#I NEED TO BE CLEAR THIS IS NOT MEANT TO BE HATING ON THE VAMPIRE. I LIKE THE VAMPIRE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vennilavee · 4 months

Text

Petrichor

pairing: stsg, geto x reader, gojo x reader, stsg x reader

summary: In the middle of the lush forest, there sits a lonely house on a hill. On a dark and rainy night, you find your way to the house and it's inhabitants while running away from a deep, dark secret that you refuse to confront. Little do you know that they welcome you with open arms because they want you in a way that you’ve never been wanted before. It’s so easy to succumb to the darkness once you’ve been invited in…

warnings: this is meant to be a horror fic so please heed with caution - vampire geto, ghost gojo, smut, biting, drinking of blood, bloodplay, unreliable narrators, murder, death and dying, suicide, everyone is a little freaky here including oc, yandere behaviors (i think??)

word count: 15k

a/n: meant to be written for spooky season in october...happy new year do not perceive me. HUGE thank you to @lovenona @libroparaiso @hoennislands for reading large chunks of this fic before i posted it, and @lovenona for the painting for the fic banner! i appreciate u<3

To add to an already terrible day, heavy and dark storm clouds cover the expanse of the sky before splitting open. Rain follows the split seam, pelting down and landing on your car before being met with your windshield wipers.

It’s a good thing you had your tires replaced recently, you think distractedly while tightening your grip on the wheel.

The rumble of your car’s engine is the only noise you hear as you zip through the barely there road in the forest. There are no cars on this road. There are no lights, save for the high beams bursting from your car.

It feels as if you are going in circles, despite the GPS telling you that you are on the right path. You can barely see five feet ahead of you as the rain begins to downpour. You hate driving in storms.

Perhaps you should pull over, rather than potentially wrap your car around a tree while trying to get out of this storm. Can you beat it? Can you beat the ominous clap of thunder and the bright streak of lightning?

In the distance, you hear the winds picking up speed as the towering trees sway. The last thing you need is to die because a tree fell on you.

All you were trying to do was clear your head with a nice, soothing drive after what can only be described as the worst week of your life. The weather forecast didn’t include heavy rain with zero visibility today. You must just be incredibly lucky.

Driving in this weather will surely result in your premature death. You make a split second decision and pull over to the side of the road, glancing at the umbrella in your passenger seat.

You scoff, stepping out into the darkness and further into the belly of the forest.

Night has fully draped over the forest and yet, the rain has not relented. You must have been walking, following your GPS for hours now. And yet, it seems as if you continue to walk further and further away from the road.

You are drenched and shivering, possibly looking like a drowned animal as you trek through the mud and fallen branches. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to return to your car. There is no way to tell what direction it’s in anyway.

So you continue on, shivering with the hood of your jacket covering your head and cursing the skies for leaving you stranded in this endless storm. Your phone vibrates with weather alerts indicating that you should seek shelter due to extreme flooding.

How ironic.

Your umbrella is long gone, proving to be useless with the force of the rain and the wind. You are completely alone in the lush, green forest. Perhaps you stop and appreciate the scent of petrichor if you weren’t so stuck and at the mercy of the unseen forces from above.

You don’t know how much you endure the walk, but you see something in the distance. Something warm, something like the light.

A tall, dark house sits on a hill barely visible with the darkness of the night. But you can clearly see the warmth of the lights that emanate from inside the house.

It feels like a reprieve, a lighthouse as you are lost at sea. So you run towards the warmth.

The house is more of a mansion, you realize as you stand in front of the ornate, mahogany door. Green vines twist around the door as if to protect the house from any trespassers. They seem to pulsate when you touch them, hissing at you in an attempt to send you away.

You shiver again.

Lilies and red roses line the entryway to the front door. Despite the remote location of this strange mansion, clearly someone maintains the upkeep of it.

You’ve never seen a viridian so vibrant. It’s hard to take your eyes away from it, tracing the way drops fall from the vines onto the stark white lilies before dripping onto the meticulously carved stone pathway.

The rain pours down on you heavily, and it rolls off of your trembling shoulders. It feels dry here, like the sun is gently peering out. This strange mansion must be an oasis, or a safe haven for those lost in the woods.

You knock on the door impatiently, hoping that someone, anyone, can save you from the storm. A crack of thunder splits your ears and you jump, knocking again.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter under your breath, “Please, it’s freezing-”

The magnificent door creaks loudly before being pulled open dramatically, only to reveal a tall, white haired man with striking and absurdly blue eyes.

You can’t look directly at him for too long. You think you’ll be blinded.

“How annoying,” he drawls, “Annoying and impatient.”

“My car broke down,” you interrupt, your teeth chattering, “Please, I’m so cold-”

“Oh?” he looks you up and down several times over with an infuriating, smug grin on his stupidly handsome face.

“Can you please assess whether I’m a thief or a murderer or anything equally as dramatic while I’m inside?” you say, glaring at him, “I’ve been walking for hours, please let me in until the storm passes over. I’m begging you.”

“You’re lucky you’re so charming when you beg,” he says, waving you in.

Warmth immediately engulfs you and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

“Don’t thank me just yet. Didn’t you call for help?”

“My phone has no service,” you reply easily, staring him right in the eye.

“No service, What a shame. I suppose it cannot be helped,” he shrugs, “Didn’t you hear? This storm is supposed to last several days. You must be a fool for driving through this.”

“I guess so-”

“Especially in the forest. You never know what’s lurking around here.”

His smile fades and he looks at you pointedly, as if he’s looking straight through you. His gaze unnerves you but still, it takes you half a second to decide you’re staying here in the dry warmth.

Besides, it’s not like you have anywhere to go.

“Gojo Satoru,” he says simply and begins walking away from you. Does he care to know the name of a complete stranger that he just let into his home?

“Aren’t you afraid of strangers? Have you learned nothing from the movies? I could kill you when your back is turned,” you reply as you follow behind him.

“That’s highly unlikely,” Gojo laughs, but it sounds hollow as it echoes through the hall.

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re stuck in the middle of this horrendous storm with only me and the inhabitants of this house for company. You think I have reason to fear you?”

Gojo Satoru stops walking and abruptly turns to face you, crowding your vision. He speaks to you, but you’re not quite listening. You’re too enchanted by the odd blue of his eyes. Eyes that bright and deep simply do not exist beyond the walls of this house.

You think you may drown if you stare for too long. Gojo’s skin is pale, even when the lights hit the angles of his handsome face. Maybe there is a halo around his head, invisible to your eye. After all, he is the only semblance of a human that you have encountered in the last six hours.

He must be an angel, sent to shepherd you through this storm.

Inhabitants. Gojo mentioned other inhabitants, but you have yet to see anyone else in the house. Despite the emptiness of the house, it looks homey and cozy, with trinkets and odd items strewn about. It is clear that someone lives here. Someone other than Gojo.

You try not to let curiosity get the best of you and just focus on getting warm. With chattering teeth, you allow scalding hot water to drench your skin and your hair. Trying to catch your breath as you shake like a leaf under the spray.

All alone in a strange house in the middle of nowhere with no escape. It’s enough to make anyone nervous, but you welcome it like a reprieve. A second chance. A rebirth.

You brace yourself against the wall of the shower and watch absently as blood mixes with water into the drain.

Wholly unaware of the pair of eyes watching you in the bath, you sigh heavily as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders. It is. Everything is-

No. You won’t think about it, not now.

You can’t feel the graze of his fingertips, not when he caresses the slope of your neck or presses his fingertips to your hips. Not even when he rubs the inside of your soft thighs, or flutters over your calves just to feel the warmth of your skin. He traces the curvature of your spine with the palm of his hand, while you are none the wiser.

He stands in front of you, admiring the way you turn your neck from side to side and rub your sore muscles. Will you let your hands drift downwards? Would you give him that reprieve?

Your tits fit perfectly in his hands, spilling into his palms without any misgivings. He’d nearly forgotten how velvety a woman’s skin was. Much less a human’s. A gasp leaves his lips as he massages your chest, meeting your eyes eagerly. But you can’t see him.

Your cheeks are heated as you lather soap on your skin with hooded eyes and bitten lips. He leans closer, sniffing your neck- you smell divine, what a gorgeous gift you might be…

And then he is called away abruptly, lamenting that loss of your warmth curled away in his hands.

A dark emerald silk robe lays on the pristinely made bed. It’s buttery and soft against your fingertips and it looks brand new. You can’t help but try it on, and somehow it fits you as if it was tailored for you. It’s perfect. You do a little spin in front of the full-length mirror and giggle to yourself, marveling at how it fits you perfectly.

The guest bedroom he showed you to is massive, with ornate cherry wood furniture and a four poster bed that seems like it was custom made.

The warm scent of sandalwood remains on the duvet and on the pillows as you sink into the bed and try to get comfortable. It’s been such a long day and you just want to rest…

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep in this odd house despite only having been here for a few hours. The storm rages on outside, rain battering against the windows as it lulls you into the first peaceful slumber you’ve had in months.

It has been a long time since a human showed up drenched, terrified and shivering to his home. In the modern age, it seemed that less and less people would venture this deep into the forest. In the old days, it would have been the odd traveler or warriors passing by through the night or a woman running away from her betrothed.

Those were always his favorite visitors. These days, it’s usually just foolish, inebriated teenagers or a stray fox. Definitely not nearly as entertaining.

He remains hidden, until Gojo tells him to come out of the shadows. For now, he will remain content to watch you from a distance in his own home. Your shoulders are tense but your face is friendly as you chat away with the white-haired man as you nurse a warm cup of tea in your hands.

You keep him at arm’s length but not too far away so as to arouse suspicion from the man who gave you shelter during such a horrendous storm.

It smells so sweet inside now. Like nectar and honey and flowers. He had a feeling that dark green would be your color, anyway.

There is a portion of the house that Gojo has warned you to not enter. About half of the house is dimly lit, a sharp contrast to the rest of the house that you have seen. The quietness of the hallway just a few short steps away from your bedroom is eerie.

You can’t help but look beyond the threshold and into the darkened hallway.

With the risen moon in the storm as your witness, you ignore Gojo Satoru’s voice in your head and take a few tentative steps towards the forbidden part of the house.

The bedroom at the end of the hall.

It’s not your fault. He shouldn’t have made it sound so enticing.

An owl hoots in the distance, just outside the house. Is the storm still devastating the forest? It’s awfully quiet. Save for your clumsy footsteps. How long has it been? A night? Three?

Darkness is your only company as your heart thunders in your ears and you push against the heavy wooden door. A single turn of the knob reveals that the door is in fact, unlocked.

You exhale, very aware of the hairs standing at the back of your neck. Turning your head, you squint into the darkness. Trying to shake the inevitable feeling of being watched in this endless abyss of a hallway.

You have to know. You must know why this room is forbidden to you.

So you push the door open with your full strength, only to be met with even more darkness. Somehow, it’s a different kind of darkness. The kind of darkness that swallows you and does not spit you back out. The kind that you surrender to.

Surrender comes easily.

Your pupils cannot seem to adjust to the dark, no matter how long you stand here in the forbidden room. Waiting for something - anything - a stream of moonlight, a flicker of a candle. Instead, you stand in the middle of this airy room, one that you can’t see even five feet in front of you in.

A shiver rips down your spine as the door slams shut with a sudden gust of wind from a seemingly closed window whips around you, only for the air to remain perfectly still and breathless.

Amethyst eyes stare back at you in the unmoving darkness. Mirth is clear in these eyes and your shock is amusing, it appears.

“Can’t follow instructions, can you?” The voice is syrupy and magnetic. You hear the voice, beckoning you closer, but you cannot see where the voice is coming from.

He is illuminated by a sudden flash of thunder just by the large French windows.

This is what Gojo must have meant by inhabitants.

The stranger stalks towards you, his steps languid and sure. You’re frozen in place, unable to move. Too mesmerized by the gold flecks in his violet eyes, and the curtain of glossy, black hair that billows with each step he takes.

Light does not need to brighten his face for him to announce his presence.

“Not great at following rules, are we?”

“Rules?” you manage to reply after a beat, squeezing your fingers together in an attempt to ground yourself. He notices, a barely there smirk forming on his handsome face.

He towers over you like a god of the skies, with the moon as his crown.

“You were told not to come here, weren’t you?” His voice is coated by soft velvet, curling around you but leaving you cold.

“Gojo’s told you about me?” you ask curiously. He talks about you? To this chiseled stranger? The thought makes your heart flutter and heat to flood your cheeks.

“I know all about the lost women who seek sanctuary in my home,” he says softly, a hand curling around your jaw. Your eyes drift to his glossy lips briefly. It’s impossible for you to look away from him, his eyes are magnetizing as they stare right through you. As if you are made of glass.

He chuckles.

The erratic beating of your heart thrums in his ears as blood rushes through your veins like syrup. He licks his lips as your eyes drop to follow his tongue eagerly.

What a foolish girl. You don’t even know his name, and you’re already rubbing your thighs together. His reflection looks back at him in your glossy, dark eyes.

Oh, you are exquisite, a divine little thing wrapped up in a bow. A gift given to him by his lover.

Gojo Satoru is a man of celestial tastes and he always has been for decades. He must remember to praise his lover on a job well done, after all. It’s not often that a woman with blood as sweet and ripe as yours falls into his bedroom serendipitously.

Your eyes are wide and wanting, waiting for him to say something. You just want to hear the melody of his voice once more. Just once more. Another few minutes until you leave his bedroom. Just once more.

His touch is icy cold as his thumb parts your lips further, a sharp exhale blowing against his face. A shiver wracks your spine once more but you will not leave his embrace. The simple touch makes you feel alive again, as if you have been searching and searching for something for years but have not been able to find it.

