putting on your makeup and doing your hair up nicely to give yourself as much confidence as possible. After repacking your toiletries, you grab your clutch and see the silky pink scarf folded neatly inside.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to put it around your neck. It’ll guarantee that Elvis will make time to see you, and you try not to shiver at the fact that the last time you wore this scarf, it led to a decidedly different outcome than it will tonight. The thought sends both warmth to your core and dread into your heart. You don’t want to leave him.

But I have to.

You shift your thoughts instead to Red, wondering and fearing whatever he might have planned. You don’t know if he is planning to sit on the information he gleaned from your leaving Elvis’ suite this morning, or if he is looking to cause mayhem immediately, though considering Jack has not burst in angrily, you don’t think anything has been said yet.

Either way, you have to warn E, and you have to get the hell out before the shit hits the fan.

The afternoon quickly turns to evening, and you pump yourself up on the way downstairs, despite the nausea in your stomach, the exhaustion in your body, and the ache in your heart. Now that you are somewhat a part of the show, it is easy to get backstage, and while you’re not sure how you are going to be able to wait the few hours the show will take, you continually remind yourself that this is what you must do. You have no choice.

But I do, I do have a choice, a pesky little voice chimes in. Stay.

Shut up.

By the time Elvis makes his way backstage, you feel like you’re about to jump out of your skin. The way his bright eyes light up when he sees you and then how they flash heat when he sees the pink silk knotted around your neck fills you with both desire and anxiety. Being near him weakens your resolve because his charismatic energy rolls over you even from this distance, and he just looks so damn good in that white suit of his, but you knew that this would test you. You force what you hope is a normal a smile, but you see a look of confusion flash over his pretty face before his usual pre-show nerves take over. But he does not come over to you, for which you are grateful.

The show begins with the usual fanfare, and you are surprised that even with everything going on in your head (or perhaps because of it), you still get swept up in the music, still sing the parts quietly that you have so diligently practiced. Regret hits you from another angle, one you did not anticipate. In leaving Vegas, you’ll also be leaving this—the show, the music.

Doubt creeps in in earnest throughout the show, putting your nerves even more on edge. You don’t really want to leave this opportunity, but the problem is you don’t think you have the fortitude to stay and to be able to resist Elvis.

The curtain closes and Elvis is surrounded, soaked with sweat, riding that post-show high that makes him nearly glow from the inside out. He wipes his face with the towel someone has draped over him, and you watch as he pulls Jerry aside with a glint in his eye, presumably to arrange your meet with him. But Jerry leans back and whispers something into E’s ear and that handsome face clouds with dark emotion. Then Elvis finds you past the crowd and his eyes lock on and you know. You know he knows by the hurt and angry look in his piercing blue eyes.

Sandy.

Goddammit.

As Elvis stalks over to you, pushing through musicians and instruments, it’s evident that Sandy has betrayed you. She told Jerry. And whether she meant for him to tell Elvis, you do not know, but your heart speeds up as Elvis crosses the backstage area in long, quick strides, with a wounded and feral look in his eyes that frightens you. It is not at all the same as the jealousy from the night prior; no, this is damage done on another scale.

You cannot help but back up as he approaches, nearly falling back over your chair, but he is on you in an instant, grabbing your arm firmly with one hand and your waist with the other, seemingly uncaring of the confused looks of his entourage that has been left behind so uncharacteristically. Luckily, Jack is nowhere to been seen, but you catch Red’s smirk before Elvis manhandles you into the hallway.

He doesn’t speak, not yet, though you see his brewing temper play over his face. Your heart drops because it is so obvious how you’ve truly hurt him, and he practically carries you back to the dressing room so quickly that you barely have time to register what that means. Once inside, he releases you and you tumble forward before he slams the door with too much force and flicks the lock.

As you straighten, you attempt to brace yourself for what you think you know is coming. Your nerves are on pins and needles, and you can’t help the lightheaded feeling that comes over you as you watch him fume. His chest heaves with both the exertion from his performance and his building fury, which makes for a dangerous combination.

You realize too late that perhaps you didn’t think this through.

“Is it true?” Elvis growls, rounding on you. “Are you trying to leave?” The pain is palpable in his stormy eyes and is layered with indignation.

The words catch in your throat. You finally force yourself to nod, attempting to find your voice in the meantime.

“What the fuck, y/n? What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” his voice raises, as he paces the room like a caged animal. His eyes are icy now, glaring at you in such a way that you feel it to your toes. His white suit clings to him with the moisture of his sweat, which gleams off his tan skin, distracting you.

You finally find your voice. “I’m leaving, Elvis. For my sake and for yours,” you breathe out. Your heart threatens to shatter at the words.

“The fuck you are,” he flips back at you.

“Excuse me?” you huff.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey,” he points at you sternly.

“That’s not up to you,” you sputter, blinking rapidly.

“The hell it ain’t,” he glares.

Elvis’ eyes flash and he advances towards you. Your heart thunders in your ears and you counter backwards until he has your back against the wall. He grabs your chin with his hand, his rings cutting into you.

“I thought I fucked some sense into you last night, but it seems I fucked it out of you instead,” he purrs dark and low, but it is laced with threat.

