#barely managing the hyper fixation

[neroburningrome]

Day 1 of creating Mustang and Hawkeye in Tomodachi life and doing everything in my power to make them fall in love 🕵️🕵️🕵️

I heard that couples are hyper random in the game but I'LL DO IT 😤

[satoruhour]

I’m a satoru girl through and through but….I saw this headcanon post on tiktok saying that geto would grip the head board with one hand…and I’ve never been the same.

a/n: this got a little kick to it ngl! a little half assed bc i havent been writing properly these few days and rather just rambling. tagging my geto fuckers @na-t0 @crysugu @slttygeto

warnings: fem!reader, reader has a hand kink, fingering, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, sex in geto’s parents’ house, finger sucking, n*sfw under the cut

anyone who’s met geto suguru knows he has pretty hands and arms. when he explains the differences between his curses, you’re only looking at his hands, at how he summons them and absorbs them back into his being. when geto drives, the way his muscles tense and release against the black shirt make you clench your thighs together.

the winning thing to finally get you to release a breath is the hand on your thigh, squeezing and feeling around. it’s routine. he’s always done it, but you aren’t sure why the feeling is so vivid now.

“what is it, darling? you keep sighing.” your boyfriend’s eyes are still on the road, unaware of your predicament before he finally has the chance to turn to you: all hot and bothered and heaving. “are you okay? we can turn back around if you’re feeling nervous.”

you were meeting his parents, of course you were nervous! but all you do is reassure him with a hand to his and a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

but dinner is as difficult as it is — “suguru, may i have a tissue?” his mother calls out, not wanting to bother you even though you were closer to the tissue box. geto reaches over your plate with an apology, muscled arm right up to your face that you suck in a breath. your lover takes four prawns, but you already know he’s on his way to peel two for you.

he digs at the prawn’s skin and pulls, rips out the legs and takes off the head, not even hearing his father’s question about what you’re majoring in because you were too hyper-fixated on suguru’s fingers. you pray that he never finds out about this, but he manages to tease it out of you later in his bedroom which his parents have kept clean. the bed fits you perfectly fine, geto’s fingers try their best.

“this why you were so distracted this evening?” geto laughs into your skin, enjoying the shyness you’re exhibiting. even now, you’re trying to hide the way your eyes flicker to his hands that pump in and out of you, mewling into your shirt.

“y—yeah . .” you mumble, grasping at his biceps to be close to geto.

he coos, “oh, baby . . could’ve just said so.” he indulges you, leaning forward to kiss you as his fingers move at a lazy pace, strictly for stretching you out before you’re left empty. you’re no stranger to geto’s cock, and yet the size always takes your breath away.

“now . . gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” geto nudges his tip past your folds and you’re taking quick breaths. you can barely hold his stare, legs coming around to hug his waist. “don’t want my parents hearing how the sweet girl they met just now is actually a filthy little thing.”

you nod.

“tha’s a good girl . .” geto sucks in a breath when he comes right up to the hilt and he thinks he might just cum with how much you’re clenching around him. you’re always so good to him, so pliant and so caring, little broken sputters of his name leaving your lips.

“su— gu— ru—!” he makes a statement with every accurate thrust, threatening you to let out louder sounds than now. he’s so so afraid of his parents walking in, because despite his instructions, he’s not exactly following. his grunts are getting louder and spiralling into moans, not to mention, your pussy is just crying for him.

“you’re so— wet, sweetheart.” suguru drags a hand down to your clit and plays with it, making you arch your back off the sheets and grind your hips back onto his. he tuts. “aht! down, baby. i know you’re eager, but i want you to— f-fuck . . let me do all the work.”

geto smiles a little when you obey, purposefully flexing his arms a little more to wind you up. if the hand on your clit wasn’t enough, the other works its way up your body, spanning the beauty of your stomach and just feeling you. they trail up even more to your face where you lean into his touch and then they’re above you.

you make the mistake of glancing up, seeing how his grips his headboard so damn tightly it’s clear that your cunt is the only cunt to make him feel this way — his biceps tense and move together with the headboard, the uncomfortable squeaking definitely giving you two away. well, the sounds of his balls slamming into your ass was also another indicator, coupled with the squelching of your pussy.

“eyes up here, sweetheart.” you’re caught. again. there’s a smug smirk on his face at your clueless face, having no chance to apologise before he uses the hand on your clit and sticks his fingers in your mouth. you moan around them, grabbing on his wrist immediately to suck on them. geto twitches in you at the sight, rough thrusts stammering just a little and you give him a smile back.

geto chuckles, “what a slut.”

thank u for requesting! request something here ☆

[littlelovelunette]

What kind of people do you think the arcane characters become when they have a crush? Only asking this because I personally go insane when I have a crush 😭 and I’m eager to know about all the stupid shit they’d do. I’m mostly curious about Ran, Sevika, and Vi but you can include whoever you want lol. Tysm!

LUNETTE’S ARCANE HEADCANONS

CONTEXT— Reader is their girl crush!

Features Sevika, Vi, Jinx, Ran, Ambessa Medarda.

TAGLIST: @belldonic @theluckymania @jinxsprinc3ss @slodkayerim @justhereforvibesxd @boom58 @lluxentzz @imconfusrd @thecreativeblueberry-blog @xxlreader @doktorblitz @mommyissuesismypersonality @thecreativeblueberry-blog @doktorblitz @jannesyjane @romanticangel555 @lovelystars-everett

Sevika !

Sevika doesn't necessarily believe in falling in love but whenever she does she's in denial.

She glares at you from miles away, and you get the shivers often because of that.

Sevika often tries to remember the little things she sees of you. Like one day, when she sees you picking up some of your favourite flowers, she stays to make a mental note of the flowers.

Sevika stays up most of the night contemplating whether she should confess to you.

Sevika learns to make coffee for you the way you like to make it.

She can't keep her heart under control whenever she sees you, her heart thumps so loudly against her ribs she has to restrain herself with everything in her to keep herself from grabbing you up and peppering your face with kisses.

Sevika never believed before that soulmates exist but oh when she saw you she just knew you're the one.

Sevika makes up so many things in her head all night as she figures out how to ask you out, but she ends up asking you out by paying for your drink.

Vi !

Vi is never subtle about it.

If she has feelings for you, she tells you straightforwardly and tries to charm you with her pretty smile.

She may stutter sometimes.

Vi fantasizes about you in bed all night long, and writhes in her sheets, rolling over back and forth.

Vi practices her charms in front of her mirror and sometimes you catch her doing that when you walk past her apartment and happen to glance at the window. You giggle to yourself. “She's so funny…”

Vi makes your favourite meals for you, and practices making your favourite desserts as well. She struggles a little, but she manages to pull it all off surprisingly well.

Vi tries to act cool in front of you and flexes a lot. You often either brush her off or giggle at her showing you how taut her muscles are.

Vi gets turned on when you express your awe over her expertise at scaling buildings and running about Zaun.

If she gets you jewelry, it's likely stolen…

Jinx !

What are the chances she'll kidnap you over the excuse of having feelings for you and fearing rejection? High.

Jinx brings you sweets. And sweets. And more sweets.

She gives you hypothetical scenarios where she confesses to you but barely gives you the actual statement.

Jinx randomly says “That's mine,” and you're not even holding anything so you point to yourself questioningly and she just nods.

She paints graffiti art of you all over her hideout and you're surprised when you see it. She mutters, “Don't ‘wow’, I'm embarrassed,” she's barely blushing. Jinx knows her art looks good.

Even when you're not with her, she talks to you in a low mumbled voice.

Jinx is hyper fixated on your laugh.

Jinx will kill for you. Literally. But the contrast runs deep— she's very capable of just knitting you a scarf for the winter, too.

Ran !

Ran is very shy about having a crush on someone.

Whenever they see you, something in their body makes them go horribly clumsy and suddenly they forget how to even put one foot in front of the other and walk.

STUTTERS. They stutter a lot around you.

They make you little handmade gifts and that's more than you could've ever asked from them. They're always so thoughtful, like a metal wire twisted and barbed into your favourite flower or a glow-in-the-dark pendant made from scratch.

They keep you miles away from Shimmer. They just can't bear the thought of you acting high on Shimmer because of all the things they've seen at their line of work.

They assume you already have a partner but when they hear you don't, oh boy, something twists in their heart. The need to confess heightens.

They have a cork board in their room decorated with pictures and details about you.

Ran finally confesses with a cheesy scenario— some sort of romcom playing as they confess with flowers in a fancy bouquet that they definitely blew their paycheck on. They're nervous but when you say yes, they literally jump from joy.

Ambessa Medarda !

When Ambessa likes you, she tries to convince herself that you won't be safe around her but the need to hold you in her arms and tell you how much she loves you is overwhelming so she gives in eventually.

Ambessa sends you anonymous love letters all the time and expensive perfumes in fancy packaging.

Even if the fear is mild, Ambessa is fearful of loving you because the times are just not right for her.