It feels familiar and foreign.

“Go back to bed, girl,” he says dismissively.

“Can’t I stay? With you?” you ask unabashedly, reaching for his velvet, black robe. You catch a sliver of his tanned chest from underneath his robe and swallow.

He is vaguely reminded of a stray kitten, desperate for attention. Adorable, and pathetic.

“Not yet,” he replies, disappearing back into the darkness that he emerged from with a featherlight touch to your cheek, “Not yet.”

His voice echoes through the walls of the grand bedroom, bouncing off of the ornate paintings. You leave the room, wondering if the enigmatic man with purple eyes was merely just a dream conjured up by the wildest parts of your subconscious.

Time must operate on a different frequency in this house. You’ve slept at least six nights here, and yet the storm is as vengeful as it was the first day you arrived at the house. There is no sign of the storm easing up, either. With no end in sight, you continue to explore the house, thoughts of your car long forgotten.

You’ve yet to come across the purple-eyed man again.

Gojo Satoru is the best company you’ve had in weeks. Possibly months, or years. He finds you in the library more often than not, or in the garden.

The garden that seemingly has not been marred by the wicked winds of the storm. Somehow, the house stands still, impervious to mother nature.

“What are you reading today?” comes a voice far too close to your ear. Gojo Satoru loves invading your personal space, as you’ve come to learn.

“It’s a history book,” you reply, not looking up from the page you’re on. He doesn’t need to know, but you’ve stopped reading the page ever since you noticed him appear in the room. You’ve been waiting for him to stop by, as he always does.

“How absolutely fascinating,” he says, sitting next to you and pushing the book aside to lay his head on your lap, “Now you have something nicer to look at.”

“Is that so?”

You look down at him, once again startled by the blue of his eyes. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, it always takes your breath away. It takes a moment to adjust to the unnatural hue of his eyes and his stark white hair.

He smiles at you. At that moment, he looked so boyish and young. You wonder how long he’s been here.

“You’ve made quite a home for yourself here, haven’t you,” he muses.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” you don’t sound particularly troubled by it.

“Not at all. Don’t you want to get back home? I’m sure you have people wondering where you are. A child? A spouse?” he probes, eyebrows raising when your heart quickens at the mention of a spouse.

“He’s not waiting or wondering where I am,” you say bitterly, immediately tensing up, “He never loved me.”

“I’m sure he’s worried about you-”

“No. He’s not,” you say with a note of finality. You look away, at your hands in your lap as your face falls and something far away settles on your features. Your lips tug into a slight frown.

“Well, anyone would be lucky to have you love them. He wasn’t worthy,” Gojo soothes you with a comforting squeeze of your hands.

“No, he wasn’t,” you reply. Your eyes are glassy and distant, as if you are replaying a memory of your past in your mind. It was simple, until it wasn��t. You were enough, until you weren’t. “I am deserving of a lover who would do anything for me.”

“Of course you are, darling,” he says, sitting up and tilting your chin up to meet your eyes, “I’m sorry anyone convinced you otherwise.”

You turn toward him, meeting his gaze with big, watery eyes. Your hands are held tightly within his, as you lean towards him. Allowing your gaze to flicker to his pouty lips and back to his eyes.

“You deserve a lover who would write you love letters,” he murmurs, “Compare you to the moon’s beauty.” A kiss to your chin. “Be your lighthouse in the storm.” A kiss to your cheek. “Protect you from the darkness of the world by destroying it. Keep you safe,” A kiss to your eyelid. “A lover who would do anything for you.” A kiss to the corner of your lips.

“A lover who would kill for you.”

A final barely there kiss to your lips. Your cheeks are warm, chest fluttering as you lean into him once more to press your lips to his again. He lays back against the couch so that you lay on top of him comfortably as you chase his kisses. You are impatient, your hands straying to his hair, to his chest to unbutton his shirt.

Your moans are soft in his ears, as if you haven’t been touched like this in forever. Gojo watches the pretty planes of your face shift as he focuses his energy on you, on gripping your hips and letting his hands wander over you before resting on your chest. Your heart is hammering away, soft and delicious.

He looks ethereal under you, fallen from the skies above. You can’t pull away, certainly not from the foreign look in his eyes. One that you’ve never seen before, not in your husband, not in previous lovers… It’s for you, the look of ripe, unbitten desire.

“Oh, you are a gorgeous thing, aren’t you?”

Your skin feels overheated- with too many layers covering the space between you and the man beneath you. You struggle to take your dress off, but Gojo replaces your fingers with his own.

“I’ll take care of you, won’t I? You’ll let me take care of you?”

You nod wordlessly as he lifts you up to take your dress off. You sit completely naked on top of him while he is still clothed.

Your face is buried in his neck as you rut your hips against him, trying to gain friction. Gojo looks up and to the side, feeling a pair of eyes on his back. Purple meets blue and he winks at his lover and smiles before turning his attention to you.

He hopes his dear lover is watching.

Geto Suguru is exhausted, deep within his centuries old bones. Blood does not come by the house as often as it used to, and while it would be just as easy to go to the nearest city to get his fill…

It does not hold the same pleasure anymore. Besides, when his lover is intent on finding him an everlasting source of blood, who is he to argue?

He is just so hungry, absolutely famished. It doesn’t help that a brilliant and beautiful damsel is sleeping in his home, just down the hall. He can hear your soft breaths and the rustle of the sheets as you twist and turn. Are you dreaming of him?

He supposes he can find out just as easily.

He enters your dreams with hardly any resistance from you. Your mind is malleable as he sifts through as if flipping pages of a book. There are patches of grey darkness melded in with hues of emerald and cerulean and amber as he takes a look around the essence of your mind.

It’s almost as if your subconscious can sense his presence and clears a path for him.

There you are, standing in a cemetery surrounded by fallen leaves and dead trees. The sky is grey, fitting with the melancholy that surrounds the cemetery. A breeze in the air whistles through his hair and leads him to you.

Sitting in front of a tiny memorial with an odd smile on your face.

Is this a dream, or is this a memory?

He makes a note of the name on the memorial, just as you lift your head and stare vacantly at him. Almost as if he’s made of glass and you are looking straight through him to the other side.

The dream shifts in a puff of smoke and he is suddenly in an apartment shrouded in shadows and darkness with nothing but the sounds of hoarse voices speaking loudly to each other. Not quite yelling, but not quite talking quietly either.

“... You never loved me, never made me a priority-”

“That’s not true and you know it-”

“You can’t wait to get rid of me, can you-”

“You have this version of love in your fucked up head that doesn’t exist. That nobody can live up to-”

“I just want you to love me and protect me!”

Then there is crying and harsh screaming. It grates against his eardrums before ebbing away into nothingness.

Until he is flung into an ocean of blood and nearly drowns trying to get back into reality.

An envelope outside your bedroom door awaits you after your morning walk in the garden. It is addressed to you, with your name written in black ink in cursive with a large wax seal. You run your finger over the seal in awe.

Who exactly are the men who live in this house, anyway?

The letter reads:

You are cordially invited to join me for dinner tonight, at 6:30 PM sharp. You will find three dresses in the closet of your bedroom. Choose wisely.

I look forward to our evening together.

There is no signature, only initials embossed in the parchment paper in silky, black print. The initials are shiny and wet, as if it was just signed and placed under your bedroom door.

You hold the letter close to your chest, unable to keep the giddy smile off of your face. Ever since you were a young girl, you’ve always dreamed of a lover who would write you letters dictating their unconditional love for you.

You look at the letter again, tracing over the initials gently and press a gentle kiss to the ink. How utterly enchanting.

You decide on the muted mauve gown with tiny, shimmering stars embedded into the tulle. Will your mysterious dinner guest be happy with your choice? Which of the three dresses did he want to see you in?

Your heart flutters at the thought of seeing the long, dark haired man with otherworldly eyes chance a glance at you once more.

He awaits you in lustrous black robes at the bottom of the neverending marble spiral staircase, looking like a painting come to life. Your breath catches in your throat when he meets your eyes with that soft up-turn of his lips.

“Good evening,” he says, voice carrying as he offers his arm to you, “Your punctuality is alluring.”

“Only my punctuality?” you ask breathlessly.

“I suppose that remains to be determined, doesn’t it?”

He leads you to the dining room, one of the many rooms you have not explored yet. A heavy chandelier glitters above the dark mahogany table and if you look for longer than a second, you’d be able to see your reflection in it.

“I’ve observed you, you know. Exquisite taste in books,” he informs you.

“Oh, yes, I’m…well-read, I guess,” you shrug, taking a sip of your flavorful soup.

“I’ve seen you in the library. That old couch isn’t very comfortable. Is it you who leaves my books out in disarray?” he teases.

“What?! I never left behind a mess-” you protest but relax when you see his grin, “Oh. Don’t make fun of me.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. He barely touches his full plate of food, instead opting to take in your presence in his home. In just a few short days, you’ve made this house your own home.

“Tell me,” he says, his voice curling around you and warming your cold hands, “What are you reading? What’s caught your attention?”

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” you say vaguely, “I like history.”

“History? What about history interests you?”

“Well… I like learning about the past,” you muse, “We’re doomed to repeat history if we don’t see the patterns throughout time…”

“Yes, we certainly are,” he nods, “History is funny that way.”

“It is. Our own histories are just a reflection of that, too.”

“Oh?”

“We’re doomed to make the same mistakes if we don’t recognize our own flaws… I suppose.”

“And what are your flaws?” he asks smoothly, making you laugh.

“I have none, couldn’t you tell?” you reply with a wink.

He merely looks at you, staring at you as if he can see right through you into the fibers of your soul. It’s unnerving, and you look away to focus on your food and on chewing each bite thoroughly. He doesn’t eat much, if anything, only drinking every few minutes from his glass of wine. But his eyes remain transfixed on you even as you sit in silence.

“I want to show you something,” he says once you’re finished with your meal.

You nod and let him lead the way.

He takes you through the garden, past freshly bloomed tulips, cherry blossoms and red spider lilies and dewy, green bushes. Your eyes are suddenly filled with color, but all you can fix your gaze on is the man who glides in front of you with your hand in his.

His hand is cold, but his voice is warm like tea.

The summer rains continue to fall, but not on you.

In the center of the vast garden sits a shimmering lake with the bluest, clearest water that you’ve ever seen. Your eyes are wide in wonder. Is there a mountain hidden beyond the trees?

“This lake wasn’t here when we moved into the house,” the man says softly.

“How is that possible?”

“The universe gave her to us when we needed her most,” he replies, turning his head with an intense stare.

“And you believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrug, breaking eye contact with him to look back at the lake. The man is intense, like a blazing fire in the darkness. You can’t help but hold onto his every word as he regales you with the tale of how he stumbled upon this forest. His voice is enchanting as it echoes through the silent forest- the trees must be listening to his reverence as well.

He reminds you of a tortured prince. His voice is heard from further and further away as you marvel at the stillness of the young lake. Soon, you can’t hear his voice at all.

The thought should scare you, but you feel safe and protected by the trees in this forest.

You hardly realize how far you’ve walked by yourself, to the other side of the lake. Excitement (maybe adrenaline) settles in your bones as a sudden impenetrable fog emerges, and yet you touch it, wrap your hands around it. As if it has a heartbeat.

It surrounds you but is gentle in its caress as you pick up the skirt of your dress to avoid tumbling as you sprint through the woods.

The trees fade away behind you.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Air fills your lungs like a reprieve. Just before you let it go and gulp down air again. The crunch of boots on fallen leaves and sound of birds fleeing does nothing to quell the nerves in your belly.

The puffy sleeve of your dress catches on a stray branch, the pretty tulle ripping into shreds. What a waste of such a beautiful dress, you think absently. Your arm begins to bleed profusely but you pay it no mind.

You are a princess, being sought after by the monster in the closet.

Geto Suguru nearly hisses when the scent of fresh blood permeates the air like a barely hidden vice. It’s sweet, like a freshly plucked peach on a summer day.

He wonders how you’d taste on his tongue, your neck bare and craned all for him…

Dull pain radiates across his gums as his fangs descend further. Your sharp laugh pierces the uneasy quiet of the dark forest. His runaway princess, always seemingly ten steps ahead of him.

You flit in between the trees, looking over your shoulder with curious, cautious eyes. Even from this distance at the edge of the forest, he sees honey dripping from your wild eyes.

As you look over your shoulder, you see him taking languid steps toward you. When you blink, he’s there, a shrouded shadow that you nearly miss in your line of sight. When you blink again, he’s gone. Your sprints slow to a walk before you stop completely. In the middle of these strange woods, you look up to the sky, only to see a shroud of endless grey descending upon you.

Purple blinks back at you from high up in the trees. You shiver, and he suddenly stands in front of you, his velvety black robes billowing behind him.

“You have every opportunity to leave,” he says silkily. His words melt over you, dripping onto your skin like hot candle wax. The warmth is soothing and you would do anything he asked, you think.

“I know,” you say softly.

His eyes sear into yours, searching and burning through you as he comes closer. His touch is cold as his index finger remains on your jaw, stroking your cheekbone slowly. Your eyes are wide, shining eagerly with obedience.

His lips part, his gleaming fangs lengthening so daintily and his eyes shift from purple to black. But he is still his welcoming self, with his easy smile and his gentle touch. Except, the way he smiles is different.

The shift is there, but barely recognizable.

“You should’ve run away, little dove, ” he says softly in your ear as you shiver in his hold, “When you had the chance to.”

You shake your head, only making him graze your neck further. You are ravishing, the slow honey in your body gushing like a waterfall.