You hold back a groan at his words. The sound of his voice and the look on his gorgeous face as he rakes his eyes over you sends both dread and heat through you all at once. You should have known he’d put up a fight. This is why you’d wanted to leave right away. Resisting him feels insane and futile.  

“E, Red knows. He caught me coming out of your room this morning, and I just know he’s gonna make trouble,” you ramble out, trying to skirt around him. He boxes you in with his arms.

“Fuck Red. I’ll take care of him,” Elvis spits, eyes flashing but barely giving it a second thought because his sole focus is you. Then you see him eyeing his scarf around your neck. Wordlessly, slowly, he unties it, his calloused fingers brushing the skin of your neck and making you shiver. “Now tell me why you’re really leavin’, honey,” he commands, but the lilt in pitch betrays his sensitivity to those who know him well enough. And you do.

Oh, god, the way his smokey eyes bore into you, intoxicate you, has you frozen and your mouth dry. All the words you prepared to say are gone in an instant. You can’t tell him everything (you can’t), but his hurt and his need to dominate you because of it drives his actions, and you know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

“Hmm,” he shakes his head, a darkness overcoming him. “Guess I gotta find another way to get it out of you. Give me your hands,” he orders. You are caught in his gaze and feel powerless to deny him. Begrudgingly, you obey, holding out your hands.

You watch as he ties one end of the silky scarf to your left wrist. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Your brow furrows in confusion as he pulls your arms up, and it is then that you notice the bar, which must be used as a clothing rack, attached to the wall above your head.

Your eyes widen and your heart thunders in your chest. “Elvis, what’re you doing?” you squeak out as he wraps the scarf over the bar and attaches it tightly to your other wrist. Your arms are loose and your feet remain planted on the floor, as the bar is not that high up, but you are effectively trapped.

“Well, honey, you keep tryin’ to run away from me and I need answers,” he glowers, amusement playing under his anger.

“Goddammit, this isn’t funny, let me go!” you say shrilly, yanking your arms but only succeeding in making the scarf tighter around your wrists.

“No, you’re right, it ain’t funny at all. Were you just gonna steal away in the dead of night without talkin’ to me?” he asks, the hurt back in his voice.

“No, I…no, that’s not what I wanted…” But it is almost what you did, and he seems to know it.

His eyes flash with realization at your unspoken words, then narrow as he moves closer. You look away, shamed. He grabs your chin again, his rings cold against your skin, and forces you to look at him.

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.” He says it like a pleading promise and a stark demand all at once.

Oh, Jesus, it makes you ache for him in every way. You can feel your resolve crumbling around you, all your reasons for leaving melting into a puddle at your feet.

“We can’t Elvis. We can’t keep doing this. I’m losing my mind,” you say but Elvis has his head buried in your neck now, his lips and tongue dragging across your skin and setting your entire body aflame. Resisting him is like resisting gravity—an impossible feat.

“Why would you do this to me, lil’ mama?” he whispers in your ear, his hand brushing away your hair so his breath tickles against you. The sensation immediately has your body at attention, like a switch has been flipped. Your nerves tingle, your nipples stand at attention with just the temptation of that raspy baritone.

Despite yourself, despite the angel on your shoulder screaming at you, once again, that this is a bad idea, your mouth pops open with a sigh. His other hand cups your cheek as his lips travel over your face, so close that those long, dark lashes brush against you in their wake. This sends another thrill of sensation through you.

It’s agonizing that you can’t touch him, which you know is exactly the point.

Elvis presses you against the wall, and his thumb is dragging slowly over your bottom lip. It takes everything you have to not disintegrate right there and then. The way he makes you feel—it’s like you have no sense of reality when around him like this. He is your drug of choice. And you keep coming back to him again and again.

“Tell me why you don’t want me,” he asks in a boyish whisper, his bedroom eyes deadly serious, filled with anger and hurt and need and lust. All for you. Only Elvis could look so entirely innocent and completely sinful all at once.

His words cut you, as you think he intended. You wish you could make him understand, but your breathing is fast, too fast. You are dizzy from the scent of him, all sweat and musk. He’s dripping with it. Your eyes roll back.

“Dammit, E, of course I want you,” you breathe, “but when we get caught, which we are seconds away from, I’m the one who’s life blows up. I’m the one who’ll have to face the consequences. It all comes back on me, and…I don’t have anything without Jack.” You can’t let yourself forget it.

The way Elvis looks at you now is fierce. He grabs both of your cheeks roughly, his hands like fire against them.

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

The sentiment hits you sideways, flooring you. He’s staring at you so intensely you feel completely gone, weak. There is nothing else but him.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes seductively, nuzzling your nose. “Let me be your everything.”

Oh, sweet lord…

“Elvis…” His name escapes you like a hushed prayer. You are defenseless against him, your heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, stealing your breath away completely.

The temptation of what he is saying is so strong that you want to give in to him immediately. It’s almost everything you want to hear, which is the problem. You think he’ll say anything to get what he wants. You love him, but you know he’s a master at manipulation—it’s how he’s so damn good at his craft. It’s how he so effectively hypnotizes the masses. You think half the time he doesn’t even realize what’s he’s doing, but knowing him as you do, you know he is too shrewd for ignorance.