Ambessa appreciates your beauty through rich forms of expressions like painting and poetry.

She observes you from afar, noting down the little things about you— your nervous habits, your favourite desserts, favourite kind of wine. Everything.

Ambessa doesn't stress too much about whether you say yes to her or not. She's convinced you will, and if you don't… she could always ‘keep’ you.

Ambessa pays attention to detail a lot and has custom gowns made for you and delivered to you anonymously so you can feel pretty and doll up.

Ambessa confesses to you with grand gestures only because she claims you're a lady who deserves only the best.

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

The TEC boys with a goth reader. The reader is hyper fixated on anything gothic like the music, fashion, books, horror movies, that type of shit

Rock Lobster

Summary: TEC x Goth! Reader

TW/CW: F slur, stalking

A/N: Anon, you have every right to kill me for how delay this is. That goes for all the other anons as well however, I’m going to get through these requests. Slowly, but surely <3

- God, you were terrifying to Bill

- His whole sphere’s been filled with comics and superheroes, so for you to just waltz into his life, looking like “something out of a Halloween store”, it’s too much for him

- He probably watches you from the sidelines honestly. You can be the most friendliest person in the world, and he would still scream internally if you get near him

- What’s worst is that your interests don’t really align with his. In fact, you remind him of his sister, Jane (a red flag, cause we all know how much they get along/S)

- Definitely snuck around in his sister’s room to see if he can find any talking points (*cuts to Jane beating his ass for being a “creep!”)

- If he really likes you, will fake any and all knowledge of goth culture to impress you. Catch him in the lie, and he’s a blubbering mess before telling you to “Fuck off” and storming away red faced

- If you do managed to date, be prepared for confusing glances and terrifying sounds

- You introduce him to any goth music and he’s melting like the Wicked Witch of the West

- His knowledge of goth clothing is sneering at the kids who go to Hot Topic, so actually showing him where you shop will probably give him a heart attack (especially if said stores have a grimy feel to them)

- Weirdly does like see you do your makeup. Especially trad goth style, it’s also entrancing seeing you put a full face of white foundation before everything else (He will get mad if you chuckle about it)

- The other members make fun of him for it (probably seeing your both freak4freak), and unfortunately, he wouldn’t stand up to you (part because of embarrassment, part because pride)

- It’s going to take a while for him to accept, but he will, in his own way

- Josh practically shat himself when first saw you doing your makeup

- He associates goth with bullies, considering their “intimidating” appearance and how you carry yourself

- Like Bill, he watches from afar, but unlike him, would try stay away from you as far away as possible (the club would be ruthless to him the moment they realized you’re the reason he’s acting like this)

- Can’t get you out of his head, though. Will spend nights researching that band album you carried when shopping at the vinyl store, or that band poster you keep in your locker. You entrance him

- Even in his dreams you appear, almost seducing him in a way. It leaves him flustered and frustrated

- Once he finally talks to you, it’s nerve wrecking. He barely gets out a sentence before screaming and running to the opposite direction

- If you allow him, he’ll organize your collection. You probably would have to both do it, less he ends up organizing in such a way that only he knows what to do

- Touched every single object you own. This is like a whole new dimension for him honestly, and he’s worried that this is all a dream to him; that somehow, he’ll wake up and realized that his stupid brain was playing mind tricks on him

- Would die if you also got him a goth shirt. Pretends he hates it and will throw it out in front of you, only for him to dig it out of the trash and sleep with it occasionally.

- Pretty secretive about the relationship, deathly afraid the club will torture him to death once they find out

- Overall super anxious about this new subculture

- Now, Pete thrives off of horror and goth

- He knows the subculture like the back of his hand, so him seeing you has his eyes bulging and heart thumping

- Will stalk you to your local hang outs and favorite store. He wants to see if you’re a “true” goth (mf isn’t even goth himself smfh)

- Will “subtly” (blatantly) quiz you about any goth/horror stuff he personally knows. Will blow his mind once you answer his questions correctly

- Will get giddy thinking about you, before getting super pissed for being a “sissy” and “turning him into some kind of fag!”

- Will be the most open about the relationship. Always dreamed he get a goth partner, and now here he is, having one

- Would be on his hand and knees, BEGGING to do Juggalo makeup on you cause “ICP counts, right?!”

- Music taste are almost in sync, so you two can bond about the latest hits and maybe shit talk any albums you hate

- Tell him about your favorite horror movies. It’d be like his heart skipping a beat every time you mention a movie he’s memorized like the back of his hand

- Won’t dress goth with you, though. Probably thinks it’s “gay”, and will tell you off if you try to convince him otherwise

- Will need to be detained over how feral he is over you.

- Jerry’s sort of in the middle. He’s not screaming and running away from you, but will stare at you…menacingly

- Will stalk your MySpace profile (or any others you have). His eyes captured every little detail you mentioned in your bio and such.

- Wouldn’t be surprised if he kept detailed notes on you and your hobbies, friends, what makeup you buy, clothing stores you frequent, etc.

- goes to said locations to “people watch” your crowd. He stands out like a sore thumb, but doesn’t really care, cause he’s weirdly that dedicated to finding out about you and your “quirks”

- Wouldn’t mind if you test your makeup on him, but lipstick marks on him will drive him up the W A L L! Will be going to school with them on

- Squirms every time you introduced any of your goth culture to him. He has no idea why you like this stuff. Reminds him of Pete, except both less and more creepy honestly

- Makes a DnD character heavily based on you, trying to not make it seem he’s been stalking you this entire time.

- Would like it if you took him to those places he’s (secretly) been to (more special once you finally show off your “safe space”)

- Probably even gets out of his comfort zone while dating you. Actually starts to listen to different artists, sees new movies, maybe even tries a new clothing style (it always fails)

- Overall weirdly simple, but cute (and creepy)

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (inter-chapter)

18+ 1.5k. homelander x f!reader. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, masturbation, voyeurism, panty sniffing. fic directory | AO3 for all you dirty birds who fixated on this paragraph from chapter six, enjoy Homelander taking care of himself while you get your beauty sleep 🖤

He’s been gentlemanly in your time here, accepting of your hand in his, your lips on his cheek. When he wakes up hard as a rock with your body pressed to his, he’s taken care of himself in the bathroom. Frankly he’s been more than a gentleman; he’s been a fucking saint.

Mornings with you have proven… difficult.

Homelander knew from the beginning that he wanted to take things slowly. When he first kissed you, your eyes closed and your lips slack with sleep, it was confirmation both that he had to have you, and that he wanted more from you.

It isn’t enough to take what he wants anymore. He craves love and kisses and touches that are given without hesitation or reluctance. He craves someone who will love him the way he loves.

However, he now finds that he’s fighting a daily battle with himself. Every morning that he wakes up to the heat of you pressed into him, your scent in his lungs, it comes with a throbbing ache between his legs. He managed to ignore it until you woke up that first morning, but today he’s up even earlier.

The sun hasn’t quite risen, the beginning of dawn only just starting to light the sky. Before you he only stayed in bed for four, maybe six hours on any given night. Now it’s closer to seven or eight, though he spends around the same time sleeping that he did before.

Which means you likely won’t be awake for a few more hours.

Based on how shallow your breaths are, you’re deep asleep. He’s got both of his arms around you, the right one under and the left one over. He wonders if you have any idea the depth of the effect you have on him, even when you’re unconscious.

Tentatively, he lifts his left hand and strokes lightly down your side, pausing at your thigh. He squeezes slightly, testing your slumber.

No response.

His cock, on the other hand, gives a needy throb.

Licking his lips, he holds you still and just barely grinds his clothed cock against the curve of your ass, letting go a quiet shuddering breath. The slow caution of his movements make him hyper aware of every sound and sensation, and the thrilling wrongness of what he’s doing only intensifies his pleasure.

Emboldened by your persistent unresponsiveness, he starts to rock his hips gently, the head of his cock rubbing a wet mess onto his own pants. The friction is fucking delicious, and he has to repeatedly stop himself from squeezing your thigh hard enough to wake you.

His hand slides up, lifting the hem of your sleep shirt. Your skin is warm and smooth under his fingertips, and he’s more than a little tempted to slip his hand in and caress the rest of you, feel your breast in his palm, knead it while he grinds against your ass.

You would be soft and yielding under his palm. He could make you writhe, make you moan, teach you things about your own body. The heat of his mouth and the curl of his fingers would have you screaming his name if you’d only abandon your misplaced misgivings and instead give into everything he’s offered you.

The thought alone has him biting back a groan. He nuzzles at the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, lips parted so that he might get enough breath to taste you.

It’s too much. He has to wrench himself away before he can’t stop himself. With determined carefulness he extracts his arm out from under you and slips off of the bed, lightly using his flight to make the transition smoother.

He pads barefoot to his bathroom and closes the door, blowing out a sigh as he leans against the frame. Without preamble he shoves his hand down the front of his pants and grasps himself at the base, letting his head drop forward, his eyes falling shut.