“There is nothing for me beyond this forest anymore,” you whisper softly into his ear. His lips flutter warmly against the column of your neck.

The first bite is always the most painful, but it eases away as quickly as it came as his fangs sink heartily into the delicate skin of your neck. Right next to your jugular vein, but not quite.

A sigh echoes through the forest, barely a noise over the sound of drops of your blood dripping onto his tongue. It is euphoric- your eyes flutter shut when his fangs pierce further into your neck. Almost straight into the vein.

If he’s not careful, he might drain you dry. That would be…tragic, considering the promise he made to Gojo.

But you are so sweet. Like nectar, and you walked right into his home with open arms, tangled in his decadent web.

Your grip on his robes is tight as you somehow pull him closer. As if you want him to take more out of you. How greedy. But he doesn’t, instead pulling away and licking his lips. His eyes revert back to their chilling purple as he keeps his gaze on you.

You sigh again, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. And yet, something flutters in your belly, making you smile and look up at him with lovestruck eyes.

“What’s your name?” you exhale, your breaths coming out in cold wisps as the wind bites your skin.

He smirks at you, fangs still tinted red with your blood. Your heart races.

“Geto Suguru,” he murmurs, brushing a stray drop of blood away from your neck with his lithe finger and licking it.

He says your name softly before he kisses you, the taste of metal ripe on your lips like a summer peach. Your knees immediately buckle as he slips further into your mouth. Despite the chill of his fingertips, a fire alights in your belly and spreads and spreads. Your breaths are erratic as you trail after him, struggling to keep up.

Your name in his mouth sounds like a promise.

The slight pain in the back of your head throbs lightly with each thready thought that forms in your brain, and yet all you can think about is the way Geto Suguru’s lips felt on your neck. The cold touch of his fingertips against your skin as he meticulously drank your blood.

Your blood. He chose you and he came after you in that forest.

It makes you giddy. It makes the headache worth it.

Slowly, the night turns into day. Repetitively, you hear the sound of the cozy rain and the sharpness of the wind against the windows nearly rattling the house. You don’t recall the last time you saw the sun, and yet light filters into the house through the skylights placed in the living room.

You don’t question it. It’s better than the alternative, being stuck in that stuffy house with your awful husband. Your husband who never cared for you, who never sought you out. Made you his priority.

Despite the fancy jewelry and pristine silks, the way you would dote on him, he never noticed you. He probably didn’t even notice that you were gone, anyway. You were supposed to be his favorite. His only.

No matter. Geto Suguru drank your blood today. Nobody else’s but yours. Are you his favorite? His only?

You can’t help but laugh at such a ridiculous thought as you gingerly touch your neck and soothe the bite marks. Of course, you’re his only. You are the only woman in this house, save for Gojo Satoru. And he has been nowhere to be seen as of late.

You must be his favorite.

“Jealousy is quite attractive on you,” Suguru says, chuckling as Satoru glares at him and throws a pillow at him half-heartedly.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Satoru sighs dramatically, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Now you’re just being juvenile,” Suguru says, tossing the pillow back. The air is briefly knocked out of Satoru’s lungs and he tries to sit up. He glares at his lover, but the heat in his bright eyes falters as he reaches for him and cradles his jaw.

“You know this is only a means to an end,” he soothes.

“Sorry I can’t be a human again so you could drink my blood,” Satoru says petulantly, “You like her, I know you do.”

“There’s no need to be accusatory,” Suguru replies, airily, “And there’s no reason to lie. I know you like her, too. As if I don’t know that you watch her when you shouldn’t.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but his shoulders slump as he slides into Suguru’s warm embrace. “I just…I wish I could bleed for you the way you need me to. I wish I could fulfill you in the way this stranger can.”

“Oh, I’ve neglected you, haven’t I,” Suguru says softly, tightening his hold around Satoru’s narrow waist, “You brought her into our home for me. There must have been something about her that was alluring to you.”

“It’s not everyday you find a woman who abandoned her car in the middle of the worst storm in years only to show up drenched at the front door. The opportunity presented itself and I couldn’t resist.”

“She seems in no rush to leave. To go back home. We should find out why,” Suguru muses, his train of thought interrupted by Satoru’s wandering hands.

“That’s a later problem,” Satoru murmurs, letting his fingers trail up his thigh. His touch is fleeting, barely there. Just applying the tiniest pressure behind his knee, where he knows Suguru is sensitive. He shudders- it’s funny, that a vampire as old as him can still feel flustered by a simple caress.

Well, Satoru has had many opportunities to learn over the centuries from the Meiji era to now. They were both young high school boys when they met, with dreams of samurai becoming distant as their worlds cracked wide open by the introduction of new literature, new teachers, new philosophies. They were still boys, running through empty fields, sharing copies of the same books. Sharing shade under the same tree branch.

Sharing each other’s first kiss. They were boys, until they weren’t.

The clocks continued to spin until neither of them could control the inevitable passage of time. Time pulled them apart, Satoru to Tokyo and Suguru back to the countryside to take care of his parents and the farm he left behind.

They found each other again, this time under much more dire circumstances. Vampirism was spreading through Japan like a plague, and Suguru wanted to know everything about it. What was eternal life like? Was it beautiful, did it contain multitudes? Was there anything human about an immortal being?

His questions were meaningless because it didn’t take long for him to succumb to a vampire bite. His parents were dead and everything on the farm was gone, ripped to pieces and blood splattered across the wooden walls of the barn.

It took him about three decades to discover that the carnage was laid out by him. He was turned and he rained blood on his own home. It took another decade to find the vampire nest who did this to him.

Then another three decades to find Gojo Satoru once more.

He had been nestled in the heart of Tokyo, as a teacher of all things. There had been a very brief, happy reunion. It didn’t take Suguru long to realize that something was off about Satoru. The coincidences were too many- he was flighty and impulsive, rarely eating (in fact, Suguru can’t recall the last time he saw him eat any food), and he swears that his skin was translucent in the sunlight.

“Something is keeping me here,” Satoru muses with his lover’s head in his lap, “Can’t imagine what it is.”

“I don’t want you to cross the Sanzu River, not without me,” Suguru says firmly, looking at him with red eyes.

“Is there an afterlife for vampires?” Satoru muses, “I mean, I’m surely safe. I’m a ghost, after all. A spirit tethered to the material earth, or something.”

“If you wanted to leave, you would.”

“Yes,” he says solemnly, “I suppose I would.”

It has been decades since that day and the universe has pulled them apart and brought them back together many times. For two immortal beings, spending five or eight or fifteen years apart is just a blip in the fabric of time. They both find each other each time, even when Suguru was contemplating his entire existence as a vampire and a former human.

He had become Japan’s most infamous vampire for a period of time after draining over a hundred humans completely of their blood. How was it just, for them to hold two little vampire girls hostage when they had no say in being turned?

Suguru couldn’t stomach it- how isolating and selfish humans could be in the face of adversity. In the name of self-righteousness.

Never again, he vowed. Never again would he allow humans to treat his own that way. But Satoru brought him back from the brink of sure destruction, before Suguru could decimate the entirety of Japan.

Satoru wouldn’t let him give in to his most primal urges. He wouldn’t let Suguru lose himself because he couldn’t be bound to the earth without him-

“I can’t let you do this.”

“Don’t tell me you care-”

“I can’t let you do this to me, you can’t leave me here! Not for this. Not for them.”

“You’re selfish, Satoru!”

“So are you,” he scoffs.

But that was the end of it. Suguru’s eyes had returned to their purple and Satoru whisked him away.

He had whisked him away from all the noise, the blood, the chaos to the towering castle in the trees that they currently lived in in the quiet of the forest-

“Hey,” Satoru questions, poking his cheek, “You just spaced out for a while.”

“I was thinking about you,” Suguru replies, turning his head to meet his caress.

“As always-”

“You saved me. And you continue to save me,” Suguru says, “So let me show you my undying gratitude.”

Satoru hopes desperately that you can hear the echoes of his pleasure from your bedroom.

The house seems to have transfigured into more of a castle the longer you stay here. Winding staircases appear out of thin air complete with unfamiliar corridors and twists and turns.

But what remains the same is the library and how often you frequent it. The entire history of the universe must be kept in these bookshelves. There isn’t enough time in the day for you to read all of the treasures inside the library that seems to get bigger everyday.

You have been reading the same book for some time now, getting distracted by thoughts of Gojo Satoru. He hasn’t come to visit you in the library recently and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve done something to upset him for him to avoid you.

He comes and goes as he pleases. As if he’s there but he’s not there at all.

“There you are,” you say easily, sitting next to him on the bed.

“Can I help you?” Satoru says petulantly. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“Whatever gave you that idea,” he deadpans, still not looking at you.

“Oh, come on,” you whine, tugging at his hand, “You can tell me anything.”

His head turns to you abruptly, too quickly to be considered normal. With narrowed eyes, he searches your face for any sign of deceit.

Satoru scoffs and lays back on the bed dramatically. You follow his actions and face him, meeting his terribly piercing gaze. Unable to stop yourself, you allow your fingers to graze his pale cheek. When he doesn’t flinch, you let your hand rest on his chest. He is more muscular than he looks, you think.

As if Satoru can read your thoughts, he turns to you and glares at you.

Comfortable silence fills the room. He stares at you, thoughts swirling behind those azure eyes, willing himself to speak.

Satoru pretends like he doesn’t notice your hand drifting down further.

“I found you first,” he mumbles, “And I found him first.”

“You did find me first,” you muse, “When nobody else wanted me, you did.”

Your grip on his shirt tightens briefly.

“And now he’s drinking your blood and I can’t-”

“Oh, Satoru,” you say softly, “You don’t want to be left behind, do you?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, but his silence conveys all you need to know. If Satoru could blush, his cheeks would be tinted a rosy color. You vowed before, to never let yourself feel as unwanted and lonely as you did in that relationship. And to never let anyone else feel that same loneliness.

His name is a honeyed whisper on your tongue that he wishes to pull from your pretty lips as often as he can.

“I found you both first,” Satoru replies harshly before he presses his lips to yours, “Don’t ever forget that.”

Chaos bursts in his bright eyes before he closes them to kiss you, to pull your voice to the tip of your tongue. Your mouth is sweet, full of roses and tea. It’s no wonder Suguru is so taken with the taste of your rich blood.

You fist his shirt as if you can’t get close enough to him with quickened breaths. Satoru can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his. Can you feel his weightlessness against you?

Satoru pulls you into his lap easily, groaning into your mouth when you lazily rock your hips into his. You remind him that you’re with him in this magical forest, that he found you first. The universe brought you to him and he kisses you fiercely, to ground himself.

Despite your hands marking his shoulder blades and your legs tight around his narrow hips, Satoru feels far away. Impossible to touch as if there is a veil keeping you on the outside.

Does he know? It doesn’t matter- you’ll find your way through the fog to touch his soul with your gentle fingertips.

The castle contains newly appearing staircases and paintings that have surely been lost to something as feeble as time and history. It protects you from the raging storm outside, the storm that surely awaits you in your home.

It protects you from dangers that you cannot see.

You shouldn’t be here. You really shouldn’t, but you can’t be blamed. Not when the endless shadows of the house- the castle- lead you here. Straight to the ornate door of what must be Suguru and Satoru’s bedroom.

Only a door shields you from them. Only a door shields them from you.

Quiet whispers are muffled beyond the door, both of their voices mixing together. Whispers flow into syrupy moans as you press your ear against the door to listen.

You shouldn’t be here, disrupting what is surely to be an intimate moment between two lovers that you are not privy to. But you want to be. You want to feel their breaths span across your back, hear their voices low in your ear, feel their sinewy limbs under your fingertips.

It makes you shiver. To be velvet in between silver and gold. All you can do is press your ear closer, closer…

No, you shouldn’t. But they’re so close to you-

“I can hear you breathing from out there,” Suguru says dryly, loudly enough for you to hear through the door, “If you’re trying to conceal yourself, you’re not doing a very good job.”

Impatiently, you push the door open, mesmerized by Suguru on his knees in front of Satoru. He is seated on the bed, leaning back on his elbows with hazy eyes and his fingers tangled in Suguru’s hair.

You inhale hungrily, unsure of where to look. Suguru chuckles at you and beckons you closer with a simple, heady look.

“Don’t just stand there,” he says, his voice strained as Satoru complains over the lack of attention on him, “Sit down.”

You barely breathe as Suguru strokes Satoru’s hardened, leaking cock with his massive hand. You wonder how that hand would look around Satoru’s neck- as if he can read your mind, his left hand wanders up the pale divots of his chest and to his neck. Resting there, holding Satoru in place as he squirms for Suguru to do something. Anything.

Suguru’s voice is low but clear, softly telling Satoru to stay still and be patient. His hips jump in time with Suguru’s lazy strokes. How torturous- how long has Suguru had his lover on his back like this, waiting for mercy?

It must have been for a long time, considering the trembling of Satoru’s body and how he silently begs for more.

He smears pre-cum over his cock before pushing Satoru’s legs wider apart. Looking over his shoulder to see if you’re watching his movements, only to smirk at you knowingly. Your cheeks are warm as you peer at him. At Satoru’s vulnerability.

Suguru must know everything about Satoru. Everything about what he likes, about how to dissolve him into a pleading mess of want. You want to learn. You want to please them both. You want to learn from them.

But you just watch, for now.

You rub your thighs together subconsciously when they both sigh in unison as Suguru bottoms out. Their breaths are heavy against each other, silenced when he kisses Satoru harshly in contrast to his slow, purposeful thrusts. The fondness, the love between them is palpable in the way they gaze at each other. As if you aren’t even there- as if they are the only two stars in the entire sky of the universe. It wouldn’t be fair to the scales of the universe for there to be two pairs of lovers like them.