But part of you refuses to believe him, what he’s saying, even now. Part of you is still reeling from the pain and the fear of your recently uncovered memories. And the fact is, he is still hiding things from you, and you are still married to Jack.

Elvis bows his head, his soft lips now mere millimeters from yours, his hot breath mingling with the heat of your own. But he does not close the gap. He’s waiting, waiting for you to decide. He’s impatient, nearly shaking with anticipation.

You came here to end it, you did (didn’t I?), but he’s like the sun, pulling you into his orbit. Desperate, you find your voice, doing your best to be strong.

“Elvis, I am still married. You know as well as I do how complicated it is with Jack, and he’s not going to take kindly to this when he finds out. And he will. We both know he will. He’s your friend. You can’t have it both ways, and neither can I. But I can’t be near you without wanting you, so something’s gotta give. That’s why I have to go. That, and all the secrets, the lies…It’s tearing me apart inside,” you plead with him. And I know you’re keeping something from me, but those words don’t make it out of your mouth.

His brow furrows and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Then something significant shifts, that dark look clouding his eyes once more.

“Jack ain’t shit. Fuck him. And, baby, I’ll tear your marriage to shreds and throw it in the trash, just like that,” Elvis snarls, snapping his fingers in your face, his endless eyes burning into yours. His vehemence has you shaking, your eyes going big. “I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to pay off. I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

Holy shit.

A shocked beat, your breath held in a pause before it quickens again. Elvis is choosing you over Jack. Elvis wants you to end your marriage for him (or more accurately, wants to end it for you). This means that he is much more serious about this, about you, than you thought. Your heart plummets into your stomach and warmth blossoms over your body. You are both elated and terrified by what he is asking of you. All words escape you.

“Still need a little more convincing, huh?” His lip curls into a smirk, sending a coil of desire into your belly. Pushing you up against the wall, he grinds his hips into you, your arms straining against their bonds. You know now that this is his way, his way of proving to you the truth of his words. A whimper escapes your lips, causing him to grin even more. He has you right where he wants you, which is infuriating and exhilarating.

Elvis gets close, his full lips so tantalizingly near that you can almost taste their pillowy sweetness, but he still does not kiss you, only tempts you as his breath blends with yours. As much as you want to, you do not submit, you do not close the gap, your stubbornness and lingering doubt dampening your near-consuming desire.

All your churning emotions of the past few days keep you silent. Confusion, fear, anger, shock, love—all of it only fuels your passion for him, a love so consuming it eats you alive. But you also don’t want him to have the satisfaction of you giving into him. He’s right: he does usually get what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy on him.

Elvis watches your reaction carefully as he yanks your dress up over your hips. Then he groans, a deep, carnal sound as he grinds into you once more, his arousal evident and the metal of his ornate belt biting against your pelvis. You bite your lip to keep from making the noises that threaten to escape you, but your breathing is starting to become even more labored. There is an element of calculated control in his flaming eyes, combined with power and need. He doesn’t let you look away.

Elvis grabs the back of one of your thighs, pulling it up to his hip, running his hand over your bare flesh from your knee up to your panties, his fingers dancing just under the elastic. You hold back the hiss that wants to escape you. God, you want to touch him, to claw at his bare chest, but the scarf holds you fast and you grip its strong silk for dear life.

When he lets go just long enough to pull the zipper of his fly, pulling out his cock, your eyes widen, then fall closed. You feel as he tugs your underwear to the side, his fingers swiping through your folds. You bite your lip at the feel of his fingers prodding at you so roughly. But with your churning emotions desperately trying to keep your desire at bay, you are not nearly wet enough to take him yet.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do. You are powerless not to.

Reaching his hand up, he looks you right in the eye as he spits in it, then reaches down to cover his cock, lubricating it fully. You gulp. A shiver of anticipation races down your spine. Taking a long moment to gather more saliva, he spits in his hand again before snaking it between your thighs to smear your pussy with it, watching your reaction carefully. You can’t help but moan at the sensation of the warm slick.

True to his word, nothing stops him from taking what he wants as he brusquely lifts your legs around his waist and enters you with a quick, hard thrust and a deep grunt.

You gasp loudly at how Elvis fills you so completely, both with surprise and with pain of the pleasurable sort. You are so tight, too tight, and while your arousal pools, it has not yet coated your walls, making his saliva the only lubrication to ease the friction. You claw at the silk scarf, trying to push back against the wall in retreat, but he chases you, pausing for only a moment as you attempt to adjust to him. He starts rocking into you, but his thrusts are not gentle—they are powerful, claiming. You continue to hold back the noises that want to escape your mouth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pleasure.

“Why ya gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn, baby? You really makin’ me take you this damn hard to remind ya just who ya belong to?” he growls seductively into your ear as he drives into you harder. Your head falls back onto the wall and your eyes flutter. This shouldn’t be so satisfying, but you can’t deny how it makes you feel, how he makes you feel. Your arousal pools around him at his words, at his audacity, and it gives you away as he slides more easily in and out of you. Then that damn lip of his dares to curl up again into a knowing smile.

His baritone rumbles in your ear as he fucks you more vigorously, each thrust punctuating his words, as if driving them deeply into your body and mind. “I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight after this little stunt of yours, honey, not for one damn minute. In fact,” he chuckles darkly, “you’re going on stage with me for the rest of my shows, starting tonight. Your debut performance.”