He just needs to blow off a little steam, and then he can go back to enjoying you.

Starting slow, he pumps from the base to the center of his cock, letting himself remember the feel of you against him. Your scent still lingers on his skin, making it easier to imagine that his hand is yours.

In this particular fantasy, you know precisely what he wants. What he needs. You kiss him leisurely, taking your time before you slip your tongue into his mouth. At the same time he imagines how you would sound whispering sweet nothings into his ear; praise, admissions of love, gratitude. You’re thanking him for what he’s given you, and for all that’s yet to come.

Including him.

Too bad his hand is dry and his grip too tight. He has to stop and start several times, flexing his fingers, growling impatiently at himself. Your hands would be soft, your pussy would be wet, and he would be cum-drunk on the taste of it.

Lifting his head, he stares at the door, lids heavily hooded. Bit by bit the wood disappears, and he continues to focus his vision through furniture, walls, honing in until he can finally see you.

Instantly he’s taken in by the sight of your mouth, the soft curve of your parted lips. The shine of them is enough to hurl him into a new fantasy where he’s on his back and you’re straddling his thigh, stroking his cock and tonguing his leaking slit.

He’d be able to feel the heat of your pussy this way, how badly you want him, how hungry you are as you take him into your mouth inch by agonizing inch. You could grind against his bare thigh to your heart's content while you take him apart. He flexes his thigh at the thought, imagines how the jump of muscle as strong as his would make you moan around his cock.

Yanking his hand up he spits generously into his palm, fumbling with his pants briefly in his haste to shove his hand back in and jerk himself, panting as the pressure of his impending release gradually builds.

The facsimile of you in his mind moans as you grind against him, the abstract nature of fantasy allowing him to jump seamlessly from moment to moment, from one position to the next and then back again. Your breasts in his face, in his mouth, pressed against his chest as he fucks you. Your sopping wet cunt squeezing his cock, quivering against his tongue, soaking his fingers, his thigh, his face. 

You exist in a hundred positions all at once, your voice overlapping on itself, whispering everything from filth and praise to sweet, desperate pleas. He would kiss and lick every single word from your mouth. 

What puts him over the edge is when he imagines how I love you would taste from your lips.

Homelander moans louder than he should and comes hard, hips jerking with each heavy ribbon of come that soaks his hand and the inside of his pants.

He lingers like that for a long while, hand braced on the doorframe while he comes gradually down from his high, watching you peacefully slumber away all the while.

As the endorphins fade, the cold of the empty bathroom begins to seep in. While his thirst may be slaked, the deeper, gnawing hunger at the core of him is far from satiated. He withdraws his hand with a sigh and wipes it on his pant leg before he pushes the garment off, collecting it to toss in the laundry bin.

He lifts the lid of the wicker basket, but the contents give him pause. Obviously he would expect to find clothes in a laundry basket, but this is his first time seeing your clothes in his basket. Inexplicably, it rushes some of that fading warmth back into his system.

He never would have anticipated something so simple to strike such a chord in his heart.

Dropping his pants into the basket, he hesitates a moment before he reaches in and fishes out the very underwear he bought you. Closing his eyes, he brings the soft fabric to his mouth, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply from it. His hand drifts back to his spent cock, cupping the waning stiffness of it and giving a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“Fuck,” he sighs, a shiver rolling up his spine. This is much better fodder for his fantasies than the echo of your skin on his alone. He drags his tongue along the silky fabric, closes his mouth and sucks at it. He strokes his softening cock slow and loose, milking it for the last few drops and tingles of his orgasm.

This tangible reminder that you exist, that you’re here, that you’re his, feels so much like intimacy it’s intoxicating.

He’ll have to remember this for next time.

Once he’s had enough, he tosses your underwear back into the bin, gives himself a quick wash, and pulls on a new pair of sleep pants.

By the time he slides back into bed, slipping his arms around you just as he had before, the sun has begun to creep up over the horizon. You’ll be awake soon, and he’ll be ready for you. 

He gently squeezes your back to his chest, savoring the feeling of coming back to a warm bed for the first time in his life.

Though certainly not the last.

[chimckenns]

Like David, Angel also had their fair share of late nights spent doing work.

David blinked, staring at the empty ceiling, waiting for his mate to finish. They told him to go to sleep early, knowing he had a big job tomorrow that would keep him busy the whole day. David reluctantly took them up on the offer.

But he should have known. Without Angel in his arms he couldn’t sleep.

So he stayed awake, waiting. A few minutes turned into half an hour. Half an hour turned into a few hours. David rolled to the side and peered at the clock. 3:02am. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with a hand and decided it was enough. He wouldn’t let Angel work themselves to the bone any further.

Once Angel starts a task and focuses on it, they go into this hyper fixated productive mode where time slips away and they can’t stop until the task is finished. Sometimes David would come home to find the house literally sparkling, and his mate standing in the middle of it, a mop in hand and headphones on. Usually he’d laugh, amused at their random bursts of productivity and join them. But tonight was different. It was late. He was beginning to get worried.

He wiggled his feet into his slippers and made his way to their office. Surely enough, there was Angel. Eyes glued to the screen and fingers typing like they were doing a wpm test, dancing across the keyboard at amazing speeds. Angel didn’t even notice David walk in as they were too focused. They only paused their work when David picked them up a bit, scooting them forward so he could sit behind them, arms wrapping around their waist and his head buried in their shoulder. He breathed in the smell of their shampoo, and felt himself relax. The same couldn’t be said for his mate though - their shoulders were so tense they felt like they were made of steel. David frowned.

“It’s late, Angel. Come to bed.”

“Sorry, Davey.” They reached around and ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp just the way he liked. “Did you miss me?” He could hear the smile in their voice.

“Yes.” David huffed into their neck, too tired to add any humour into the statement. “It’s late. You need to go to bed or else you’ll feel like shit in the morning.”

Angel sighed, finally moving away from the keyboard to lean back against him, closing their eyes at the feeling of David’s lips against their neck and his arms wrapping tighter around their waist. David knew all their spots that made them relax, and it effectively distracted them, pulling them out of work mode. He smiled as their shoulders finally relaxed, falling away from their ears.

David’s body was so warm, and his arms around their waist, the soft breaths along their neck, and the steady heartbeat they felt against them lulled Angel into sleep. They felt their eyelids droop, feeling heavier.

“Just… let me finish this paragraph and save the file.” They managed to say, earning a grunt from David.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

David stayed there, holding Angel from behind and nuzzling his face into their neck. He closed his eyes, feeling himself relax at the feeling of his mate’s body. He made sure to press a few kisses to their skin every few moments, letting them know he was still waiting for them to finish.

He perked up at the sound of the laptop closing, and turned them around, giving them a kiss on the lips. It was sweet and chaste, and Angel had a tired smile on their face when they parted.

David picked them up and carried them to their bedroom, hands holding them up by their thighs as they wrapped their legs around his waist. He set them down gently on the bed, and pulled them back into him, letting them nestle into their usual spot - head on his chest, and arm wrapping around his side. They both let out a deep breath, relaxing into the mattress and each other.

Angel could barely whisper an “I love you” before they fell asleep. David responded with one last kiss to the temple, and slowly ran his hand up and down their back.

[jkthiighs]

I fell into LotR - chapter 1 || [x reader]

❀lord of the rings/fellowship men x reader (eventually) ➔classic 'girl fell into middle earth' plotline. self indulgent ❀ word count ; 4.1k

 The Fall.

       Maladaptive day-dreaming. You never realized there was such a fancy term for your overactive imagination. Though you suppose, given its definition, the term fits like a glove. They call it ‘excessive’, however, and that’s where you have to disagree. You weren’t that bad... Were you? Imagining you were someplace different, some fantasy land compared to the current day and age– who wouldn’t? Doesn’t matter which side of the political tree you’re on; war is still war, and necessities are too expensive. Life is bleak, and yours, particularly, has been mundane. 

        Go to work, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat. The only thing that made existence tolerable was the little scenarios you came up with in your head. Your own personal ‘What If’ series that you’d play out quietly during your tasks, on your drive home, or in your bedroom late at night. It had always been this way. You thought you would grow out of it as you hit your adult years, but if anything, it got worse. When you saw a movie or read a book that particularly spoke to you, you’d spend months imagining yourself within the story, how you’d interact with the characters, how you’d spend life in their world. Your favorites were the works of Tolkien and George R. R. Martin, always managing to hold your attention and adoration over the years, never being able to stray far from them mentally. 

        Your hyper-fixation had been reignited over the last few days when you decided to watch the extended editions of the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy in one sitting during your day off from work. ‘The Hobbit’ trilogy had been your favorite to watch by far, having seen it probably a hundred times since its release, but you had only seen the first trilogy once or twice. Controversial, to be sure, but you blamed your fascination on Richard Armitage– rather, Thorin Oakenshield, for that opinion. 