You wish to be the exception. You will be the exception.

“Touch yourself,” Suguru grunts from the bed, looking at you over his shoulder. You make an attempt to crawl closer to him but he stops you abruptly. “No, you’ll stay there and you’ll touch yourself. Let us see you.”

Their hands are interlocked and desire washes over you in a tidal wave. He turns away to give his attention to Satoru but you lift the skirt of your robe up to your waist to give them both a full view of your wetness.

You clench around nothing, wishing desperately to take Suguru in your mouth or press your pussy to Satoru’s lips. Instead you rub your clit in time with Suguru’s thrusts, watching his hips roll. Satoru’s moans are loud and raspy, calls of his lover’s name, please, please, please, more…

“Watch her,” Suguru hisses, his hair in disarray as he shoves Satoru’s face towards you. You gasp when both of them watch you together, watching as you shove your finger deep into your pussy, the sound of squelching mixing together and bouncing off the walls.

You’re quiet in your corner of the room, obediently waiting for Suguru to beckon you closer. For him to grant you a small touch, however fleeting. But he never does, and you are desperate for their attention. For an ounce of their shared love to drip onto your heated skin.

“O-ohhh-”

Your clit throbs as Satoru’s moans get louder and louder, breathier and breathier and Suguru is concentrated on how his cock pushes into Satoru effortlessly, how effortless it’s been for decades but it feels like a millenia- and if there is a god- this is the salvation he’d pray for-

He cums with a broken moan, his chest heaving but continues to push into Satoru as he murmurs sweet nothings to him. They both turn their eyes to you, you who is currently rubbing yourself furiously as if you’re racing against time. Your eyelids are hazy, clouded over with lust. You listen so well. You hadn’t even moved an inch from where Suguru had told you to stay.

“Come here, darling,” Suguru coos, “What a good girl. Do you want a kiss?”

You nod eagerly and all but crawl to him and sit in front of him on your knees, waiting patiently.

“Good girls get kisses,” he replies, “Come here, next to me.”

Satoru pushes back on Suguru, trying to fuck himself on his cock but to no avail. Suguru places a warning hand on his hip to stop him. He kisses you, a chaste peck. It’s not enough for you, but he gives you a meaningful glance. Telling you to listen to him.

You lean forward to give Satoru a kiss and before you can deepen it, Suguru tells you that’s enough.

“No touching,” he clicks his tongue, “Touch yourself while Satoru cums. Show him how much you like it when he cums, sweetheart. Doesn’t he look good like this?”

You nod vigorously with warmth pooling in your cheeks. Suguru’s hair is in disarray, long strands falling from his messily made bun onto his forehead. He moves gracefully, a painter with his paintbrush as he strokes against Satoru. He is Suguru’s canvas.

Your chest tightens at the stars barely concealed in his meteor eyes.

Satoru’s gaze is hooded and heady, concentrated only on the man hovering above him as his hair falls onto his skin. Your fingers are warm against your thighs, but you prefer the coldness of theirs.

Suguru pushes his angel hair away from his forehead and murmurs for him to sing for him. To sing for you. His moans rise in pitch with every stroke- you can’t stop the way you look longingly where they are connected. Each tense muscle in his body is soothed by the other’s gentle but firm touch. It’s a delicate dance, one that Suguru has barred you from partaking in.

Your fingers wander, languidly rubbing circles on your clit, entranced by the ripple of muscles and the sheen layer of sweat on skin. The connection of two lovers is a sight that you are blessed to witness. You want to drink them in, be drenched in their love for each other- for you.

“What a patient girl,” comes a silky voice from next to you, “Why don’t you let us have you now?”

Suguru laughs when you nod your head vigorously. Like an enthusiastic puppy wanting her owner’s attention.

“I want you both,” you say impatiently, pawing at them both,“Together-”

“Let’s give the girl what she wants,” Satoru says, still catching his breath as he lays flat on the bed.

You are met only with hungry eyes and salacious smiles.

The moon hangs above for prolonged hours as the night begins earlier and earlier. It must be nearing the winter, you think. Frost clings to the air like stars in the sky, but you don’t mind it. Not when you’re there to keep both Satoru and Suguru warm.

Despite the winter fast approaching, you still hear the faint sound of rolling thunder.

“That’s enough,” Suguru murmurs, pulling away from your wrist gently as he licks drops of your sweet blood.

“Are you certain?” you ask, despite feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Yes, darling. You’d let me have you, wouldn’t you?” he coos, as if he is speaking to a newborn deer. Your lips part into a wide, bashful smile as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“My sweetest girl,” he says, pressing his lips to your jaw. You laugh airily at the sensation, pretending to push him back with a hand on his firm chest.

“I would give you all the blood you wanted,” you reply, “You only want my blood, right?”

“Is validation from me what you seek?” Suguru teases you.

Your voice is so full of hope, eyes shining with reverence as you wait for an answer. How far would you walk for him? Just to the edge of the universe? Would you fall over the precipice with him? Would you look over your shoulder before jumping if he told you to?

Judging by the way you shove your wrist in his face, he thinks he has his answer. Your skin is dotted with fading bite marks, some fresh and some old. You wear them with pride, uncaring if anyone sees. Not that there is anyone to see you, besides Gojo Satoru and himself.

The soft smile that uncurls on your face when Suguru’s eyes shift from a calm purple to charcoal and veins abruptly appear under his eyes as he feeds on you is enthralling. No feeling will equate to his soft whimpers as the first drop of your blood enters his circulatory system.

That’s all he is, anyway. A mess of blood and an undead heart thoughtlessly arranged together with frayed red strings in a puzzle where the pieces don’t fit. But somehow, you fit. You and Satoru both fit in different places.

No feeling, not even the memories of your formerly known lover, can make you feel as desired as Geto Suguru drinking your blood as if you are the last living, breathing thing on the planet.

Suguru gives you beautiful gowns and glittery jewels to adorn on your neck and your ears. All you need to give him is your blood and he’ll indulge you with his undivided attention.

“I desire you,” he mumbles, kissing your cupid’s bow, “Your mind,” a kiss to your forehead, “Your company,” a kiss to your palm, “Your body,” a kiss to your clothed chest, “Your soul,” a final lingering kiss to your bruised wrist.

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Suguru can feel your lashes flutter against his cheek.

“Shall I prove it to you?”

He grins wolfishly, determined to indulge in every inch of you.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Satoru says with food in his mouth, “A cop came by earlier. He was asking about a certain abandoned car about two miles from here.”

Satoru’s eyes shift to you, piercing and intense but you don’t meet his gaze.

“That’s so…interesting,” you mutter, “Who would come out this far and just dump their car? How weird…”

“Someone trying to leave something behind, maybe?” Suguru suggests knowingly, his eyes equally as piercing as Satoru’s.

You avoid both of their pointed gazes and take a long swig of red wine.

The silence suffocates you, but you don’t relent. They don’t need to know your secret, the one that you’ll carry with you until your dying breath. The real reason for your abrupt departure from your home, the perceived carelessness of throwing your car keys out in the mud on the forest floor for anyone to find. All for the simple hope of salvation in this sea of trees.

Instead of salvation, you’ve found eternal damnation with the immortal vampire Geto Suguru and ever living ghost Gojo Satoru. It’s still far better than the unfortunate alternative that awaited you in your former life.

You play with the emerald necklace seated at the base of your neck. A gift, of course, from the two ethereal beings sitting in front of you. Your lip nearly bleeds from how tightly you hold it between your teeth, debating whether you should tell them or not.

Not today.

“We need to know who is looking for you,” Satoru says firmly.

“Why? So you can hand me over to them all wrapped up in a bow? Or so that you can exile me from your home?” you challenge petulantly. Suguru narrows his eyes in your direction and you swear they flash an angry red. You try not to feel small in your seat and hold your head high.

“Don’t you dare imply that either of us would give you up so easily,” he all but hisses, “Do not insult me.”

“Besides, don’t you think we should know why the cops are knocking on our door asking about your abandoned car?” Satoru chimes in with a barely concealed smirk, “And how stupid do you think we are? To not know that that abandoned car was yours?”

Your eyes land on your hands in your lap and you sigh, the burden of your former life weighing heavily in your throat.

“You will banish me if I tell you,” you say, “I can’t handle it if you tell me to leave. There is nowhere for me to go.” Your words are sincere as you cave into yourself.

“Of course we wouldn't, sweetheart,” Satoru coos, coming around the table to sit next to you. He places a lithe, translucent finger under your chin and forces you to look at him. Uncertainty dances in your dark eyes but you’re unable to break the trance that he has placed you under.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” you mumble.

“How very mysterious of you,” Satoru teases you, patting your hair without a care in the world.

“We’re only asking so we can protect you if we need to,” Suguru offers. Heat blooms in your chest at his firm admission. Of course, they’d protect you. After all, this house is a lighthouse in the storm.

Today, you've forgotten to check if the rain continues to fall outside.

The garden behind this castle of a house is flourishing and colorful, filled with flowers and blooms that you have never seen before. A sea of reds, pinks, blues and greens bursts in your eyes. To think, you’ve never seen the garden before. In fact, when was the last time you stepped outside?

You have not seen the sun in days, weeks, months, perhaps. But you feel the warmth of the sun whenever you lay between Satoru and Suguru.

But the breeze is refreshing against your face as it threads through your hair.

You look over the treeline, at the tallest trees that seem to pierce the stormy, grey sky. The rain has not begun for the day yet, but you suspect it will soon. It’s heavy in the air, palpable against your skin. If you reach out into the empty space, you’re certain you could collect raindrops into your hands.

A shiver trembles down your spine as the frosty air whips your face. Perhaps the rain will turn to snow soon. You always did love the snow. The silence of a fresh, bright snowfall where everything is as still as the night

Despite the approaching winter chill, the flowers in the garden are flourishing as if it’s the middle of springtime. You never really appreciated the springtime flowers in the past. But maybe because you never noticed, never took the time to smell the roses.

The tiny pond centered in the garden is as motionless as the air that chokes you with silence. Lotus flowers float mindlessly from one side of the pond to the other. You’ve never seen so many lotuses in one place before. It’s beautiful and rather ominous.

Time does not move in this patch of the forest. You’re forced to stand still along with the magic of the house, the symphony of the storm. Is it the magic of the house, or is it the vampire and the ghost who live inside the house?

Does it matter?

You sigh heavily, picking at your cuticles as you lose yourself in your thoughts. Your coat is heavy around your shoulders. Are they watching you in the windows? Wondering why you’ve left them alone in the house, why you’re sitting outside all alone?

Will they come find you? What would it take for them to come crawling to you, begging for your attention? Perhaps a deep cut on your wrist with the sharpened end of the gate surrounding the backyard, a scrape of your knees-

A whoosh of air wraps around your face in a firm caress but it’s not the wind, it’s more warm and comforting. You feel something being placed gently into your hair- a red spider lily.

You hide your smile.

The breeze feels like the curl of lithe fingers around your cheek, invisible but heavy against your skin. You sense Satoru’s touch but you still play coy, pretending like you don’t notice him pawing at your clothes.

You can’t see him, but you can feel him. His hands pushing the collar of your coat to lick up the column of your throat. Cold breaths against your ear as his teeth graze your earlobe.

It’s playful, teasing- you can nearly hear his laughter. Until it’s not anymore, and you find yourself on your back in the grass. Staring at the stormy sky, despite the column of sunlight illuminating you.

You wonder if Suguru is watching. You hope he is.

His hands are nimble, an out of body experience, as your blouse becomes unbuttoned and tossed to the side. With a shaky breath, you try to feel for him, wanting to touch his chest or press your lips to his-

But he doesn’t allow you to, only allowing you to be at his mercy as he holds your chest in his unseen hands. You look down in interest as your own flesh is kneaded by the concealed force that is Gojo Satoru. His touch is searing, heavenly and goosebumps rise on your neck as the pressure of his hips presses against yours. Your skirt is suddenly flipped upwards in a flurry of impatience as he pulls you closer to him. To close the gap between life and the afterlife- to tip you towards the latter.

A moan parts through the veil and settles deep in your belly as warmth bursts. You are sensitive to the plush grass against your back, against your bare thighs- your skirt has been pulled off and you lay unclothed in the garden. Like izanami herself, you lay with only the elements to witness as the unearthly being on top of you parts your knees lewdly.

He stares at your wetness as your legs part open- after all, divine intervention sits at the apex of your thighs and he wants a taste. He wants to see the great light, or whatever comes next, in your eyes as his teeth brush against your inner thighs. Satoru tastes honey once he moves your hands aside. You can’t hide from him- you can’t hide from something you cannot see. He is hungry for you, hungry to devour you, hungry for you to give in fully to him. To be absolutely and fully open to him and bare your entire soul to the deepest, dead parts of him.

Your gasps are slight, barely heard breaths as he licks you with fervor. In between your legs is Satoru, grinding into the dewy grass in time with the rise and fall of your chest. You throw your head back when Satoru pushes two translucent fingers into you, your slick coating his skin.

You smell ravishing, the pulse of your heart a song in his ears. No wonder Suguru nearly drained you dead the other day.

Satoru groans when you wrap your legs around his hips. It’s not surprising that you intuitively know exactly where he starts and ends. To your eyes, you see nothing but open space in front of you. But you feel his distorted lines pinned against you, pushing you further into the earth.

He wants to savor the image of your parted lips and half-lidded eyes, the heat on your cheeks as he strokes himself and pushes into you. The noise that leaves your throat goes straight to his cock. Do you enjoy being full like this? Stuffed full of his cock and not being able to see it? See him?

“Faster, Satoru,” you mumble, looking straight at his six eyes, “Faster-oh!”