You can’t hold back your choked gasp at that.

“You’re all mine now.” Elvis’ hand comes up and wraps around your throat, just tight enough to let you know he means it. “Now, be a good girl and say it for me.”

Your brain fights against him—possession is not love! Sex is not love! it screams at you—and you don’t want to give him this, but you know the truth of it: you are his. You’ve been his for a while now. And you relish in it. You want so desperately for it to be more than that, but you are too weary of denying yourself of the obvious.

“I’m…y-yours,” you gasp out. He fucks it out of you.

The corner of his mouth briefly lifts in satisfaction before returning to his relentless railing of you and his ongoing, heated diatribe: “You’ll stay in my room, my bed, and we’ll fuck whenever we damn please, honey. I don’t care who fuckin’ knows. Let Jack try and come for you…see what happens,” he threatens, grunting as his thrusts become more erratic.

You don’t even recognize the moan that comes from you at that. The fact that he will take Jack head on for you sends an inexplicable rush through your system. The coil in your belly tightens rapidly now, but Elvis is too far ahead of you, too consumed with his lust and his need to claim you as his own.

“Tell me you’ll stay,” he says in your ear. It comes out more needy, breathless, pleading, than you think he intended, which tugs at your heart, telling you what you need to know, at least for now.

You have no choice, not anymore. Neither your heart nor Elvis’ will allow it.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper, finally conceding.

“There’s my girl,” he groans, then plunges in so deep and fast that the wind is knocked out of you. You both cry out as he pulses again and again, filling and coating you with his need, his teeth digging into your shoulder as he climaxes.

You both gasp for breath, him from his release, you from the shock of his words as they settle within you. After a moment of recovery, he unceremoniously pulls out of you, sets you gently back on the ground, and unties your hands. Your legs feel wobbly and your hands tingle with a burning sensation, rubbed a little raw at the wrists. Elvis kisses each wrist softly, making that unrelieved coil in your belly cinch even tighter as he wraps the scarf around your neck. You wince at the pins and needles in your arms as you shake them to regain circulation.

You wait to see what he has in store for you next, but he just looks a little jaded, uncharacteristically making no effort to alleviate your need. He turns and walks all the way back into the bathroom, and you follow silently.

You look at him questioningly in the mirror as he cleans off, that coil in your belly poised and ready, but unfed. He’s never left you unsatisfied before. But you also don’t want to push him right now. Things still feel too tenuous.

He finally acknowledges you in the mirror, looking over your mussed and flustered state and immediately gleaning the reason for your hovering. “Honey…I’ll deal with you later,” Elvis tuts in a reprimanding tone, his left eyebrow raising, his blues still chilly towards you.

He’s being petty, but you suppose you deserve that to an extent. You resist the urge to pout, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing against the sweaty heat of his back. You want him to forgive you, want to be in his warmth, want him to love you as you love him. But for now, you’ll accept the relief of not having to leave him.

Let me take care of you…Let me be your everything.

The memory of his words sends warmth radiating through your chest, even if he just said it to get you to stay. Even if he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. And you are.

Elvis doesn’t move for a moment, just letting you cling to him. Then he turns, bringing you close, and he finally kisses you, his pliant lips pressing hard and fierce and wanting against yours.

“Don’t ever try to leave me like that again, baby,” he says, pulling away, looking deeply into your eyes. He is trying, you think, to be as possessive and demanding as before, but the edge of his anger has been tempered, quelled, and has turned into something more imploring. Then, with that quintessentially Elvispuppy-dog look on his face, he blinks slowly and quietly adds, “I need you,” as though just realizing it himself.

And, with that, you realize for the first time that despite all your doubts, despite what he is hiding from you, despite every obstacle that wants to pile against you, the shitstorm that is coming is still going to hit hard, but it will hit you two together.

*

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

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@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

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[a-whispering-echo]

The story of The Royal Mage - UE Dust log

(im copy pasting some of the info i have written on my AO3 about these characters, because i have a bigger following here, and i know some people here dont use Ao3, so-) TW: gaslighting, death of loved ones, torture , murder and accusations of murder, classism and racism, and a character who covers their head taking off their veil ( not a Muslim character) if there's anything else, i'm so sorry please tell me!

WATER TYPE

"The Halfway-Unhinged Mage"

Dust - (legally Navarø (Romanized) - Meaning Fallen powder) Half Elf Wizard Rouge -> Wizard Age: 47 (20-ish in human age) Height; 5'2 Gender: (trans) Male he/him

His perception is so high he sees enemies that "Aren't there."

Was once the royal mage, and executioner.

if he had to choose between his scarf and his life, he'll choose the scarf.

thin - Horror says too thin

While working, he was ordered for a bi-monthly check up with the Seer, and they prophesied that he would bring about the death of his brother.

He was immediately imprisoned and tortured on suspicion of plans to murder and treason. And under months of torture, he went mad.

Nüu, hoping to escape his fate, goes to Dusts work room, hoping that he may have made some sort of potion or spell for immortality. To his glee, Dust had a potion in the work for what he believed to be immortality.

Dust wrote all his spells in a language not Common or Dûvan (the native languages to the island.) A version of Old Elvish, taught to him by his father.