        Most of your imaginings, or ‘shiftings’ as tiktok likes to call them, take you into the company of the dwarves... but tonight was different. Tonight, you stood in the middle of Rivendell’s courtyard, looking out into the great cascade of waterfalls that littered the mountainside as beautifully as the surrounding leaves fell from their branches. Music blasted through your earphones, a way of focusing your mind and deafening the obnoxious sounds of your upstairs neighbors. It didn’t matter which song you played, for the longer you stared at the wall, the sooner it disappeared and melted into the dreamscape you longed for. 

        You imagined yourself to be standing by the railing, wind licking your cheeks, tossing your hair playfully as it passed by. The scenery became clearer and clearer, and the carpet beneath your bare feet even seemed to turn cold, like it was stone. You must have been staring off into the distance for a while because your eyes began to burn from being too dry. You lifted your hands to rub them, and as you did so, your stomach fluttered as if you had the faintest sense of falling. However, when you opened your eyes again, you were in the same spot as you were before, but now it was… different. You could see into the distance, and it wasn’t fuzzy like it usually was; the details didn’t blur in a haze. The air itself felt alive, fresh, and you could hear birds chirping past the sound of your music. ‘Odd. ’ You rubbed your eyes again, blinking a couple of times, but nothing changed. The walls of your room did not return; in fact, you didn’t even realize they had gone missing. ‘Okay, what the fuck.’ Your heart began to quicken, but you took a deep breath. It was only five steps from the edge of your bed to the wall. If you walked that length, surely you’d meet your bedroom face-first and end the dream with a headache, right?

        You turned from the railing, facing the tall pillars and great halls that lay behind them, and took a step forward. One. You were beginning to think that maybe you were just having a bad trip, maybe you got too high, and now you’re paying the price… The problem with that, though, is that you don’t do drugs. Or drink. So… Now what? Another step forward, that makes two. Your heart has taken up a steady rhythm of thudding against your ribcage, and you fidget with your hands nervously. As breathtakingly beautiful as the scenery was, it was now becoming all too real. Impossible, surely. Your third step forward. At this point, you were considering sticking your hands out in front of you so that you didn’t smack yourself face-first into the wall, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself even if there were no witnesses. There was hesitation in your fourth step; your foot hardly wanted to pick itself off the ground, but you gathered your resolve and took your fifth and sixth steps in quick succession. 

        There was no wall. Your bedroom was gone. And it was then that you realized you were standing in Rivendell for real, in the flesh. Time froze in that moment as your mind raced with thoughts too quick to comprehend, but the theme of it was along the lines of: ‘How is this possible? Am I dead? How do I get home?’ Each with no answer. Your head swiveled back and forth as you looked, really looked, at your surroundings. There were elf guards in the distance on either side of you, but they were pretty far ahead. Far enough not to have noticed you yet. Other than that, it was a quiet autumn's eve. Then, after a few long minutes of deliberation, you decided you should go talk to them. Maybe Lord Elrond would know of some magic that could reverse whatever brought you here, or at least summon Gandalf and ask him. However, you found yourself frozen in uncertainty. How do you even explain your coming here? Who you are, or where you are from? Would they believe you? You looked down at the clothes you were wearing. ‘Damn.’ The one time you don’t take care to imagine yourself in a pretty silk gown is the day you’re thrown into Tolkien’s universe. ‘Just great.’ You were wearing a pair of high-waisted black jean shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass, and a white front-tie cropped shirt that had a v-neckline so deep it made the fact you weren’t wearing a bra plain as daylight. Men at the bar would have been drooling, but the people in this land would curse you for your indecency if they didn’t pass out at the sight of you first, for much more than your ankles were on display. 

        You drew in a shaky breath as you tried to steady your reeling head. You needed a plan. An excuse. ‘Maybe I could just say that I’m a witch? That could explain a lot, right? But then I would need powers or proof…’ You reached into your back pocket for your phone and were met with nothing. Your hands frantically started patting down all other areas of possibility, as if you had more than two pockets, but your phone had disappeared. Bringing up the question, where was the music from your earbuds coming from? You lifted your hands and took the buds out simultaneously, staring at them in your fingertips. Nature's orchestra had instantly taken their place, filling your drums with the dull roar of white noise and accented with the chirps and tweets of birds flitting through the trees. The grandiosity of it all hit you like a truck as your eyes lifted to take in the sight again, but in that small moment of admiration was when your earbuds disappeared from your fingers. It was a minute or two before you realized, and it was a little saddening, though it made sense, you supposed. Anything not from this world wouldn’t be accepted– would be…unmade, but then again, why were you still here?

        ‘Well, this is just fucking great,’ You cursed bitterly to yourself, rubbing your temples with your now empty hands. You had nothing. No abilities or semblance of home. It was just you here, stuck. But the prospect left you considering: Do you even want to go back? What was there that was worth returning to? Isn’t this most people’s dream: to be dropped into their favorite fictional universe? You took off towards the direction of the two elf guards on patrol, but they were further away now than before. ‘Damn. These people walk fast.’ You took up a brisk stride, making an effort to catch up with them, but as you walked, you could feel the cold seeping into your bare feet with each step. The wind seemed sharper than before, and even through the fair temperature, it had a bite to it. Leaves drifted past you as you traveled along a stone archway, not daring to peer over the side and tempt fate further. The trees that enveloped the mountainside were a spectrum of evergreen, red, orange, and yellow hues, making plain the season. This truly was a beautiful place, but whatever god that was in charge of your suffering just couldn’t let you enjoy it, could they? 

        It took a glimpse of your shirt turning transparent before finally fading entirely, did you realize the reason behind the sudden temperature change. Your clothes, like anything else you had owned, disappeared without a trace. You could have laughed, honestly. Instead, you stood there, exposed and in disbelief. Could it get any worse? Yes. Of course it can. But for you, there was only one option now. You booked it to the nearest doorway you laid eyes on, careful to keep your footfalls as silent as you were capable of. A sheet, a tablecloth, shit- even a curtain. Anything would work at this point. Not that you were religious, but you prayed for the gods– any god, to throw you a bone, and since you were in elvish territory, fuck it. Beseech the Valar while you’re at it. 

        You make it past the threshold just as the guards had turned their heads in your direction. Your eyes searched frantically for anything to cover yourself with, and as luck would have it, you had chosen a door that led into some type of kitchen. Herbs and spices replaced the scent of wet earth from outside, copper pots hung from carved hooks above stone countertops, and bundles of dried flowers stirred faintly by the same wind that stole away your mynute sense of modesty. You dipped quickly behind a long table as your heart pounded in your ears. Blessedly, this room was empty of people but not barren. There was a linen basket near the base of another doorway that caught your eye. You gathered your courage and scrambled towards it like a man possessed, tearing the thing open with shaky hands. ‘Jackpot.’ Inside were meticulously folded lengths of fabric–some sort of table runners or ceremonial cloths smelling faintly of floral scented oils. They were smooth and lightweight, uncolored silk. You didn’t dare complain, and you didn’t have time to feel guilty for theft. 

        You gathered the fabric in your arms and ducked behind the door and the wall, which offered you some cover. You could do as the Romans do, but you decided on a different route. A saree. You’d seen a few tutorials, having awed over the elegance many a late night, but without your phone, your innovation would have to suffice; beginning at the waist, you wrapped the end of the fabric around yourself, tucking the fold where your hip curved. You secured it with mutterings of ‘please god make this work,’ and started folding the next sections into pleats–messy and uneven, but enough to mimic the distinctive cascading drape. In all the videos you’ve seen, the models usually wear a petticoat underneath, and you just had to hope that step was optional. After tucking the pleats into your waist, you swept the remaining fabric around your back and over your shoulder, letting the edge fall across your chest, forming the pallu. Anxiety had you fussing with the edges, tucking one side under your arm for security, and trying to cover your side-cleavage as much as possible since you didn't have a blouse. It was nowhere near perfect or symmetrical. Shit, it probably wasn’t even correct. But it worked. There was that. 

        At the very least, you weren’t naked anymore. You poked your head through the doorway and looked in each direction. Elrond’s sanctuary seemed like a maze, so it was a coin toss on which hall led to civilization. You decided on left and took up walking once again. Though you couldn’t walk very fast, mind you. Any sudden movements threatened to undo the folds around your waist, but it was a small price to pay for semi-decency. It didn’t take long after that for your wandering to be noticed, and you were soon met with a handful of guards who had arrows pointed directly at your face. ‘Dang, it really is just like in the movies, huh. Rather an arrow than a gun, though.�� 

        The surrounding guards eyed you suspiciously, clearly not impressed with your choice of attire, though you never expected to be greeted with compliments. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?” Their voice was clean and clear, tinted with an accent you couldn’t name. You damn near missed what they said though, considering you were staring at the arrowhead that was aimed between your furrowed eyebrows. There was hesitation as you considered your options. Say the wrong thing, and you’d find out if Rivendell featured dungeons. But… What was the right thing to say? What time period were you set in? You’d have to guess, and needed to tread incredibly lightly. In an effort of peace, you raised your hands slowly to show you weren’t holding any weapons. Your voice was soft, delicate, but held an air of provocation to it, having seen enough in the high-fantasy genre to mimic their speech patterns. “Do you think I could have made it this far unchallenged, without an invitation?” You glanced between each of them, gauging their reaction. You were bluffing, obviously. But you were hoping that maybe you had arrived at the same time as the Company. Delusions of grandeur had entered the chat, snuffing out the need to go home and making you think that maybe you could see the line of Durin not so quickly snuffed out, and since you were seemingly stuck here anyway, you might as well make the most of your presence. However, you knew that elves would be the least gullible out of all the races.