Careful what you ask for. He grins at you wildly, pushing his chest down to yours. He could spit into your mouth if he wanted, it would be so easy to let his spit slide into your wet, warm mouth. Your body jolts with every thrust, tightening as he rubs your clit and spreads your wetness sloppily.

A pearly sheen of sweat coats your sweet skin and if you could see him now, the wolfish look in his eyes would be shining in yours. He presses down against your bottom lip with a ghostly thumb, groaning when you whimper into the open air. It’s quickly silenced when he pushes his finger into your mouth harshly as surprise melts into heat in your eyes.

Satoru can feel Suguru’s eyes on you both, laid out in the grass. He wonders if you can, too.

The slope of your neck is enticing and he must sink his teeth into you. With a breathy gasp, you shudder and clench your walls around him as you cum abruptly. He grins crookedly at you, not that you can see it. You squeeze around him like a velvety vice. Your eyes are mischievous as you roll your hips against him. The rise and fall of your chest is tantalizing- his hand moves of its own volition to wrap around your neck loosely.

As if you are a goddess with a chain to keep you tethered to the earth, to him, you look directly into his eyes and smile.

His hips stutter as he loses rhythm before he pushes into you and stills completely. Satoru whines your name brokenly in your ear before he cums loudly and triggers you to cum once more. You feel full and heavy, sated with the feeling of his thick, gooey cum pooling and mixing with your own wetness.

His eyes widen when you let your hand graze downwards to rub yourself. You taste him on your lips; tangy and sweet. Your smile is lewd, like you’re proud of yourself for seducing him in the open garden with your bare body and honey eyes.

Your skin glistens with the dewy grass that you have claimed to be your bed as the selective sun forms a patch around your head like a halo. In truth, Satoru feels unholy in the way he looks at you, thinks about you.

He drops his head low to kiss you once more, driven by the desire to paint you with himself. To paint brushstrokes of his devotion on every inch of your skin.

It’s so simple to give in to his kiss. To dive into him without worrying about how far the jump is or how far off the cliff you’ll go. You trust that he will catch you, even if you can’t see him.

He is still unseen to you, but your hands are flat against his taut chest as you maneuver yourself on top of him. You throw your head back as you welcome him inside, your wetness coating him like a salve.

Your hips move of their own accord and Satoru lays back to let you take control of him. You lean down to kiss him but your lips hover. As if you want to say something.

This garden of Eden will hear your secrets and here they shall die, you decide. Nothing seems so terrible with the way he fits inside you. You want to give him your mind, body, and soul.

And with this declaration you will. You rotate your hips, coming down on him gently at a slow pace before picking up again. His hands stay idle on your hips as you finally say something-

“I killed him,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You can’t hear him, and you don’t need to.

“My husband. We just…it fell apart!” you pant, bouncing faster, “what was a girl to do?”

“He never loved me! Never wanted me. Never paid attention to me,” you whisper, “so I killed him. And I ran away. I just wanted to be his one and only…”

“I killed him and you found me,” you sigh breathlessly, moving an arm away to rub your clit furiously. The words have never been said out loud and the secret that remains between you and him has you squeezing around him tightly. “I wish you had been there to see it, Satoru-“

He finishes loudly, without warning and you keep rolling your hips. He pushes your hand away to replace your fingers and rubs you until you finish with him.

You fall onto his invisible chest and sigh happily. He stays unseen, running a hand over your bare back and feeling the mix of your cum and his of you both leaking out of you and onto him. Your words are the words of a lover, confessions and shy smiles bursting at the seam of your lips and into his.

It must be alright, if a gentle spring breeze caresses your back.

Satoru looks at you in awe- how frightened you must have been when you had realized what you’d done. And through all of the strife and turmoil, you still came to him.

That must be divine intervention. After all, he only planned for you to be a momentary blood bag for his lover until your inevitable decay.

The openness of the house, the wall to wall windows, the way the breeze floats inside and coats the house in a gentle chill despite the ongoing storm outside, is comforting to you now. Rather than eerie as it was days ago. Days? Weeks? Months?

An invisible weight is lifted from your chest, one that you didn’t know even existed since you drove away in a frenzy on that cold, rainy night. The memories are almost too painful, but the newfound freedom tastes sweet on your tongue.

“Will you keep me waiting much longer, darling?” Suguru whispers, tracing your cheek with a long finger. You lean into his icy touch and he smiles at you.

Lifting the skirt of your midnight blue robe, he caresses your thigh and smacks it lightly. His grin widens when you yelp and laugh. Oh, he’ll have so much fun with you. What an excitable thing you are, completely defying any expectations he had of you only to enjoy your time in this castle.

A prison without a fence. He expects you won’t try to leave for a long, long time. Not when it took you all of the drama of a poor husband for you to leave in your prior life.

Yes, you are starting a new life, as you’ve indicated to him in the confines of his bedroom before. A new life with him and Satoru, one where you will be free. As free as the rain that falls from the sky.

Your soul is vulnerable, exposed for him to read whenever he desires. All Suguru sees is pure longing and fear. Fear that you will be abandoned once more.

It doesn’t matter. Suguru will make it so that your wishes are fulfilled forever. And once forever ends and you are nothing but an afterthought in his everlasting life, he will be sure to scatter your ashes in the lake by the house.

He will remember you fondly as the girl who killed to find a home in him. But ultimately, this story will not conclude with you in it. No matter how sweet your blood tastes or how you bat your eyelashes at him to get your way or how endearing he finds you as you list out trivial history facts from a time period he never lived in, not even how warm your pussy feels right after he cums inside you-

None of that matters, except for right now. Right now, when you reach for him with warm hands and look at him as if he is not a bloodthirsty creature, but as if he hung the moon in the sky.

“Make you wait? I’d never,” you reply with bright eyes, shifting against the cool sheets to press yourself closer to him. Your eyes flutter in pleasure when he pulls the knot of your robe loose from your waist. He pushes the robe to the side, leaving you open and exposed to him. Suguru purrs against your skin, the noise vibrating against your bare chest. He lifts his head as his eyes turn red and black veins form on his face.

He’s hungry.

Suguru lifts your wrist to his lips, pressing delicate kisses to the still bruised skin there. Most of the bruises have faded by now, anyway, with fresh ones blooming elsewhere. He remembers where each one is- your thighs, your chest, your neck… You don’t bother with covering them, not anymore. Not since you’ve fully accepted the castle in the forest as your home.

His tongue is gentle as he allows his fangs to elongate and brush against the skin of your wrist, like he is asking for permission.

With a soft gasp, you feel his sharpened teeth pierce your skin as he messily drinks from your vein like a man starved. In truth, he has been starved over the last few decades. Starved of a sweetness like you.

In over one hundred years, he can only remember Satoru’s blood tasting so decadent. Filling him up with a sudden unquenched thirst. Suguru wants more of you- and you know it.

He lets go of your wrist, lapping any extra blood that angrily pours out of the small puncture wound with his tongue. With a comforting rub of your skin, he presses kisses down your torso, taking his time in enjoying how you squirm in his tight grasp. Your body moves in waves against his hold, moving with his push and pull.

The familiar pierce of his canines brushes against the fragile skin of your inner thigh, one of his favorite places to drink from. He says he can taste all of your feelings in that exact spot. Suguru doesn’t care about the guttural noises that rip from his throat as he drinks from you, careful to ensure that you don’t nearly faint from blood loss. Again.

Warmth blooms in your belly, uncurling like fairy wings to envelope you in comfort. But really, it’s Suguru’s touch, his mouth, how loved he makes you feel. He says he’s never had blood like yours before and you believe him. You push his head further with your free hand, encouraging him to take more from you.

But he pulls away, blood dripping from his teeth down his chin and onto his chest. You pull him on top of you for a sharp kiss, smearing your own blood on your lips. He tastes metallic with the taste of your blood down his throat. You want to devour him, to see how you taste in his eyes. You never want him to stop looking at you the way he does- as his prized possession, his favorite girl.

“There have been so many women,” Suguru coos, “Has Satoru told you? But you are the only one who stayed.” He drags lithe fingers over your chest, only to use his long nails to cut you. It’s not very deep, but you watch in wonder as ruby red blood blooms on your skin.

He uses his thumb to paint your blood over your skin only to press his finger to your lips and wordlessly tell you to suck.

“You stayed because you love us,” he says in a honeyed voice, “Good girls should be rewarded for their loyalty.”

Suguru reaches over to his nightstand where he pulls out a silver dagger encrusted with jewels. You stare at him as he places it carefully into your hands. What does he want you to do with this?

It dawns on you when you look at the angry lines on your chest. You sit up on your haunches and smile at him, enamored that he entrusts you to this degree.

You hold the dagger, trying to get comfortable with the feel of such a heavy metal in your hands. It’s a foreign weight, necessary for the foreign task that your lover has for you.

“Right here?” you ask quietly, your hand on his chest where you expect his heart would beat.

“Wherever you’d like, darling.”

With no hesitation, you allow the surface of the blade to pierce Suguru’s skin. Dark, burgundy droplets fall from the cut and trickle down his torso. With wide eyes, you look at him, asking him what to do. Instead, he laughs at you, curling a hand around your cheek.

“Is it not obvious?”

He gathers the blood from the cut onto his finger and presses it to your lips once more. You swallow instantly with doe eyes- you will always take whatever he gives you. But you surprise him when you lean forward and press your lips to the blood on his torso and lick, whimpering with each swallow of his blood in your circulatory system.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Suguru says, petting your hair, “Good girl. Do you want more?”

With darkened lips and eager eyes, you nod vigorously. Wanting nothing more than to please him. He takes the dagger back from you and cuts a much deeper wound into his chest, wincing as he does so.

“There you go,” he says, throwing his head back when you latch onto him and drink his blood. It comes to you so easily. The urge to please.

Strangely enough, he tastes like ripened cherries. His moans are soft as you drink from him as you please. He owns you now, whether you realize it or not. Now that you’ve drunk his blood, he is a part of you now.

Until he decides otherwise.

In your new home, you have created the perfect life. You are cherished and desired, not needing to hide the ugly truths about yourself to Suguru and Satoru. You see them with rosy hearts in your eyes, convinced that they have accepted you the way that they have accepted each other.

You refuse to let any seeds of doubt fester. Will they tire of you, the way your husband did? Will they say that you’re too needy, too demanding of their attention?

The words are familiar in your mind but they look at you as if they are enthralled by you. No, you are a part of them as much as they are a part of you. You try your hardest to quell your rising, unfounded fears. It’s you, not them, you convince yourself. It’s you, not them.

Suguru and Satoru are already in the library, waiting for you to join them on the barely sat-in leather couch.

You read your book in silence, the same three paragraphs burned into your eyelids. You can’t focus, not when the two men next to you try to vye for your attention. Despite their lips on your neck and their sweet, seductive words… There is a buzzing in your head that you can’t seem to shake away. It gnaws at you and gnaws at you, even as you succumb to their touches. Even as they drape themselves over you and pull sweet sounds from your throat.

Why don’t they look at you the way they did before? Are you imagining the look of disgust in Satoru’s eyes as he undresses you? Is the boredom on Suguru’s face an unfounded figment of your imagination?

You are desperate for them, for them to bury themselves in you and build a home inside you. For them to keep you and never let you go. With a harsh kiss and bite to their lips, you seal your fate of your own accord.

In the thick of the frigid winter, the seasons change. It no longer downpours everyday- instead, snow covers the forest. Completely untouched and pure in a delicate, white blanket that cradles the earth.

The cold nips at your cheeks as you step outside the castle on the hill. You are dressed only in a thin black robe that rustles with the icy wind. With barren feet, you step into the snow. Hardly registering the way your blood cools with each step or how your teeth begin to shatter.

Despite the clean scent of snow in the air, you still catch the lingering scent of rain.

Loose deep red rose petals that you hold in your arms taint the pristine white snow as if they were drops of blood. The plant life still somehow thrives even in the wintry weather.

It is so quiet, with each step you take hardly making a sound. The world is still as you make your way over to the nearly frozen over darkened lake. It glitters with the pale sun, almost blinding you but you remain undeterred.

It is a chance for rebirth. Revenge. Or is it redemption?

You dip your foot in the lake first. Then, you close your eyes and surrender to the unknowing abyss with nothing more than a silent splash.

Melted snow coats the earth you walk on when your eyes open once more. It must be days later that you breathe the dry air and emerge from the depths of the lake, your robe soaking wet and sticking to your clammy skin.

But you do not feel the cold, nor do you need to breathe air. It’s a leftover reflex from the person you were not even a full week ago.

The door to the castle on the hill is the same as the first day you saw it. When you were running away from your old life. Here you are, embracing your new one.

You knock on the door gently. Once, then twice.

You are met with wide, surprised celestial eyes. Only offering him a grin in return.

“What did you do?” Satoru hisses, yanking you inside by your forearm. He senses the difference in you already, the darkened energy coating your bloodstream. Your heart does not beat at all and your canines have become sharpened fangs in your mirthless smile. Your hands are cold when you paw at his chest. He’s used to cold hands, but yours are unforgiving. A threat when your nails nearly pierce through his skin.

Most of all, blood stains your skin and your teeth when you smile widely at him. Some of it is fresh, still dripping down your neck and some of it is dried along the curve of your jaw and your chest. It reminds him of a lost, wounded wolf. It’s jarring, the sweet smile he is used to is sinister and unforgiving.

It doesn’t suit you, and yet this is what you have chosen. Your laughter is grating in his finely tuned ears, reminiscent of a curse. Is that what this is? Is that what you have become? An immortal curse?

He ignores the trepidation crawling on his skin. Satoru can’t exactly slam the door in your face, can he?