Unfortunately, Nüu had mistranslated his brothers words, mistaking "Painful Death" as "No Death" and dies slowly and agonisingly.

When Dust hears the news of his brothers death, he breaks out of jail in rage, and forces as much raw magic into his body as physically possible, in hopes of restring him. It works - in a sense.

He drags Nüu's body to a small local island, before he is recaptured. As the potion Nüu has drank had traces of Dusts magic on it, and knowing the prophesy, they believed he had killed him purposefully, and, under torture, he was manipulated into thinking he had.

As punishment for his supposed murder, his hair is cut (a huge thing for an elven culture, as elf hair is considered linked to their magic, and takes ages to grow, to cut is short is betraying all that is magical of you) and he has all of his potions tested on him in retaliation.

One of these potions makes him endure the feeling of his own death over and over, and for a large portion of time, he genuinely believes himself to be dead.

Until another one is tested, making his magical ability skyrocket, and he breaks out again, kills his captures, sets fire to the castle, killing the queen, grabs what is left of his notes and runs.

Due to this potion, his magic is completely unlimited, but he refuses to use it after what happened the last time.

While he says he doesn't use magic, he's so used to it that he uses it for small things all the time subconsciously. Strengthening the shadows around his hood, making sure Nüu's scarf doesn't come loose, deepening his voice to a more masculine tone, and hiding his chest.

He's still being searched for. He's very aware of this, and is terrified of what will happen to him when they do.

Nüu's body will never decay, and is kept in the mausoleum Dust dragged him to. He is very much dead and cannot be revived, but his body will remain forever due to the large amount of magic Dust pushed into his body.

The ghost is real. A mix between the actual Nüu, and a manifestation of Dusts overcharging magic, which slowly corrupts him as it is incapable of harming Dust in any physical manner. The overcharge turns Nüu very twisted, and makes Dust very tired, yet he refused to use any of it.

Nüu was the head of the guard, which is why it was such a big thing to assume he was going to be killed.

He owns a very shaky version of a teleporting machine, which is how he managed to travel the large body of water between the island of Thuva and the mainland.

He has a large scar across his right cheek, that he refuses to talk about. Everyone thinks this is because its traumatic, when in actuality, he just to embarrassed to explain it from landing of a tree branch weirdly after using his badly made device. Though he has improved these over time with the help from Error, and has them made for the whole team.

The island of Thuva is vaguely cult like. Their plan is to create immortal warriors and take the mainland for themselves, believing it to be their destiny.

The rich stay rich and the poor are disposable. Most people don't know they're being used, due to the strong divide between their rulers, and the settlements being so far away from each other.

The island is mostly full of elves and half- elves ( plus a few humans) but the majority are full elves, who look down of the half and human settlers. All half-elves are made to act according to Elf traditions, while humans aren't allowed to do much, and tend to lack rights. It's horrible place really.

Dust does end up using his magic again, unfortunately it takes extreme measures for this to happen. Killer end up falling off a cliff several years into them being a group, which leaves him out of commission for a long time. He's mostly fine, minus a few more scars in the end, but he breaks a bunch of bones and almost looses his arm. Dust could have saved him from falling, and the guilt causes it to use it again. He uses a lot of magic to heal Killer, with both spells and potions, and continues to regularly use magic again, normally potions he makes from his own herb garden, and spells if they need to attack. - (this story has been written on AO3!)

This also causes Nüu to calm down due to the less overflowing magic, and come back to his senses, and he tells Dust the truth about his death. He tells Dust that what happened wasn't his fault, that his captures had messed with his head, and that he hadn't had anything to do with his death, other than making the potion that was supposed to make his executioner job easier. This messes Dust up for a bit, as his whole perception of what happened had just come crashing down on him.

Despite his innocence, he doesn't stop veiling all the time, mostly just because it a part of him now, but he does take it off more, and lets his teammates see his hair.

Dusts eyes are normally red, but turn blue when his uses his water based elemental magic.

[rubberduckrobin]

𝗟𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗴𝗼.

Pairing: Scaramouche X GN!Reader

Summary: “I can’t want… I can’t want anything. I don’t deserve it. Then why do I want you so badly?”

Word count: Around 400.

Author’s note: Hello, thanks for checking this out. This is a really short one...I literally had this fic pop in my head just as I was going to sleep…why do I always get the best ideas late at night :,)

Anyhoo, enjoy!

Check it out (and my other much longer fics) on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abirdthatwrites_robin/works

TW: None that I can think of, perhaps just generally upsetting topics/thoughts?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“Can I have a ‘forever goodbye’ kiss?” 

You say it like it’s a good thing that I'm leaving. You say it with a teasing laugh. 

You say it and it hurts. 

I'll allow myself one moment of weakness if it's with you.

Only one.

Is it really weak to close my eyes when our lips meet? Or is the possibility of failure what's driving me crazy; with feelings of such fragility.

It's only a kiss.

My mind wants more of you but is that pathetic of me? I want you all to myself.

My heart longs for you but are the wavering beats enough stability? Do I love you enough? Do I love myself enough to love? Enough to love you?

Will I ever be enough?

That’s why I have to leave.

I pull apart, but you keep me in your arms just a second longer. 