         “Your Lord Elrond is expecting me. Could you take me to him?” Your heart was steadily thudding in your chest as all the possibilities flashed through your mind, and it took every fiber in your being to maintain composure. There was a flicker of…  something in the eyes of the elf in front of you– doubt, or reservation perhaps, but certainly not mercy. 

        “Lord Elrond is busy entertaining his other guests. If you were truly summoned, why are you not with them?” He said it coldly, with a slight tilt of his head that made plain his disbelief. But his statement gave you hope. ‘Other guests? Then that means the dwarves must be here already.’ Another guard stepped closer, scanning you up and down with a detached curiosity. Up close, the way they moved–fluid yet precise, economical–they weren’t just aesthetics. They were warriors, and you were just a girl in the grand scheme of things. You didn’t even get the chance to lie and say you had gotten lost before–  “Search her,” the third guard murmured. The fourth approached, and you flinched slightly as his fingers grabbed your arm, feeling the cold press of his gauntlet through the silk. “This cloth–” The one holding you began, eyes narrowing. “It was taken from the kitchen stores.” 

        “A degenerate and a thief, then.” Another replied. That one stung. But in their defense, you were baring a scandalous amount of skin even with the linen draped around you. “Or a spy,” one added. The first, probably the leader, spoke up again, but it wasn’t in English common tongue. It was Elvish, you knew. Fluid, fast, and filled with sharp consonants and words that bled into each other like smoke. You couldn’t understand even if you tried, but situational awareness told you that to them, you were a problem. And problems were never welcomed in Rivendell.

        “You will come with us.” The first one declared, not even glancing your way as he spun on his heel and started the march forward. The others slowly lowered their bows, but did not un-nock their arrows. “Where to?” You asked, biting back the anxiety that threatened to spill from your throat. “Lord Elrond, as you wished.” The reply was simple, however, you couldn’t imagine this situation was gonna play out how you wanted it to, because it never could just be that easy. 

        Clearly, the gods liked playing cat-and-mouse with your dignity, because you didn’t even get to walk there under your own volition. No amount of protests, threats, curses, or pleas swayed the elf who had an iron grip on your arm, steering you along with enough force to make your feet stumble beneath you. ‘The dwarves were onto something, these people are kinda rude.’ There would definitely be a bruise there later, but it was hard for you to blame them, even if you could feel the saree coming undone at your waist. Their job was duty, not sympathy. 

        As they led you—more like herded you—through the pale stone archways inlaid with silver, the halls blurred, your feet whispering against the marble floor. Finally, they shoved you firmly into a vast, echoing chamber of carved stone and filtered starlight. The walls shimmered faintly with runes, silver-veined and ancient, and high above, a skylight poured moonlight through an intricate lattice of crystal and carved metal. It bathed the floor in ghost-pale patterns, like rippling water. At the center stood two figures deep in quiet conversation. One, cloaked in muted tones of grey, leaning heavily on a gnarled staff that clicked softly against the floor as he moved: Gandalf the Grey. The other was tall–taller than you expected–and ethereal, looking as if he had stepped from a painting made by the gods themselves: Elrond the Half-Elven. 

        He turned at the sound of your entry, and the world stilled around his gaze. The Master of Rivendell didn’t need to raise his voice, for when he spoke, even the walls listened. “What is this?” Lord Elrond asked, his gaze more piercing than anything you’d ever known. It raked up and down your form before flicking once to the guards at your side, and under his scrutiny, all thoughts and half-baked plans left your mind. It was much easier to imagine a thing than actually do it. This had to be how people who meet celebrities feel. Fangirling, though, wasn’t an option. You had to play it cool. But holy fuck, did seeing these two characters have you dumbstruck. “We found her wandering the inner halls,” one guard answered. “Clothed in stolen tablecloths. She claimed you were expecting her.”

        Gandalf raised an eyebrow as his blue-grey eyes took you in—amusement and suspicion dancing beneath his shaggy brows. ‘Alien’ radiated off you as vibrant as his fireworks, and yet he looked like someone who had expected oddness today and still found himself surprised. “Indeed?” The half-elf muttered. “And what else does this woman claim?” 

        Obviously, that was your cue to speak, but nothing came. No words; you were a deer in headlights. Stuck there, just staring at the two with naught a clue of what to say. ‘Hey, so I’m actually from another universe. Care to send me back?’ or, ‘Hey, I have main character syndrome and want to join in on this life-threatening quest just for funsies!’ There was nothing you could rationalize that made any amount of sense, and as the silence stretched on, it became harder and harder for you to speak up.

         A loud tap that echoed more in your mind than in the room came suddenly, seemingly from Gandalf’s staff. It startled you, but it brought you back from your spiral inward. “You–your guards… said you were entertaining other guests, but I haven’t seen them. They wouldn’t happen to be a group of dwarves and a hobbit, would they?” Gandalf’s head tilted slightly, though he said nothing. Elrond’s face, which was already unreadable, grew a tad bit colder. 

        “We’ve more hobbits than dwarves, as of late.” He gave a slight quirk of his brow, glancing once toward the wizard beside him as if confirming that your strangeness was painfully apparent. Gandalf came closer, muttering to himself as he inspected you like one would look over a meteorite fresh from the sky. You paid him no mind besides a furrowed brow, and stepped slightly to the side to better stay in Elrond’s line of sight. “Forgive me, my Lord. I just–...might I ask who currently reigns as King under the mountain of Erebor?” Your hands were trembling now, a manifestation of the anxiety coursing through you. Gandalf’s gaze sharpened, intrigue finally piqued enough to give voice to it. “Why do you speak of dwarves, child? Who do you presume is here?” 

        Your mouth opened to respond, but again you hesitated. As you turned to face the wizard, and your eyes met his, you found it increasingly difficult to conjure a story. ‘Shit, he can’t read minds like Lady Galadriel… can he?’ You couldn’t remember. It was hard to think straight under the pressure of these two immortals. The answer was yes, but thankfully, he hadn’t decided on doing so quite yet. 

        “Is this why I summoned you? So that I might educate you on Middle-earth’s current monarchies?” Lord Elrond, as graceful as he is, sounded a bit annoyed. To which you understood, for surely a ruler had better things to do than fuss over a random’s inquiries. You chewed the skin of your lip. You didn’t want them to kick you out so soon, but at the very least, Gandalf seemed interested in what you had to say. “Forgive me, your Grace. I meant no offense.” You bowed your head as you raised your hands in a gesture of peace. They don’t go over manners and proper etiquette much in the Tolkien universe, so you mimicked what you saw in Game of Thrones. That always seemed to work. “I’m simply trying to gain my bearings. I...I'm a bit confused.” 

        “Dáin Ironfoot took control of Erebor after the line of Durin fell.” There was a tinge of sadness in Gandalf’s voice as he spoke, but his gaze remained fixed on you as he watched for your reaction. The words processed, registered, and then struck hard. Your inability to change Thorin's fate saddened you, and it also meant that any purpose for yourself you envisioned died with him. However… If Oakenshield was dead, then that meant this wasn’t the adventure you’d hoped to take part in. It was a darker tale, deadlier, and would explain why the two immortals in front of you seemed so weathered and tired.

        “Thank you,” you muttered, eyes drifting to the floor as you considered your options. There was no use mulling things over now. You felt defeated, but you tried not to show it. “You said ‘more hobbits than dwarves’... I take that to mean Frodo and his friends are here instead?” 

        That caught Elrond’s attention. Those in Rivendell and those summoned to the council were the only ones aware of the hobbit and his possession of the ring. “How do you know this?” The half-elf turned to face you now, stepping closer as he studied you. You raised your gaze to meet his, but the weight of his scrutiny made you glance to Gandalf for help. The wizard only reflected the same sentiment as Lord Elrond. 

        Finally, you answered. “I know a lot of things… And it’s because I have seen the future–I know the fate of the One Ring.” The lie spilled through your lips before you considered the weight of it. While it was technically the truth, you couldn’t just recite three movies' worth of information at them. That had to be breaking some sort of interdimensional time travel rule. However, you knew what they would ask of you before it even left their lips: “Prove it.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ next chapter

format © starmapz. dividers © chachachannah & cafekitsu

[notquitecanon]

Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until- 

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond?  an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket. 

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already." 

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold." 

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us." 

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack. 

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could. 

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!" 

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you.  Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you. 

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed.  Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared. 

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing." 