“Come, lover. Let’s find Suguru,” you say with bright eyes, “We have much to catch up on.”

“You were supposed to be nothing but a blood bag for Suguru,” Satoru seethes, “Look what you’ve done-”

“No, please, I did this for you,” you wail, tugging on his shirt, “I want this forever. Don’t you want the same? You said you did!” Doesn’t he see you? Doesn’t he see how much you crave him?

“Enough,” comes Suguru’s voice from behind Satoru. He looks at you, running a thumb over the blood on your skin. Then at the silent, unmoving lake.

He closes his eyes for half a second and sighs, ignoring Satoru’s very purposeful glare at his head.

“I did it for you, Suguru,” you whimper, relaxing when he gathers you in his arms and strokes your hair. He says nothing, instead raising his eyes to meet Satoru’s. Two vampires in the same forest? A newborn vampire, at that?

Suguru is tempted to stake you for your naivete, but refrains from doing so. Sheer bloodlust is what got them into this mess, after all.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says into your hair, but he means for Satoru to hear it, “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

The sun sets in brushstrokes on the world, but not on you.

#stsg x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader

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alovesongtheywrote · 1 year

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Cranberry Juice | Eddie Munson x Reader

♥ Summary: Getting kidnapped from a grocery store wasn't exactly on your to-do list, but neither was having sex with your blood-drunk vampire boyfriend on the dead bodies of your captors, so... [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader]

♥ Warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni. Violence, gore, kidnapping, gun related violence & violence against women, drinking blood, drinking blood in a sexual nature, biting, minor character death, derogatory terms used for the reader by someone other than eddie, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink, very brief dubcon, monster fucking, angst, fluff.

♥ A/N: holy fuck, i haven't written a fem/afab reader in years. i've also never written smut before, so this is new.

♥ Word count: 15945

♥♥♥

You would think that in the two years following the murder of Chrissy Cunningham and the supposed death of Eddie Munson, Hawkins, Indiana would have calmed down a little bit. You would at least assume that they would put down their pitchforks and torches and give Eddie’s friends and loved ones some room to breathe- after all, Eddie’s name had been cleared of any and all crimes, and he was, as far as they knew, literally dead.

But nope!

Nope! No! No way! You still couldn’t leave your house without receiving a thousand angry glares from a thousand angry hicks. Really, you didn’t feel comfortable leaving the house alone anymore, and no one could blame you for that. Between the threats you’d received, the shit you’d seen, and the way the town banded together to hunt down your boyfriend in 1986, you were more than justified in feeling unsafe.

This drove Eddie up the fucking wall.

You were his partner, the love of his undead life, and he couldn’t protect you from the same town that initially drove him into hiding- the town that he had died saving. He couldn’t protect Wayne, either, or the Hellfire Club kids for that matter. He couldn’t shield any of you, or stick by your side throughout the day- the wings and claws that Vecna had so graciously given him upon his return to the living made hiding a little more than necessary. And hey, if those new features weren’t bad enough on their own, Hawkins still wanted Eddie’s head on a pike. If any Hawkins citizen saw him like this, in a new and monstrous form, that would be more than enough of an excuse to murder him then and there.

In short, Eddie was helpless. His new features, the claws and fangs which were meant to maim and kill were useless when it came to defending his loved ones. He was entirely unable to take care of the people he loved most, and he hated it.

Anger and resentment festered inside of him. He worried about you whenever you left the house. Even when you were safe with him, a dark corner of his mind still spiraled through all the horrible possibilities. He wanted to keep you safe, to keep you unharmed and alive, and the idea that he wouldn’t be able to do that gave him a sense of dread like no other.

And then his fears were realized.

It started out as a simple shopping trip. You needed to pick up a few things, so you went out to get them. That’s how most people go about grocery shopping. It was normal. Painfully average considering everything else going on in your life, and honestly, you kind of liked that.

You didn’t go out alone. Max also needed to pick up a few things, so you brought her with you. You were smart about it. You both kept your guards up and your keys between your fingers. You were safe. Or you were until you fell for the faux sense of safety provided by the fluorescent lights and the bland music playing overhead- a sense of safety that would be brutally fucking shattered.

Before that, though, you were just looking at juice.

The grocery store shelves in front of you were filled with bottles and bottles of beverages. For a moment, you pondered just how many forms of cranberry juice a company could make. The answer was a lot, apparently.

At your side, Max was fidgeting, impatiently tapping her cane against the ground. You couldn’t blame her, you’d been staring at juice for like, five minutes.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet, “If it’s cool with you, I’m gonna go grab the-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you snapped out of your juice-induced haze, “Go for it, I’ll be here.”

Letting her go was your first mistake.

She nodded at you and left the aisle, ignoring the pointed glare served to her by a middle-aged woman who occupied the aisle with you. As soon as Max was gone, the woman’s glare found its true target. The killer’s girlfriend. The Munson boy’s accomplice. You.

Unfortunately for the woman, your attention was already back on the juice.

Apple. Blackberry. Blueberry. Cranberry. Cran-apple. Cran-pineapple. Cran-mango. Cran-cherry. Cran-pomegranate. There really were a lot of cranberry juices. In all seriousness, you didn’t actually care about juice that much. It was just a nice distraction from the oncoming-

“Devil’s whore.”

Oh, yep, there it was.

You said nothing as the woman swore at you. You tuned out her whispered rant about your audacity- the nerve you had to go out in public after dating that ‘child-murdering monster.’ You were used to this treatment. Not everyone in Hawkins was this intense. Some were worse, and some were better, but there were enough angry citizens kicking around for you to grow numb to the insults. As long as they weren’t threatening your life, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. You just focused on the juice and let her voice fade out.

That was your second mistake.

You tuned back in to the sound of a click- the sound of a gun’s safety turning off. Panic filled your body as you returned to your surroundings. The woman was gone. Where she had vanished to was a mystery, but you didn’t really care. Not when, in her place, a man stood, aiming a gun right at your stomach.

After noting the gun, the first things you noticed were the man’s eyes- ice blue, cold, and cruel. He wore a sweatshirt beneath a white and green varsity jacket, the hood of which he had pulled up and over his blond hair. It was a clear attempt to provide your attacker with some anonymity- of course, that was instantly cancelled out by the print on the sleeve that read, “Hawkins High, ‘84.” He was your age- and when you looked closer, you realized that you knew him.

Kurt Robertson. He had been a classmate of yours, a jock who had treated “freaks” like you and Eddie rather poorly. Clearly, he had continued his athletic pursuits given his muscular frame. Fear pooled in your stomach as you realized that you were no match for him. You wouldn’t have been a match for him even if he didn’t have a gun.

You put your hands up slowly, “Hi, Kurt. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Don’t even try it, bitch. Come with me,” he grabbed you by your shoulder, pushing the gun into your hip.

“Uh, maybe,” you were playing with fire, “Can I ask what this is about?”

“You know full well what this is about. That freak boyfriend of yours murdered Chrissy- he murdered Jason, too. They were good kids, and there’s no justice for them.”

“So you decided to find some at the grocery store?”

“Shut up, bitch, I’m talking,” he slammed you into the shelving unit. You yelped like a wounded animal. Two bottles of cranberry juice fell to the floor, cracking open as they met the ground. Red spilled across the tiles.

“I’m here, we’re here,” he gestured to the store’s exit. The implication of backup made you shiver, “To do good by Jason. And Chrissy. Munson took their lives- we figured we’d return the favour. Send his slut to hell for him.”

A crooked smile spread across Kurt’s face as he let you go, pulling back from the shelves. He gestured to the glass doors again, “Now, let’s get a move on, shall we?”

“What, you’re taking me to a secondary location? Too afraid to kill me where everyone can see it?” It was an attempt to escape- to convince this guy to let you go. If you could get him to fuck off, you might be able to slip out the backdoor and get to Eddie. If you got to Eddie, you would be safe.

“No,” Kurt pressed the gun back against your stomach, “I just respect this fine establishment too much to get your fucking guts all over it.”

“This is a grocery store.”

“Hey!” your head jerked to the side to see who had spoken. Kurt did the same. Max was standing at the end of the aisle, her groceries in one hand and her cane in the other. She looked angry, murderous- you were proud of her for that glare alone.

“Is there a problem here?” she scowled at the man in front of you. You felt the gun turn. Its side pressed against you, hiding from view in the fabric of your shirt. The barrel was aimed at Max. Shit.

You turned back to face Kurt. He wouldn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed on the red-haired girl- his new target. You had to protect her. She’d probably be pissed at you for having that thought, but you had to protect her.

“There’s no problem,” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, “I just ran into a former classmate.”

Max looked like she didn’t believe you in the slightest, not that you could blame her for that. Everything from Kurt’s proximity to you to the juice on the floor spelled out trouble. You blinked.

“Actually, do you think you’re good to find your own way home? I think I’m gonna be a while. Just catching up, y’know?”

You blinked again- three short blinks. Three long blinks. Three short ones. You hoped she noticed.

She stared at you for a minute, looking deep into your eyes before nodding. She coughed out a quick, “Yeah, it’s fine. See you around,” and with that, Max was gone. You could only hope that your message had been received.

Kurt waited for a moment. The doors opened and closed. Max had left. Now, it was just you, a man with a gun, and a dozen shoppers who didn’t give a shit about whether or not Eddie Munson’s whore girlfriend got shot in the middle of the juice aisle.

“Kurt,” you tried, watching as he took in your surroundings and fixed his eyes on the door, “Chrissy was a good kid, and I’m so sorry that she’s gone. She didn’t deserve to die, but I promise, Eddie didn’t have anything to do with it-”

He took your arm in a grip that would surely leave bruises- if you lived long enough for them to form. You winced but continued on, trying again to free yourself diplomatically, “And Jason- Jason was extreme, you have to admit, but I’m sorry about him, too. He did some awful things, but he wasn’t evil-”

“Yeah, you’d know a lot about evil, wouldn’t you?” Kurt sneered, pulling you out of the store and into the alleyway behind it. A pickup truck was parked there, waiting for you. Diplomacy had failed. You had to try something else.

The first thing you did was grab the gun and shove it away from you. Kurt’s arm went with it, and he stumbled slightly. You stumbled, too, but your balance came back to you faster than his did. You used your brief advantage to punch your assailant in the face. Your fist connected with his jaw, sending Kurt right to the ground.

You shook out your hand and took a step away, momentarily stunned by your pain and your power. The doors of the pickup began to open. You ran. You were being chased by former jocks. You didn’t get far.

Two arms wrapped around you- one around your chest, and one around your neck. You tilted your head down and bit as hard as you possibly could. The guy screamed, letting go of you just as another pair of arms took hold.

You struggled, turning around in the man’s hold and scratching at his eyes. Someone ran behind you and grabbed at your arms, trying to stop you. You thrashed, hissing and fighting like an angry animal. It was futile.

You were pushed to the ground and a gun was pointed at your face. Kurt glared down at you, his eyes full of hate and his lip gushing blood. The rest of the boys backed off for the moment, standing on the sidelines, watching their leader.

“I should kill you. I should kill you right now you fucking bitch. Send you to hell with your Satanic fucking boyfriend.”

“Then do it,” you barked, adrenaline and impulse speaking for you more than anything else, “Kill me. Unless you’re scared to do it you quivering pussy-”

Kurt slammed the gun into the side of your head. Your vision went black. Your hearing faded to a soft buzz. Blood dripped down the length of your face. You didn’t feel it. You couldn’t feel anything. You didn’t hear the panicked whispers of the jocks, nor the quietly exclaimed, “Holy shit, dude! You fucking killed her!” or the, “She’s not dead, just knocked out, calm the fuck down,” that followed it.

For the moment, you were out of the game.

The boys loaded you into the truck as fast as they could. Their arms held you down, their hold on you tight, as if your unconscious body would spring up and perform a series of badass jiu-jitsu moves on them. That didn’t happen, but they wanted to be prepared.

The pickup sped out of the alleyway, putting the grocery store in its rearview mirror with law-breaking speed. If any of the jocks had bothered to look in said rearview mirror, they would have noticed a red-headed girl using the payphone that stood near the grocery store parking lot.

“Eddie? It’s Max. We have a problem.”

You woke to the stench of rotting wood and decomposing hay. Beneath you, a filthy concrete floor provided a cold embrace. Small stones and various pieces of dirt and debris dug into your soft flesh. In this position, your leg was twisted under your weight at an awkward angle.

Damning the discomfort, you kept still. Every part of you was tense, ready, waiting for some sign or sound of your abductors. Nothing happened. The only sound was the faint scurrying of mice, and the wind blowing through the trees outside. Still hesitant, you opened your eyes.

Most of the structure around you was made of decaying wood. Planks and beams extended across a vast room, stretching up to a high ceiling to meet with crumbling rafters. In some places, red and white paint had been applied to cover up some of the damage, but after years of neglect, the attempted solution had faded and chipped away.

Beams of golden sunlight streamed into the barn through dirty glass windows, and through a large square hole in the wall that had once housed a door. Far above your head, shitty old lights buzzed harshly, illuminating all of the grime that the sun couldn’t reach.

Outside, you could see a weed-filled field running off to a line of trees in the distance. Brambles twisted up near the barn’s entrance. Wildflowers bloomed among nettles and thorns. Vines tangled with the faulty wood of the walls. Even inside the barn, little sprouts popped up through cracks in the concrete. Dandelions puffed near rusted old farming equipment and piles of wasted hay.

This place was oddly beautiful- and clearly abandoned. You were far from help, and from the sound of it, you were completely alone.