Will I ever feel more than just your lingering touch and the warmth of your fingertips? Will I feel more? 

Will I grow tired and discard you, just how I would have back then?

I'm in no need of friends and certainly no need of the unimaginable something more. I'm sick of denying my feelings but I'm also sick of acknowledging them. 

Is the human heart beating in this manner considered normal? It feels as though I'm dying. Though, what really is dying without a purpose in life? 

You are beginning to be my purpose and I can’t allow that. I can’t have you live with such a responsibility; I don’t want to be a burden anymore. I don’t want you to be in danger. I don’t want…

I can’t want… I can’t want anything. I don’t deserve it. 

Then why do I want you so badly? 

Forever beating heart, for you, but in loneliness we never met. 

Is this how it’s going to end?

“Stay”

“You know I can’t.”

“Stay.”

“I can’t…I can’t stay.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

I never intended to fall in love. I never thought that it would be so difficult. So painful. 

And I never thought that it would be reciprocated. 

“And what does that have to do with you leaving?”

“You’re gonna get tangled up in my mess and I don’t want that.”

“I won’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I won’t.”

“Please just let me go.”

You hold onto my arm like it’s your own life. Do you really care about me that much? 

Just let me go. 

“No. No I won’t, Scaramouche.”

Hearing my name makes it hurt more. That’s not me - I need to escape my past. I don’t need to escape you, I need to free you. There's a difference. Why not do both at once?

Knowing you're safe makes me feel better. Not that I need to feel better. I’m fine, everythings fine, except me, and that’s fine. 

“Goodbye.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

End authors note: Thank you for reading! Have an amazing day/night :)

[fading-adhd-hyperfixator]

TW.

This might become a chapter series~

THIS FANFICTION IS A XMAS GIFT FOR @calcium-cat!!! <3 IT TAKES PLACE BEFORE CHAPTER 21.

Major tw for drowning, blood, and trauma!

Plot based off of @orbital-inclination's Molten Dream oneshot and @calcium-cat's One Small Dream AU, plus her oneshot Shattered Dreams 1 and 2 on Ao3!

Please take this angst, Cal. This is only the first chapter, of course. Suffer as you made us feel with chapter 21 and 22~

Some things that should never have been said chapter 1 - the accident (Word count over 2000!)

Dream sat in his room, in front of the ripped up (and, now that he truly looked at it, it was bad, awful, just as horrible as-) drawing on the floor.

The ripped drawing, torn straight in half, showed him and Nighty. Well, Nighty before this. They were in front of the tree, the scribbled sun shining brightly. They had been holding hands before Dream ripped it.

Dream felt.. numb. Sad, angry, but he didn't want to alert Nightmare with his feelings, so he pushed them far, far down.

He didn't want to be here anymore.

He crumbled the pieces of the drawing, put on his cape, and waited.

He waited until he knew no one would be awake anymore. He had decided to break Nightmare's rules, to leave, to find a way out of this 'AU', they called it. (Dream still didn't understand the concept of 'alternate universes', he was still only just a child.)

He opened his door, hearing the almost silent creeak as it slid. Dream began to walk towards where he had escaped before, his footsteps falling silently on the stone below, as he began to let free some of that sadness by silently sobbing. His head ached. He wanted to get out now.. before someone caught him. As Dream wriggled through the window, he began to feel better. (Although the feelings he buried deep down threatened to stir, as he thought subconsciously what Nightmare would think.)

He began to run after a bit, his shoes making the leaves and sticks underneath crackle and snap. He had gotten far enough away that no one would hear him. He wasn't sure if that would be a bad thing or not.

(Of course, how would he know? He was purposefully trying to do this. He didn't want anyone to hear.)

~~~

"Dream, listen to me! Please-!"

"I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF, NIGHTY!! I DON'T NEED YOU!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!"

His face fell, as Dream backed away before running away, far away. He began to lightly sob, as he processed this. His fingers gripped the soft grass below, as he-

..soft grass?.. The only grass around his castle was thick and piercing. This wasn't right. He glanced up. The Tree of Feelings.. and the village? He was confused, looking at himself. Purple clothing with gold accents. He gripped his forehead. A crown, with a moon engraving..?

This.. was not right. He needed to wake up.

And, as he felt the sharp, agonizing pierce of negativity in his soul..

..his eyelight opened. Nightmare sat up quickly, panicking at how sour and wrong this felt. He had never felt something like this before, not here. This was almost like a cry for help. This.. this was very, very wrong.

He pulled off the covers, silently slipping out and checking each room. All of them were normal.

..except for Dream's. Dream was gone. He was gone? This wasn't right, although Nightmare had very much established that before. This feeling was coming from somewhere else. Maybe he had left? But he knew the rules.Nightmare quivered, his negative goop dripping onto the stone floor as he pondered it.

...Maybe.. maybe he was still bitter from the fight. Maybe he didn't want to be with Nightmare and the others anymore. (Which, Nightmare would never admit this, but that possibility scared him more than death.)

He ran out into the (sickly) empty forest. So much fear filled him, he thought he would explode, as Nightmare ran through the forest, getting closer to the feeling..

He heard the rushing of the river. The river shouldn't be rushing right now. It was the middle of winter, for star's sake! Then it hit Nightmare that Dream could be inside the river. Inside.. those rapids.. the rushing water..-! He needed to find Dream. Now.