"No promises." 

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards  was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt. 

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more." 

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern. 

____

Ambushed in the night.  

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept. 

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow. 

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest. 

And Astarion? Their target? 

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger.  With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion. 

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart. 

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over.  Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying. 

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion.  With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body. 

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt. 

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief. 

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name. 

"SHADOWHEART!" 

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared.  All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night. 

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled. 

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort.  You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you. 

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart.  Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.  

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first. 

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.  

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake. 

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them." 

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out." 

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed. 

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you. 

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.  

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste." 

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier." 

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something. 

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered? 

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-" 

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed. 

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood. 

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape. 

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying. 

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you." 

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse? 

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him. 

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy. 

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck. 

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with. 

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile? 

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being? 

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.  

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand. 

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it. 

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl." 

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?" 

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you. 

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation. 

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

[shapard]

Yeah I just got a idea for a scenario, if you don't want to that ok. date night with lucifer playing untitled goose game, I know it's not ducks but would still be funny 🤣

Playing the Untitled Goose Game with Lucifer🪿

Fluff, Lucifer being a boomer

Lucifer x Reader

Lucifer was working on one of his dozen duck’s creations. 

He was too deep into his work that he didn’t sense you coming from behind.

You called out his name and he was startled at your sudden presence that he jumped up from his seat. 

The duck flew out of his hand flying into one of many piles of little ducklings. 

Dumbfounded he looked at his hands, “… My.. DUCK!”

You watched guilty as Lucifer threw himself right after it, searching for it. 

After a while he came back up, “She’s gone…” He pouted, “Well, just going to make another one.” He stood back up fixing his hair and his tuxedo. 

“Luci?” You called out for him, he completely forgot that you were standing there.

“Oh- OH! Hello Sweetie!” In a blink of an eye, he had you in a death grip, hugging you closely against his body. 

He stepped back and gave you a wide smile. “Next time please knock, you scared the shit out of me.” He laughed nervously and looked up to you with his loving eyes. 

His eyes travelled on your hands which were hiding something behind your back. “What do you have there.” He pointed at your hidden hands. 

Remembering why you were here in the first place, you smirked and pulled out a game named “Untitled Goose Game”.

Lucifer looked at you confused. 

“A game?” You nod furiously. “Can you please play it while I watch? Like a little date?”

After a while of being in a relationship with him you found out that he hates TV, and everything that came with it. 

He had an old Tv and it barely worked. For you he made an exception and bought one of those newer Flat Tv (The newest). 

When you found that game you just knew you must play it with him.

It was a game about a Goose?!

Who doesn't like Geese?

Lucifer sighed, “You know I don’t like any Tv related things. Maybe something else, for tonight?” He asked nervously, fidgeting with his tuxedo.

After minutes of Arguments, you both were sitting in couple duck pajamas on the Couch.

You two were cuddled up together and he had you in his Arms.

He didn't look impressed at all.

He agreed to play that game with you if you wear couple pajamas, he bought few weeks ago.

And you gladly accept.

You explained to him the main controls of the controller and he started to curse:

“Why is this so complicated?”

“Why doesn't it work?!”.

“You’re being so dramatic.” You said and Lucifer glared at you. “Here you can move the goose.” You moved the link stick to show him. 

You danced in Victory when you saw him playing after minutes of rage.

Finally he pressed the right buttons.

With sparkling eyes, he walked around as a goose in the game he was already obsessed.

He moved the goose easily around the game and he honked at almost everything in the game. 

It was so adorable.

He loved this game. 

Even though he rages every time someone shoos him away.

Once he even tried to throw the controller at the human in the Tv. you managed to stop him just in time. 

He was very pissed at the humans in the game screaming every second: “Let me through!”

"How dare they not let me pass?! I'm the king of Hell!" You stroked his back, calming him down. "It's just a game."

It was a simple, stupid game but he loves everything about it.

And he’s secretly thankful you bought him this game.

He squealed like a child who got a Lollipop when he discovered he could swim in the little lake. 

Even when you fell asleep and woke up in the morning after you saw Lucifer still playing the game. Fighting with the urge to go to sleep. 

Maybe you changed his mind about Video games and Tv with this little date night.

He finally did something else than working on his hyper fixation about ducks.

But now he started to also make rubber Gooses.

A/n: I hope this meet your expectations! I completely forgot about this game's existence💀.

💫

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger

[antinousletmehit]

AAAAAAAAAAA

The hurt reader is amazing— I loved it sm

THANK YOUUUUU

now (tw : throwing up)

Since I still love the hurt thing a lot (god knows how much my ocs wanna kill me rn)as well as the the fact I’m a sadist when it comes to these things-

What if -and hear me out- reader managed to steal food lets say a batch of fruit or medical supplies or anything they were low upon in storage successfully! :D

Yay reader learned how to steal without getting caught!

Unless…

She did get caught (kinda) and gotten beaten up- like on her stomach so the bruises won’t show that much and a bit of hits on the face (but her stomach got the bad part of the beating)

but she still managed to get way with the things and she is like so happy and beaming at antinous when she gets back like “look brother! I managed to steal without getting caught!!” And he would be suspicious and would notice a few bruises on her face and the he gets a bit angry “yea? What about these bruises on your face?” While crossing his arms she would come up with something like I tripped and what not. He will let her off the hook this time since he was in a hurry and nothing seems that bad. But then that night he has to leave for the ring and leaves her some food (he might not come back until tomorrow’s noon perhaps he spent the night and day with a night lady he found)

So after the reader eats her food goes to bed she is still in pain then ends up throwing up and then she figures out it’s from the beating she took and can only stomach fluids without puking up

Would antinous notice what’s happening immediately or after a few days or what?

This story is my current hyper fixation I’m sorry if this is annoying-

Also on a different topic, do you have any designs on any of the charcters and how they might look like ?

(I kinda wanna see if I can make fanart of them)

Thank you and have a lovely day!🌹

AHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THJS IDEASAAA, IM GONNA HUG YOU. Fixated with my lil old fanfic STOP I’m blushing.

Antinous is a ASS FACE, he wouldn’t notice until a few days later, especially if the fight ring is busy, and he uses random women he finds as “stress relievers” to go about his day. After a few days he WILL find out, and when he does….its not gonna be pleasant 😭

It could go either two ways: one, he finds out while coming back home, then he sees you actively throw up and demands to know what’s wrong, he forces you to show him and explain to him what happened, after that you get a scolding and aren’t let out the house for a few months (brother of the year)

Or two: he notices late at night when he’s back, and he sees you’re sleeping weirdly and the blankets off, so he tucks you in but uh oh he finds out about the bruises, then wakes you up demands you to answer him and where these came from, you tell him the truth and he grounds you again.

———-

The moment Antinous was gone, she sank onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Her breathing was shallow, and sweat dampened her brow. The men who had caught her stealing hadn’t gone easy on her, their punches and kicks had left her battered and bruised, especially around her abdomen. She thought she could handle it, that the pain would fade with time. But as the hours passed, nausea began to churn in her stomach. She stumbled to the corner and retched, her body convulsing painfully.

The next few days were a blur of fever, pain, and vomiting. She tried to hide her condition, staying curled up in bed and pretending to sleep whenever Antinous came back to rest between fights. But she couldn’t hide the sound of her heaving or the way her face flushed with fever. When Antinous finally returned home after a particularly grueling fight, he found his sister hunched over a bucket, her frail frame shaking as she threw up yet again.

“Y/N!” he barked, rushing to her side.

She flinched at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him with tear streaked cheeks and a pale, sweat drenched face. “I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice barely audible. “You’re not fine,” he snapped, kneeling beside her. “What’s wrong with you?” When she didn’t answer, he reached out and gently pushed her hands away from her stomach. His heart stopped when he saw the bruises, dark, angry splotches that marked her skin. His expression darkened, and his jaw tightened as fury bubbled up inside him. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. She shook her head weakly, tears spilling from her eyes. “I didn’t want you to be mad…”

“Mad?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Y/N, you could’ve died! Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“I just wanted to help,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Help?” Antinous shot to his feet, pacing the small room as his anger boiled over. “You think getting yourself beaten half to death is helping? You think lying to me is helping?” He turned back to her, his eyes blazing. “You’re not leaving this house. Not for months. You’re banned from going anywhere!” Her tears flowed freely now, her sobs wracking her small frame as she stared up at him. “I was just trying to do what you do!” she cried. “What I do?” he snapped, his voice dripping with bitterness. “Y/N, what I do is dangerous, and it’s not for you! You’re not me, and you’re not going to end up like me. Do you understand?” She didn’t respond, her sobs muffled by her trembling hands.

Antinous clenched his fists, his anger simmering as he looked at her small, broken form. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to do this,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “I’ll take care of us. That’s my job, not yours.” She nodded weakly, her tears still streaming down her face. Antinous crouched beside her, his expression softening just slightly. “You scared me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t do that again.”