Cautiously, you got to your feet. The spot of concrete that had served as your pillow was stained red. You didn’t want to think about that too hard. Putting it out of your mind, you took a few shaky steps, stumbling your way toward the exit. Your bruised body screamed in protest. The sound of your footfalls echoed through the barn. You kept going. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice.

A rusty pitchfork lay against the wall a few feet from the hole in the wall. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have touched the thing for fear of tetanus. Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances. You armed yourself quickly and continued on, inching forward until the concrete turned to gravel underfoot.

You didn’t make it far.

The sound your movements made alerted your captors to the fact that you were awake. You could hear something drop around the side of the barn- something heavy. Male voices swore loudly. The sound of curses and other exclamations rang through the field, polluting the otherwise beautiful golden hour.

You looked around, desperately searching for a place to hide. You found nothing. There was no hiding place among the weeds and brambles, no space for nature to pull you in and protect you. Your fists tightened around the pitchfork as you realized that this would come down to a fight.

Unfortunately, you were right.

Jocks ran out from behind the barn like ants swarming from a hill. Someone cried out, “Skin only! Don’t kill her yet!”

You vaguely recognized some of the faces before you- the first one was Andy, one of the jocks who had been after Eddie in ‘86. You were able to push him back with your makeshift weapon. The next jock, unfortunately, got much closer. The smell of weed assaulted you, which was quickly followed by an actual assault. A fist met your cheek, and you staggered back, keeping yourself up with the handle of the pitchfork.

The jock didn’t let up. Another punch came your way, but you managed to step back and avoid it. The guy kicked at you weakly, but you easily dodged that, too. In retaliation, you raised the pitchfork and brought it down flat over the guy’s head, knocking him to the ground.

Alas, you were still surrounded. Five more jocks were perfectly ready for a fight, and you were quickly running out of strength and luck. Panic and pain surged through you as another hit connected with your jaw. A fist collided with your stomach. You fell to your knees. Another hand met your face. A ring broke the skin of your lips. Your chosen weapon fell to the ground as blow after blow fell upon you.

You did your best to shelter yourself from the attack. Sharp aches echoed through your limbs with every blow. You tried to separate yourself from the moment, mentally and physically. Curling into a ball on the ground and disassociating didn’t exactly make you feel brave or heroic, but it kept you from taking too much damage. Still, you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day- if you lasted that long.

You barely noticed when the kicks and punches stopped coming. You only snapped out of it fully when someone grabbed your arm. You winced. It was the first reaction they’d gotten from you since the attack began.

“Good,” Kurt grinned, “We didn’t break you.”

You said nothing, biting back several sarcastic remarks. None of them seemed appropriate for the situation. Instead, you slid your tongue over your lip, collecting the blood that pooled there. The next time Kurt opened his mouth to speak, you spit in his face.

“You fucking bitch!” Kurt shrieked, wiping frantically at his face, “Tie her up and get her back in the barn. We’re gonna take this slow, got it? She doesn’t get a quick death.”

Kurt’s lackeys obeyed. Someone bound your wrists together in front of you with duct tape. Rough hands pulled you up from the ground and shoved you back toward the barn. Fear began to take anger’s place as they threw you to the concrete. Blood dripped from your lip to the floor. You watched as it bleed between rocks and cracks below you. How much blood would you lose tonight?

Your heart raced. Breath escaped your battered lungs, but you couldn’t seem to pull any air in. Kurt glared down at you, his form outlined by the light of the setting sun. He looked at you like you were some sort of vermin he had to dispose of. You were sure that in his eyes, that was the truth.

The gun was in his hand.

“Remind me, Andy. How did they find Jason’s girl again?”

“I dunno. They didn’t even let her parents see her face. But Patrick,” Andy knelt down in front of you and grabbed your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look at him, “I got to see Patrick. All of his bones were shattered. Some kind of freak ritual, I guess.”

“Well, we don’t have a freak ritual, but,” Kurt aimed the gun at your leg, “We can always improvise. Answer me this, boys- will a bone break apart if you hit it with a bullet?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

His finger wrapped around the trigger.

A deafening bang echoed off the barn’s walls.

The sound didn’t come from the gun. Something had crashed into the roof. Dust reigned down on you and the boys as you all looked up, peering at the ceiling. Above you, the old lights began to flicker. The air seemed to chill by a few degrees.

The jocks staggered slightly, their eyes off of you and fixed on the ceiling. They all jumped as the horrendous screech of tearing metal met their ears. Whatever had landed on the roof, it was now clawing its way off. The boys turned to face the door, gripping their weapons and putting up their fists.

An inhuman sound split the calm twilight. You knew it well- that unnerving, predatory growl. You’d heard it a few times before, while running for your life in the Upside Down. While you watched the bats tear your lover apart. You fell back, crawling deeper into the barn.

The lights flicked off.

When they came back on, Eddie was standing in the would-be doorway of the barn, wings spread and fangs bared.

“Is that-?” one of the jocks whispered.

“Munson,” Andy spat. Kurt raised his gun, aiming the barrel at its new target.

He didn’t get the chance to shoot.

Eddie attacked first. He flew forward, seizing the face of the nearest man in his claws. In seconds, the man’s head was nothing more than a bloody mess. Screams filled the air as the first jock fell to the ground. Eddie fell with him, teeth to the man’s neck as blood pooled around them, a blood-red mirror on the concrete floor.

Your attackers stood stunned as Eddie moved on, leaving a body behind. Garnet drops flew to the floor as Eddie tore the next attacker into tiny little pieces. You were almost hypnotized by the way Eddie’s teeth sunk into the guy’s neck, by the way Eddie’s claws tore through his flesh. You could practically hear the sound of blood draining from his veins. When he pulled back, Eddie’s sweet brown eyes were blood red.

He was quick to jump at his next victim, claws and fangs tearing, and slashing, and biting until the man stopped moving.

It was only after that third man’s body was drained that your attackers shook themselves from their reverie and began to retaliate. They’d been aching for a chance to hurt Eddie for years. Now, they had even more of an excuse to kill him- if Eddie was a freak before, then what was he with wings and fangs? To them, he was a monster. He always had been, and he always would be.

They attacked.

It wasn’t too effective, all things considered. A fist flew at Eddie, and in response, he grabbed the offending hand, pulled the man close to him, and put his claws through the man’s chest. You almost felt sick at the sight of it- your boyfriend’s hand, rings and all, coming through the back of a man who beat you minutes before.

You knew Eddie was stronger now, inhumanly so, but you had never seen him use that strength like this- not on a person, at least. You were never afraid of Eddie. You knew that he would rather die than hurt you. But watching what he could do to a human- it filled you with unease, and with some other emotion that you refused to name.

That nameless emotion screamed in your ears as Eddie pulled the man towards him using the hand still in his chest. Eddie brought his fangs to the man’s throat and drank.

The sound of wood splintering filled the air as Eddie blocked a blow from a bat with his claws. He pulled his mouth away from his latest victim’s neck so that he could handle the weapon. He discarded the bat quickly, throwing it clear across the barn. He threw the wielder next, impaling him on some old farming equipment. The dandelions that lived beneath the aged machine were showered in a gush of ruby and wine.

Andy was next. He came at Eddie with a crowbar, and your stomach turned as you realized that all the jocks’ weapons- the bats, the crowbars, and the gun- were meant for you. You winced as Andy managed to land a hit, striking Eddie in the shoulder with enough strength to down a regular man. Fortunately, Eddie was not a regular man. He seized the crowbar and bent it, letting it fall to the floor.

“You- you killed Chrissy! And Patrick, and Jason-!”

Eddie’s eyes bore into Andy’s, speaking untold volumes, simmering with rage. Eddie wiped the blood from his mouth and took a step toward the jock.

“I didn’t kill any of them. I didn’t touch any of them. But you? You made my girl bleed. You’re gonna pay for that.”

In seconds, Andy was on the ground, unconscious or dead, you couldn’t tell. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth. Eddie didn’t bother drinking from him.

For a moment, then, the world fell silent. Eddie’s eyes met yours across the barn, across the sea of blood that he had spilled to protect you. Despite the gore, despite the blood that stained Eddie’s hands and the space under his nails, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. He was here. You were safe now.

But thinking that was your third mistake.

Eddie smiled back, and as he did, another ear-piercing bang echoed through the barn. There was nothing on the roof. There was nothing clawing down to the barn. There was nothing but you and Eddie, Kurt and his gun.

Eddie brought his hand to his side. When he moved it away, his skin was stained with both his blood and the blood of those he’d slain. You screamed. Eddie fell to his knees. Kurt took aim again. He levelled the gun at Eddie’s head.

You leapt at Kurt, using your bound fists as a weapon. You caught the man by surprise, knocking him right to the ground. The gun slid across the floor, away from both of you. Kurt quickly took the advantage, rolling over and pinning your hips to the ground with his. He raised his fist and brought it down on your face, once, then twice.

He didn’t land a third punch. Eddie tackled him off of you, hurling Kurt’s body away from yours. He stayed in front of you, protecting you from Kurt, blocking him from view. He was your shield, keeping you safe and out of the other man’s reach. Eddie snarled like an animal- a predator. It was a warning to Kurt. A message telling him, on no uncertain terms, to stay put.

Kurt did no such thing. He jumped at Eddie. Thick fingers dug deep into the bloody mark on Eddie’s side. He cried out in agony- the sound was something akin to a roar.

“You’re a monster,” Kurt yelled, his hands now covered in the dark cranberry shades of Eddie’s blood, “You’re a FUCKING MONSTER!”

Eddie stumbled backwards, a pained gasp leaving his lips. Your attacker showed no mercy. He advanced, landing a hit on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie fell to his knees.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” Kurt reached for the gun. He couldn’t find it.

Another shot rang out.

The sound echoed around the barn.

Blood spilled out from the brand-new bullet wound in Kurt’s chest. He fell to the ground with a dull thud. His blood pooled beneath him, like cranberry juice on the floor of a grocery store. Another blood-red mirror to reflect another lifeless corpse. Another red stain on the concrete.

You stood behind him, gun held tightly in your bound hands.

Silence followed. You could hear Eddie’s panting, and the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears. The busted farm lights buzzed overhead. Outside, in the twilight, cicadas sang, serenading you both. Each breath you took was tainted by the iron scent of blood. A chill danced up your skin. The barn was still cold- so fucking cold.

Eddie was struggling. New blood coursed through his system, making every inch of him feel warm. Something beneath his skin started to itch. He wanted to move. He wanted to hunt. He wanted you. He wanted to see you spread out before him, breathless and quivering, completely drunk on his cock. He wanted the taste of your blood to stain his tongue. He could feel an unending pulsation spread through him, driving him forward, almost controlling him in a way. His eyes met yours for just a moment before he forced himself to look away. A growl left his lips.

Across the room, you watched Eddie’s silent crisis, completely unaware of the feral desires harboured behind his big doe eyes. His claws curled at the concrete. You could hear them scratching against it- almost carving through it entirely. His breath seemed to come faster and faster, his chest rapidly rising and falling with every second that passed. You panicked, slightly, taking a small step towards him as your fear for his safety overtook your brain.

You lowered the gun.

“Eddie?” You called out, shattering the quiet with your desperation. Your voice was weak, shaking. You sounded broken.

In an instant, Eddie was on his knees before you. His cold clawed hands ran up your thighs and over your hips, slender fingers checking for hidden injuries, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His movements were gentle, though they edged on desperate, almost animalistic. Your heart twinged with guilt as sparks flew from each place he touched. Despite the situation, you wanted more of this- more of him.

You got just that when his lips joined his hands. He painted each part of you with kisses, brushing his mouth over your knees, your thighs, your hips. He paused over the faint purple of a forming bruise on your leg, his touch hovering over it slightly as passionate concern tore a growl from deep within his chest. You could feel his breath against your skin, hard and fast, nothing short of panicked. His fear for you melted your heart. You whispered his name. It came out as a plea- a blasphemous prayer in a God-fearing town.

“I’m here,” he replied, his voice low, “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to breathe again as you adjusted to the safety of his presence. His hands slid up your body as he leaned in, pressing his lips and then his teeth against the soft skin of your thigh. He bit down, enough to mark you but not enough to make you bleed, “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

You whimpered, taking his chin between your fingers, urging him to meet your eyes. His face was pale, and his normally messy hair was wild and slightly damp from sweat. Blood spilled from his bottom lip. You couldn’t tell if it was his. Gently, you brushed the blood away with your thumb. He leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes for a moment, letting himself be there with you. When he opened his eyes again, there was something dark contained in the sweet brown of his irises- a grim determination.

“Baby,” he groaned, raising a hand to your wrists, “I’m gonna untie you, and then-” he paused, taking a deep breath.

“And then?”

“And then I need you to run.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong-?” a fresh wave of panic shot through you at Eddie’s warning.

Eddie paused for a moment. When he spoke again, he almost sounded afraid, “It’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just- I need you to run from me.”

“Eddie, what do you mean?”

He didn’t answer.

“Eddie- Eddie, please-”

He dug his fingers into your thighs, pulling you down and knocking you onto your back. A small cry escaped you. Your heart began to pound in your chest as one of his massive hands curled in the dust beside you. In the time it took to blink, he was leaning over you, caging you in with his body. One of his legs found its home between yours. The way he stared down at you was a new kind of desperate- he looked hungry. Empty. Starving.

“I’ve had too much blood tonight, baby,” he leaned in, nipping at your throat, all teeth, no fangs. He made a point not to bite, “And it did something to me.”

“S-something?”

He slipped his hands into yours, pinning your arms above your head by your still-bound wrists. He pulled back to look at you, ravenous devotion clouding his eyes, “Something, baby. I don’t know what, but I-”

He cut himself off, looking away from your face and shutting his eyes tightly as if he could somehow fend off what he was feeling by pretending to be somewhere else. His grip on you tightened, and you fought off the urge to whimper. Again, you whispered his name.