~~~

Dream couldn't see. He didn't know what had happened. Everything was cold, he had to hold his breath-

He had slipped, taken a few tumbles, and… fallen. Fallen into.. a stream? A river, perhaps? Dream couldn't tell. All he knew was that he needed to swim up. But which way was up? For all Dream knew, he could be upside down. He hit the bottom of the lake, crashing into a rock. Dream opened his mouth to cry out-

And water- horrible, bitter tasting, dirty water rushed into his lungs, his mouth-His lungs screamed for air, (metaphorically, skellies don't have lungs I'm just stupid) his eyesockets opened, and he spotted a light. The surface.

And then that light dimmed out. Dream was still conscious, he hadn't closed his eyes.. but what was blocking his vision..?

All he knew is that he was quickly thrusted out of the stream, coughing and choking out river water and bile onto the sandy shore below.

His vision began to fade as Dream collapsed, exhausted and scared. He didn't want this.. what was going on..?

~~~

Nightmare lifted Dream out of the rushing river just before he went out of sight, setting him gently on the shore as panic filled his soul, his entire being. “DREAM!!”

As Dream fell, he was lifted gently with a tentacle and taken into Nightmare's arms, as Nightmare hyperventilated a little. Sure, sure they were immortal to old age or any natural causes.

But murder or something like this could still kill them.

Nightmare frantically pulled out his phone, and sent a single text.

'River. Now. Bring monster candy and run.'

And he waited, holding Dream's shivering, small figure. Dream's soul was filled with fear.. and some incomprehensible emotion.. perhaps hatred? He looked down at the puddle Dream had choked out. How long had he been in that stream before Nightmare came? How long had he suffered?

Dream's HP was.. scarily low. Nightmare couldn't exactly heal it due to how terrified he was, but he could at least look for the wound.

There.

Nightmare lifted up Dream's wet shirt and stared at the fracture that ran through the back of Dream's ribcage and spine.

That.. that was bad.

Where were his boys?..Had they not woken to the text?Maybe he should call.Yeah, maybe that was it.

But as Nightmare stared at the bloody crack, he couldn't

move

a single

bone.

He couldn't even process how dull and cracked Dream's tiny soul looked. He didn't process Dream's health

slowly

depleting

to 1.

And, when he did, he still couldn't move. Nightmare stared at Dream's small, shaking body as panic set in, quicker and heavier than before.

“DREAM!! WAKE UP!!”

Where were his boys when he needed them?! He sent another frantic text, before calling Horror.

It took a moment, but eventually the phone was answered. “mmm.. boss?.. it's 3 in.. the morning..” Nightmare couldn't help but feel a twinge of humor at how ridiculously tired Horror sounded.

“You didn't get my text?..” Nightmare mumbled into the microphone in such a blank, sorrowful tone that disgusted him. He was the Guardian of Negativity, and he was upset. But, then again, he was upset over Dream.

“..I'm looking right now. You sound upset enough, I know it's probably important. .. I'll be there with Cross, Killer and Dust in a moment. Whatever it is, please be safe, boss.”

The phone clicked, as Nightmare realized the kindness in Horror’s tone.

And Nightmare sat there, holding Dream as he focused everything on making sure Dream didn't lose the last of his HP.

~~~

Horror pondered things while he dressed and woke the others. He went into the kitchen to wait.

Nightmare had sounded so sad..

He took a few bites of the leftover food that Killer had set out, before wondering why Dream hadn't come outside during all the chaos.

Probably just asleep.

It was too early for him, after all. He'd never get to sleep if he was up at this ungodly hour. He didn’t even know why Nightmare needed everyone, and he said he needed monster candy..?

All Horror knew is that none of his (brothers) co-workers were missing. It worried him.

Perhaps just a peek into Dream's room..

He started toward the cracked door, footsteps growing slowly faster when it seemed like he would never get there.He opened the door quietly, the whine of the squeaky hinges causing Horror to wince before looking inside.

Pieces of ripped paper and broken crayons on the floor. His Nightmare doll on the ground, like he had thrown it into the wall. Cape missing. Pajamas on the floor. Shoes missing. Bedsheets torn aside and strewn around the room.

Horror.. was now feeling his namesake, as he yelled at the others to hurry up. He ran as fast as he could to the medicine cabinet, grabbing every single monster candy they had and a few bandages, stuffing them inside his coat pocket.

He began to dash back out, before running into Cross. He almost knocked the oreo-looking skeleton over, quickly apologizing before trying to run again.

He felt a light pressure on his arm, and turned to Cross.“..You're never this upset, big guy. Tell me what's wrong, and take a deep breath, okay?..”

Horror felt a little relief, and sighed, explaining how broken Nightmare had sounded on the call....

and the fact that Dream's room was a mess, the small space no longer holding the small positivity guardian. Cross went silent at that, eye lights searching Horror’s face, concern and mild fear in them.“..Killer, Dust, hurry up. This could be something related to Dream. He's not in his room.”

Killer and Dust immediately picked up their pace, albeit not very much. Horror grimaced. “..I've got the candies. Grab some bandages and meet me out there.” Despite knowing he already had a few, he knew that he needed to prepare.