She nodded again, her sobs quieting as exhaustion overtook her. Antinous stayed by her side, his anger replaced by guilt as he watched her drift off into a fitful sleep. He swore to himself that he would do better—that he would protect her, no matter what it took. Even if it meant keeping her locked up from the dangers of the world.

——————

I love tragic siblings, but anywyas AHHHHHHHH FANART?? YOU FLATTER ME but anywyas.

For Antinous his design is basically just Duvetboxes design (on YouTube) but he has A LOT of of scars on his body everywhere. ( yes including the blind eye) the only thing distinct is that he has a matching earring with his sister his being a sun on one of his upper ear piercings, and hers being a crescent moon.

For reader you can use any design but I always see them with: tan skin like Antinous’s, dark brown curly hair, scars on her upper torso and legs, and gold earrings that match her brother’s (after her and Telemachus finally started to love each other she matches earrings with him so it’s crescent moon on left, and star on right)

Again, I love duvetboxes designs so it’s here again. Only thing I need to add is the star earrings, light brown hair, and he has a little star brooch that smells like lavender (wink wink)

ORRRR

This scrumptious design of Telemachus by Tenoart, your choice.

And if you want Eurymachus, he’s blonde and green idk

[foggymyst]

What's this? Me barely managing two weeks on schedule only to take away this schedule? Yeah, sounds about right for me. Good news, I've found a new video game I like, bad news, I will be heavily hyper fixating and thus unable to be horny, apologies for the inconvenience.

Also, finals week, so that's gonna be big stress, but I'm officially done with classes in three weeks, so uh, yeah, just let me take my time rq (I'll go through the on poll inductions in order of highest votes)

[corgiplays]

When they got back everything seemed normal, better even. Until the mandatory curfews that suddenly started. Chloe went to Auradon Prep for a year before Red came and they time traveled, so when she heard about the curfew it pulled her in a loop; seems like things have changed in this timeline.

Their first night Red and Chloe weren't yet aware of the curfew. So while walking back slowly to their dorm, chatting about how weird everyone acted and how they were shoved out of a store the second the sun set the rustling from the tree line leading up to their campus didn't set off alarm bells yet. As the rustling grew louder Chloe pulled out her sword and urged Red to continue walking; as if she was going to leave her princess alone.

The rustling turned out to be a giant wolf that neither girl has ever seen, bloodlust in its golden eyes as it tried to attack them, only managing to injure Chloe a bit before running off, its prey too much work to kill. Red panicked as she helped Chloe the rest of the way to their dorm, the red that stained her hands and clothes looked wrong against Chloe's soft blues. But with bandages wrapped the two agreed to not tell anyone, thinking it's not worth the risk of getting into trouble and since Chloe is while now.

That next morning the bandages were taken off to replace only to find fully healed scars over the wounds much to both of their confusion, but Chloe was fine so they never mentioned if.

Chloe was not fine.

A week and a half after the incident left Chloe tossing and turning in her bed, whimpering in pain as her bones broke and reformed. Red thought that she would die when she say what was happening to Chloe. She didn't understand what was happening as she tried to wake up Chloe thinking it was a nightmare before the bones snapped.

Getting pinned down by a seven foot tall wolf that has curly dark brown hair with a few strands of blond mixed in was not on Red's bingo card, nor was her roommate turning into said werewolf. The second Chloe breathed in Red's scent she instantly stopped any aggression before becoming a complete puppy. It was adorable and when they cuddled to sleep and woke up in each other's arms Chloe didn't remember what happened and Red wasn't blushing at her naked roommate cuddling her not at all.

In three months the two found out that to keep the balance in the world it allowed the supernatural into their world. Which is how Chloe ended up as a werewolf although Red would call her more of a werepuppy.

It wasn't until some classmates cornered Red, harassing the girl that Red understood that Chloe was just being gentle with her. The two students closest to her got their heads slammed into the ground, their heads sounding like basketballs as they lay motionless with skulls cracked and blood staining the cobble beneath them. The rest of the students backed up in horror, no one has ever seen a werewolf in a public place in broad daylight, but here was one who casually killed two kids and was now staring them down snarling.

Red was just hyper fixated on the blood dripping down Chloe's clawed hands, the dripping echoing in her head before a cold nose is pressed against her cheek and brings her back to the present. The two run away from the crime scene, because it would take too much effort to explain and Chloe definitely needed to shift back.

When someone comes knocking barely twenty minutes later, barging in seconds later and finding the two in a more than compromising position. The Fairy Godmother gave the two a moment before questioning them about a werewolf that critically injured the two students, just barely lying through their teeth before being left alone.

Safe to say both Red and Chloe have to figure out how Chloe shifted in broad daylight with the full moon being weeks away. There's love, death, political corruption, and a familiar villain who's the cause of this supernatural presence.

[kinopio-writes]

Hello! I really like the way you write ;) can I see the OCD reader's girlfriend? (she is very paranoid, constantly checking everything, checking the house for hidden cameras, checking things and sometimes throwing tantrums because she thinks she is being watched) characters: Lucifer, Adam

A/N: Thank you. I did a bit of research about OCD, so hopefully I’m not appearing ignorant or anything. I know everyone’s experiences are different, but do tell me if I’m inaccurate.

Also, I know you only specified paranoia, but I added a couple of other things, too. I hope that’s okay. This can all be read platonically.

Warnings: Adam being Adam (he’ll be quite insensitive here and possibly triggering)

———

Lucifer, and Adam w/ a Reader who has OCD

Lucifer Morningstar

• I don’t think Lucifer would even know that the word mental health exists

• wait, no, scratch that—he explicitly said he has depression

• actually, y’know what, maybe he heard the term depression through Lilith or something

• because there is just no way he knows what mental health is

• he’s been a hermit ever since the beginning of humanity (after he got banished)—how would he know?

• but, uh, anyway, back to the headcanons—

• he doesn’t know you specifically have OCD

• he just thinks what you’re doing is pretty normal since he’s also neurodivergent himself, so he relates to some of the things you think or do

• he’s very supportive

• he healthily alleviates your worries

• he never pushes them away or make it seem like you’re overreacting

• but, uh, constantly reassuring you would very much drain him

• Lucifer is also a man who requires many reassurance

• one of many habits you picked up is constantly checking up on the guy since you know he also has issues himself

• it gets worse if Lucifer’s depression takes a massive decline

• you’re constantly knocking at his office door, calling out his name to make sure he didn’t…

• uh, Lucifer usually doesn’t have the energy to respond during those times, so your worry doubles further

• this is unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence

• moving on, you two often try to get the other to come back to bed (you both struggle with sleeping)

• be it because of your compulsive behaviors or him hyper-fixating on finishing his rubber duck projects that you both lose track of time

• so what happens if it happens to the both of you at the same time?

• uh, it’s just not good

• you two will regret it the next morning

• you two are basically barely functioning together, but are trying to be better for each other

• and for Charlie, too

———

Adam

• I don’t think Adam would notice anything at first

• but if you two see each other quite often (maybe living together), he would pick up on some of your quirks

• he would hate how particular you are about many things

• like, what do you mean it needs to be like this? What do you mean this needs to be exactly like that? And what do you mean that has to be like this? Why can’t it just be the way it already is?

• your anxiousness also irks him

• like, why are you like this? You live in Heaven, for fuck’s sake! Why are you so worried?

• he, uh, “reassures” your paranoia not very healthily

• “Oh, that? Pshh, you’re fineee.” “Don’t worry ’bout it.” “Stop being so paranoid.” “Jeez, you’re overreacting.”

• it’s even worse if you’re bothered with things such as messes since Adam definitely does not have cleanliness as a trait

• his home is usually cluttered unless he uses his powers or gets someone to do it for him

• if you have trouble with time management, don’t worry about accidentally waking Adam up late at night ’cause he has a shitty sleep schedule

• you also don’t have to worry about that since he’s probably a heavy sleeper

• actually, he probably either sleeps in until the afternoon or takes afternoon naps after a sleepless night

• those times when he’s awake at ungodly hours are when he notices your habits

• if you don’t want any of the behavior I’ve mentioned, please educate him because he will most definitely not do it himself

• don’t be afraid to speak your mind because he obviously can’t read it

• but he won’t exactly make things easier for you

• unless it’s convenient for him

• he’ll just tone himself down a bit (his words, I mean)

• but he’ll slip up from time to time because he’s just very used to not being mindful of the things he says

• overall, just know that he’ll get annoyed and frustrated with you at times

• ...uh, yeah

• maybe you just shouldn’t be around a guy like him

[waywarrdsunshine]

I legit tried to write this out earlier and I stopped halfway through so let me try to get this out again it might not make sense but I just want to see if I'm the only one

so basically I've been hyper fixated on aftg recently, but that's not entirely the truth.

I'm hyper fixated on Andrew right now.

which doesn't make sense to me because based on my past character hyper-fixation archetypes It should be Neil. Not only that but I'm used to character hyper fixations, hell they're my most common kind I tend to get into (especially ones that feel like I physically cannot think of anything else and it becomes like a mental infestation) but I've never experienced one where I think about the character and everything they've been through and my stomach gets nauseous, or the hyper fixation becoming so bad I end up barely eating (and I have binge eating issues me rejecting food is rare.) But that is exactly what's been happening with Andrew. I've been off work for the last two days but the last time I was in I ended up getting so anxious because I couldn't stop thinking about him that I ended up asking my manger to take a 15 and switch tasks with someone so I didn't have to be on register anymore (I didn't straight up say what was going on in my head I played it off as just being overwhelmed with customers). I'm on summer break atm so I'm home from college and my mom has mentioned she knows somethings up and is a bit worried (she knows its a hyper fixation just not on what). I'll have moments where I can push it to the side and make an unrelated joke and actually manage to eat something but then I end up falling down the inevitable rabbit hole again. I also sometimes tend to engulf traits of the character I'm hyper fixated on when I get this way so I've been far more irritable and sarcastic as of late (which is also just part of me trying to deal with keeping my brain in control while navigating the world in a tunnel vision fog right now.) Music both helps and triggers it because my brain has something to focus on but that focus is a song reminding me of said character or how I feel about being hyper fixated on said character. I myself have tried to write lyrics down about this as well (some of which I'm actually pretty proud of). and I'm somewhat caught somewhere between avoiding any type of aftg (especially Andrew) fan content and checking every virtual stone I can to "unintentionally" come across an edit of him that will surely ruin my day by making me emotional over an "apathetic" little shit that's the same height as Sabrina fucking Carpenter.

I mostly just want to see of anyone else has ever felt this way because while some traits with this fixation are new and are somewhat concerning for me I've also had to deal with this kind of mental battle for control of my brain for years on and off and I don't know if this is a universal or even common experience for other ND folks. I'm also trying to justify why my brain decided Andrew Minyard of all characters was gonna be the one to come crashing into my summer break like a goddamn tidal wave but alas sometimes I just have to be in awe of my own tism.

I'm considering just vent-posting this hyper fixation out as a way to just talk about it so idk

[lillandyrshadowglade]

Fetish

Lillandyr stared at the gems glittering in the dim light of the basement with narrowed eyes. A hot, prickly flush spread from her cheeks, down her throat. She felt the warm trickle of it down her spine. It wasn’t fear, though it should have been. It was rage. 

“Fuck,” she breathed as her heart hammered against the cage of her ribs, fighting the full body shudder that went through her. She had to bite down hard on the plump of her bottom lip to repress some unseemly noise she was about to make. 

Sadistic glee was a manic light in her poisonous green eyes as she jumped up from her desk. It was all so delicious that she could barely contain herself. The urge to go straight to him made her hands shake, but she had to do this *just* right. This was going to be a moment she’d want to savor forever and it wouldn’t do to be all slap dash about it. 

In public, Lillandyr Shadowglade was a vapid and hedonistic creature who rolled around in pleasure and excess like a cat in sunshine. In private, she was a miser to the point of neurosis. Her whiskey was cheap, her little black, spiced cigarillos hand rolled, and her dresses were last season. Her diet consisted of whatever the bakery in Silvermoon was set to throw out. Despite the stolen identity, she still lived as Anya would have; hand to mouth and barely scraping by. The money she’d managed to come by was all designated for greater things. 

And though it pained her, it was time to spend a great deal of it. Slipping the jewels of incomprehensible value into their velvet pouch, she brought her promissory notes and left her dank, stinking basement for the city. The carriage ride there was almost intolerable. She felt like her skin was too tight and hot. She pressed a hand to her forehead, wondering if she was feverish. 

Plotting someone’s downfall was the closest she’d get to sex. Her chest heaved and she had to press her thighs together. And oooh, he deserved it. Thought he was so clever. Heathcliff had been an amusing diversion and an easy way to line her pockets, but she’d never given him much thought or attention. But now he had all of those things. She felt the thrill of hyper fixation and obsession shift inside her like a great, blood thirsty beast, snarling and drooling at the prospect of sinking razored teeth into a new…project. 

He had never even been a target. For one, he was a tad too clever and didn’t have the image or looks of what she was after. She’d prefer some golden haired lordling, young and dumb and pliable. And in that way, he was safe from her more saccharine machinations. His reputation was too tarnished for THOSE plans, besides. 

No. This didn’t serve any other purpose other than spite. He was being a very…very naughty boy and changing their little game. That letter was an invitation, one she couldn’t resist. 

Once in the city, she went to a dress shop and let the women there fawn over her and present her with silks and velvets and lace. She let them serve her champagne and little cakes drenched in honey which she licked off her fingers. She was spending enough fucking gold there, she could take a shit on the floor if she wanted to. Let them be scandalized by her abysmal manners. 

With an annoyed hiss, she waved off some slinky thing in silver silk. It looked cheap because she looked cheap with her mussed hair and the kohl smudged around her eyes. Her dress had frayed hems because she’d not bothered to change into something more presentable before leaving her ‘manor’. 

At last, the selections were more appropriate. She must have looked at nearly a hundred dresses before she found the one that made her pulse race. It was perfection. A dark green velvet bodice tooled with gold stitching that would hug the pinch of her waist gave way to a skirt of voluminous silk in peridot. And it was cut low so her tits would practically spill out of it. Good. It was outrageously expensive, but worth it. And when the sales girl asked if she wanted it to have any enchantments, she said she’d like it to glow the same shade of green as her fel drenched eyes and for little moths made of ephemeral light to flit about and light on her shoulders. 

After a fitting and some minor adjustments, it was then taken in the back to the tailor and enchanter. She could pick it up in three days. After that, she chose green velvet slippers with stiletto gold heels because Heathcliff was so damned tall and she was fed up with him looking down his nose at her, figuratively and literally. 

She even bought perfume, something that smelled sweet and poisonous. Lily of the valley and honey. By the time she was ready to go home, she had spent half of what she’d saved, but she consoled herself that she stood to gain far more. 

Unless of course, he planned on killing her. Which she conceded was a possibility. She didn’t think he would and she wasn’t a defenseless little lamb, besides. Part of her hoped he’d try. 

Once home, she descended into the dank basement, arms laden with parcels wrapped in scented tissue paper, excitement under her skin like rising champagne bubbles. She dumped her purchases into a trunk and went to her desk to pen her reply to the shitty little passive aggressive letter Heathcliff had sent to the husband that didn’t exist but that was meant for her. A little note to say the jig was up. Maybe he thought she’d cower and not reply. Or that she would come to him like a beggar with tears in her eyes and a thousand sweet lies where she’d drop to her knees and plead with him to have mercy. 

Oh. She wouldn’t do any of that. 

First, she spritzed the parchment with her newly purchased perfume. She fanned the paper with her hand as she lit up one of her spiced cigarillos, the smoke curling around her face as it hung off her lip. She took out her quill and ink and wrote, eyes glittering like a serpent’s, pulse jumping at the slender column of her throat. 

Dearest Darling Heathcliff, 

As always, it is such a pleasure to hear from you. And nothing would delight me more than to meet in person especially after our little carriage ride. I’d invite you to my place, but I’m afraid the renovations continue so I’m coming to you instead. Do have those little pink cakes I like so much on hand, won’t you? We have so much to discuss, you and I. I look forward to…rigorous negotiations. 

Kisses,

Lady Lillandyr Shadowglade (drop the Mrs., darling dearest. Let’s not be silly)

She pressed her candy apple red rouged lips right under her overly flowery signature.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

With flushed cheeks and feverishly bright eyes, she dripped wax on the parchment, letting some splash on her fingers and arm, shuddering, eyes rolling back as she bit her bottom lip. 

Delicious. Pain and the excruciating pleasure of a well laid scheme. 

She stamped her sigil into the wax with the little brass seal. Not the gnarled, leafless tree of House Shadowglade, but her PERSONAL seal, one he had yet had the privilege to see, a coiled serpent sinking its fangs into a bleeding heart.

Once the letter was on its way, delivered by dark wings and sweet promises, she took the ridiculous jewel from its velvet pouch and stood in front of a full length mirror in her silk shift, pressing it between her breasts, where it would be pinned to her brand new dress. Her lips curled into a manic, wicked smile all sharp corners and dark hunger.  

@wraheathcliff

[sukipershipper]

Hi. Quick question. I gotta ask. Of all the side characters who you barely talk to for even a minute, how did you end up getting hooked on O'Connor? I mean, you don’t even get to see his infected self for very long and you managed to get me hyper fixated on him

It is the curse of the Irish accent- Ever since I got hooked onto Punch Out!! and THIS fucking rat mother fucker snuck his way into my brain and refused to leave

I've had such a thing for like Irish accents and Irish people. And so- hearing O'Connor talk for the first time I naturally just felt myself gravitating to that silly old Irishman and boom, I do a big old analysis into him. So uh- Yeah. Wanna blame someone for why I love O'Connor, blame Aran Ryan.