He ran out the door, eventually hearing the river rushing...

..and Nightmare yelling Dream's name. Oh, dear stars, his fears were true and Dream was hurt, he was hurt, Horror had a right to worry and maybe he would never even see that little smile ever again and yes that struck him harder than any blow he'd ever taken even from Undyne-

“HORROR! HERE, QUICK!!” Nightmare's dread filled voice cut Horror out of his panic attack as he ran over to look at Dream. Upon seeing how soaked, and shivering and cold the poor thing looked, he texted Killer ‘bring a towel.’

“Boss, tell me, is he hurt, how low is his HP, and how long has he been like this?!”

Nightmare took a deep breath before responding.

“He's got a severe fracture on his ribs and spine, I've been keeping him from dusting, he's at 1, and..”

Nightmare trailed off. Horror caught from the guilt on Nightmare's face, that Nightmare had not been here when Dream had fallen in. “..I brought bandages.” Horror mumbled before gently lifting the small bittybones’ shirt and taking a better look at the broken bones.

Oh.

Oh stars.

Oh stars oh stars oh stars oh stars-

“..Horror?..”

Dream was really hurt this bad? This could've killed him, he should've come sooner-“

..Horror, you're pulling at your socket, you're spacing out.”

And all that guilt came crashing down on Horror as he stared, filled with his namesake, at the bloody fracture.

“-Horror!”

He blinked as Nightmare waved his hand in front of Horror's face. He gently removed his fingers from the side of his face, feeling the sore pain of his soft eyesocket. “..We need to focus on Dream right now.”

Horror sighed and began to carefully wrap the bandages around the tiny bones, minding when Dream let out a water-filled pained cry through his unconsciousness, muffled through Nightmare's hoodie.

He turned Dream onto his back, popping a candy in his mouth before leaning back and attempting to take a deep breath.

That failed.

As did the next attempt.

He spaced out on the dark, cloudy sky, beginning to hyperventilate. He pulled his skull down in between his knees, barely holding back tears.

He stayed like that.

Maybe Horror believed that it was too late.

~~~

Horror still layed, spaced out in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Killer, Dust, and Cross had arrived, and they had gotten Dream back to the castle. All Horror could see was that frail, injured, tiny, shaking, cold, wet body. Did what he feel count as feeling traumatized?

He didn't register the hand waving in front of his face.

He, of course, didn't register the voice saying his name.

Until it got louder, of course.

That hurt his already aching skull, as he went to groan and hold his head, he felt cold tears.

Had he been crying?

He hadn't noticed..

His senses slowly flooded back, and he registered Killer's half-gloved hand waving in front of his eyesockets.He turned his head, to see.. Killer was worried? He didn't have enough strength to register what Killer was saying, until it hit a quiet, shaking level of worry.

“..Horror..? ..You okay?.. You're k-kinda scarin’ me..”

He shook his head and everything flooded back.

“Oh.. oh yeah.. yeah, I'm okay.”

Okay or not, he felt an aching feeling pulling down his soul like blue magic. Fear. Doubt. Guilt?

He waved Killer away.

“..You should try to get some more sleep. It's 3:37.”

“Ah- y-yeah- of course-..”

Horror turned to the wall, trying to begin spacing out again.

But he noticed that Killer.. never actually left?

He looked back, seeing Killer hesitate

.“..We’re both worried, Killer. You should go to Nightmare. I think Cross is doing first watch on Dream tonight.”

Killer was silent, as he nodded stiffly and left the room.After a while, Horror's eyesockets shut.He had fallen asleep.

But that nagging guilt still tugged.

~~~

Dream was tired. He could make out that much. He felt the pain. He felt the cold, until someone had wrapped him up. Someone had given him candy.. and bandaged him?His head still ached more than anything. Hadn't they fixed it? Or maybe that was the adrenaline in his soul wearing off.

From all he knew, he had hit the bottom of the river. He had passed out after.. Nightmare saved him? Was it Nighty?

He really didn't know right now..

He wanted Nighty now.

He wanted to hold his goopy tentacle. Dream knew that Nighty was not near. From what little awareness he had, Crossy was with him.

He wanted to wake up.

Yes, that was what Dream wanted!

He needed to get up! And apologize!

After all, it was pretty early.

Or maybe that was just his head aching that convinced him of the time.. it could be the middle of the day for all Dream could know..

Eventually, Crossy swapped for Rory.

He wanted a hug from Rory.

Dream was in pain again.Like when he lost his tooth, but a billion times worse..

Okay, maybe he was overreacting.

Even a child could tell that much.

---

It's mine and a few others' headcanon that Horror pulls on his socket when he's nervous! :3

I accidentally cut off the last few sentences, but I'll pop them into the next chapter <3

merry christmas everybody!!!

[intrulogical]

dollhouse

angsty logan & remus introspection, T, 1.2k words.

!! please check the tags on ao3 for the tw's !!

summary:

"do you believe in god?" well, that wasn't supposed to slip out. logan hears the rustling of clothes— possibly remus quickly shifting positions out of shock and sheer confusion. "logan, it's 2pm. it's prank time. like, ice bucket challenge but with slime kind of prank time. where the hell is your mind at right now?"

read here <3