“I want to taste you,” Eddie sounded horrified at his own words, but he didn’t stop, “I wanna feel you succumb beneath my hands. I want to feel your heart race for me, but I can’t tell whether it’s your blood I want on my tongue, or you. And I- I can’t hurt you, so I need you to run, okay?”

His eyes were still closed. He still refused to look at you. He seemed so deeply ashamed- and yet, heat pooled inside you, flowing down to your core. You drew in a breath, your chest rising sharply. Blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face until everything beneath your skin felt like fire. Your eyes widened. Your thighs shook slightly. Any sense of self-preservation you had was throwing itself out the window in the wake of the fire that Eddie had unknowingly set inside of you- a fire that you had no intention of putting out.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed at your physical response. He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear, “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of you?” your voice shook, and your body trembled beneath him, but a small smile took over your features at the thought, “Never.”

Eddie pressed his forehead against your shoulder. A small grin crossed his features, though there was no joy in it. There was something tragic in every movement he made. A desperate longing drove every action- a want for something he could not have.

“Goddamnit, I love you,” he whispered. His words were almost a whine, “But I need you to get out of here, okay? I need you to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from me, and I need you to stay there.”

He pressed his lips back to your neck, sucking your skin in between his teeth with enough pressure to bruise, but not to break. His claws bit into the tape, beginning to tear it.

“Eddie-” you spoke fast, panicking at the thought of leaving him like this, “Eddie, I’m not going anywhere. Not when you’re hurt. Look, I know you’re afraid to hurt me, and I know that you think you’re a monster, but you’re not,” you flushed as your voice broke, “You’re not a monster, Eds. You- you make me feel safe. I want to stay.”

He stopped tearing at the tape.

“Eddie,” you sounded more sure, “I’m here. I’m staying, and you won’t hurt me, you won’t lose control-”

“You don’t know that,” he hissed, his voice filled with so much self-loathing that the sound of it broke your heart.

“But I do. Eddie, everything you did tonight, you did to save me. To protect me. You aren’t gonna hurt me. You’re not-”

His hand was on your throat. He didn’t squeeze. There was no pressure, but his claws pricked in against your fragile skin. You should have been afraid of him, or at the very least you should have feared for your life. Eddie was dangerous. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, but you’d just witnessed him murder several people with the claws that were now against your throat. But in fear’s place, that deep longing still burned inside of you.

”Baby,” Eddie warned, “I need you to understand. There is so very little inside of me that wants to be nice, and there is so much of me that wants to-”

A sharp sting spread out from your neck as his claws drew the tiniest drops of blood. He leaned closer to you, to your neck, “I don’t want to show mercy or kindness. I want to fuck you until my cum is spilling out of you, until you can’t move, and then I wanna keep going. I want to use you until you know that that pretty little slit between your legs belongs to me. I want to claim you. To own you. To ruin you for everyone else. I want you to bleed for me, and that is terrifying.”

He paused, releasing your throat from his hold and bringing his lips to your neck. He lapped at the drops of blood that spilled from the pinprick-like wounds he’d made. The second his tongue was on you, he took his other hand off your wrists and moved his touch down your body. He stopped at the hem of your shirt, his fingers biting into the material, almost tearing it like they had torn your skin just moments before.

“Sweet girl, I wanna fuck you until it hurts- fuck you while we’re surrounded by the bodies of our enemies- and then I want to drain you. I am a monster. And I want you the way a monster would. Do you understand?”

Again, you should have been afraid. You should’ve let him free your wrists, and then you should have run away. You should have screamed.

Instead, you moaned.

You couldn’t help it. It just sort of slipped out of you- his words, the intensity of his gaze, the sweet sting at your neck- it all poured gasoline on the already raging fire burning inside your core. Your legs fell apart for him, thighs spreading wide as arousal pooled between them. Eddie looked a little surprised.

“Did you- did you just fucking moan?”

You grumbled, desperate to hide your face in shame. Your humiliation doubled when you realized that with Eddie’s heightened senses, he could probably tell that you wanted him. He could undoubtedly hear the racing of your heart and smell the want between your legs.

“You fucking heard me,” you sighed, looking away in defeat, “But you- you can’t just say shit like that. You have to know that I want you.”

“You want me? To what, to kill you? Because-”

You cut him off, sighing again at your boyfriend’s dramatics, “Oh my god, Eddie, I want you inside of me.”

He froze for a second, stunned into silence. You took that as a cue to carry on, “I want you to fuck me. To claim me. I want you to use me, to ruin me, whatever, I just want to be yours.”

Eddie remained quiet, though his features had softened slightly. You turned back to face him, shoving your shame out of your mind. You sat up in his hold, letting him wrap his arms around your waist as you encircled your still-bound arms around his neck. His eyes were still wide with shock, but there was an undeniable sense of adoration within them. In turn, Eddie saw no fear in your gaze- just determination. And arousal.

“I want you to take me,” you begged, twisting your fingers in his hair, “Right here, and right now, and if you have to do that ‘like a monster,’ then do it. I don’t care. I just want you.”

Another growl ripped itself from Eddie’s throat as he pushed you back to the ground, keeping your arms around him, “Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into?”

You nodded, leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a quick and surprisingly chaste kiss. He smiled against your skin- a genuine smile, this time. You’d convinced him. He sighed, reaching up to gently cup your face. He traced over your cheek as he spoke, “Use your words for me, sweet girl.”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his palm, “I know. Do you understand that I don’t care what I’m getting myself into?”

He raised an eyebrow. You continued, a devious smirk on your face.

“You could do whatever you want to me because I want this. I want you. And, hey if you don’t fuck me at this point, maybe I’ll do it myself and make you watch.”

On the last word, you parted your lips and bit Eddie’s hand. He choked. A blush covered his face, painting his features pink up to the tips of his ears. You smiled, satisfaction with your work sinking in as you leaned up to press a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. His skin was warm, far warmer than the palm he had on your face just moments before.

Eddie shook his head, snapping out of his flustered state. His eyes darkened as want crept back into his gaze. He took your arms from around his neck, pressing a kiss to your hands before he pressed them into the ground above your head. You were pinned.

“Even now, you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” Eddie purred, “Y’know, it might be a little tough for you to get yourself off seeing as you’re, y’know, at my mercy, but I’d like to see you try. I can’t complain about a show like that.”

You gave a defiant wiggle, stretching your hands as much as you could with your wrists still pinned and bound, “I know. That’s why I-”

A moan swallowed your words as he pressed a kiss to the column of your throat. The sound heightened in pitch, becoming a cry as his teeth bit into your soft flesh. Eddie smiled against your neck as he released his hold on your wrists. His hands moved down your body, his actions slow, fingers weighed down by intent. His touch lingered by your breasts for a second, giving your tits a harsh squeeze before he reached further. A sharp gasp left you as you felt his cold digits press against the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt.

His grip tightened on the fabric, claws piercing through it before he tore it from you entirely, leaving your upper body exposed to the chill of the barn. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Beneath your bra, your nipples pebbled from both the cold and your arousal. Eddie made short work of that garment, too, not bothering with the clasp. In less than a second, your bra was in pieces on the floor beside your poor, poor shirt.

Eddie paused, taking in the sight of your chest. His hands slipped up and over your waist, stopping just beneath your breasts, “Holy shit,” his voice was rough, gravely- and it had you arching up into his hold, “You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

He leaned in, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, nipping at your flesh ever so slightly. His fangs threatened to pierce your skin, and you knew you wouldn’t mind if they did. You meant what you said. Eddie could have his way with you however he liked. He could cut you, bleed you, break you, and you would let him. You would lie there for him and just let him take everything he wanted. (Of course, you knew he wouldn’t. He loved you far too much to ever cause you real harm.)

You let out a whine, running your hands into Eddie’s hair. It was a little difficult- your wrists were still bound- but you did your best. He moaned, lips still against your skin, and you found yourself writhing at the sensation. Your body begged for more, for him to do more than touch and bite- you wanted to be fucked.

“Eddie, please- please,” the attempt was sweet, but your pleas went ignored. Eddie pulled his mouth away from your nipple, moving just slightly to mark up the rest of your chest. You tilted your head back, panting as his hands descended to the hem of your shorts, squeezing and scratching your sides as he went.

“Eds, please-”

“That’s it, good girl,” Eddie purred, teeth still against your chest, “Beg for me.”

You whined, bucking your hips up, trying to get some friction. Eddie laughed a little as you tried desperately to squeeze your thighs together. The leg he kept between yours prevented it, and you groaned, tugging on his hair in retaliation.

Eddie moaned, leaning back until you could see his eyes shut in pleasure, “So pretty. And such a fucking brat-”

He sunk his fangs deep into your chest. You cried out, digging your nails into his scalp. You keened weakly as he drank from you. He didn’t take much- he was already enduring what could be considered a blood overdose- but he did take enough to shut you up, to make you hurt.

When he pulled away, you were a mewling mess beneath him. Your whines only got louder when he dragged his tongue over the bite wound. A sharp grin exposed his fangs, now stained with your blood. He leaned in, kissing you deeply, sliding his tongue passed your lips. You could taste the copper tang of your life in his mouth.

He pulled away, breathless, and in seconds he was back on your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your arm, biting at your wrist and drawing blood before he moved back to your chest. He pulled your other nipple between his teeth, nipping and biting, making you whine. You moved your body against the thigh he kept between your legs, grinding on it. You were desperate and Eddie knew it.

He kissed down your stomach, biting at your hip as his grip tightened on the fabric of your shorts. You yelped at the sting of his teeth, the sharp piercing of his fangs in your flesh. Eddie’s tongue laved over your hip, lapping up the blood that dripped down your side. He tore your shorts to pieces before the blood could stain them, ripping your panties off with them.

A loud gasp escaped you, and you let out a whine as the cold barn air met with your dripping cunt. Eddie’s smile was almost shark-like. Lots of teeth.

“So pretty,” Eddie whispered, “And so wet for me, baby.”

He pressed a kiss to the new bite mark hip before he continued, “Y’know, watching you fuck yourself for me- I’d only last so long before I just took you for myself.”

Two fingers moved up your slit, gathering your arousal before meeting with your clit. His skin was rough, callused from fighting and from his guitar. His touch was electric, sending shockwaves through your spine. You couldn’t hold back your moan, nor could you control your hips as they bucked up into his hand.

“S-so,” you tried to speak as his fingers moved in tight circles over your sensitive nub, “You’d still fuck me, then?”

“I’d clean your fingers off first, but yes.”

“Oh, good. So either way, I get what I want.”

He paused his ministrations and pulled his fingers away entirely, digging them into your sides. You made a noise of protest, but Eddie remained still. For a second, he just stared at you, half squinting. In the time it took to blink, his teeth were on your chest again. He didn’t break the skin, but he got so dangerously close to it that you couldn’t help but shiver as want dripped down your thighs.

Eddie’s grip tightened on you, and you wondered what the bruises his ring-clad fingers left on your hips would look like later on. An especially sharp bite pulled you back to the present. You mewled, whining as Eddie nipped at the soft skin over your heart. You could almost feel your blood pumping faster through your veins, sending that same fire through each one of your nerves.

Slowly, though, Eddie’s fangs distanced themselves from you. It was just his lips on your skin. The pressure was still bruising to be sure, but something had changed.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever,” you could feel Eddie speaking against you, his breath warm on your chest, “Whatever you want, just stay with me.”

A few short moments ago, he’d been begging you to run away from him. Now, he wanted you to stay. A quick kiss to your bloodied temple told you why.

‘I will,” you pulled his forehead to yours, locking eyes with him, “I promise I will.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, wrapping your arms around his neck as your nails gently scratched at his scalp. He melted into your touch before leaning in, pressing his soft lips against yours. The kiss was so gentle, so different from the harsh bites and scratches he’d delivered so far. Your body overflowed with want, a broken fountain pouring desire onto the floor.

“You,” you muttered against him, “Are everything I want.”

He looked down at you for a second, eyes wide and wanting. You leaned up, capturing his lips with yours. One of his hands came up, cupping your face gently, holding you like you were something precious. Your lips fit against his perfectly. The fire inside you was threatening to take down the goddamn barn.

You paused. Wrapping a strand of Eddie’s hair around your fingers, you gave a slight tug. You met his gaze with a small smile, removing your arms from around his neck and bringing them in front of you.

“Also, I would like to be untied, please.”

He laughed and did as you asked, freeing you with a swipe of his claw. Instantly, your hands were on his face, your fingers running over his cheekbones, sweeping under his eyes. With your new freedom, you were able to run your hands up and through his hair properly. Above you, Eddie seemed to purr.

Eddie lowered himself, kissing and biting down your breasts and stomach, leaving bruises as he went. His movements were the same as before, but there was a new passion to them. You brushed your fingers over his shoulders, scratching at him slightly. He gripped onto the soft skin of your inner thighs, threatening to tear into it. You arched your hips up towards him. He grabbed them, grip tight and claws digging in. You cried out quietly as he pushed them back to the ground. Your back stung slightly, but the pain was quickly put out of your mind.

“Stay put for me, will you, sweetheart?”

You barely had a moment to register his words. His lips met with your heat, and you cried out at the sensation. His tongue moved up and down, teasing your entrance before his lips closed around your clit. You couldn't keep your thighs from closing around his head when you felt the harsh edges of his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind. More than that, he moaned against you. You had to fight to keep still beneath him.

Eddie kissed and bit you, eating you out like a man starved, like an animal that hadn’t been fed in an eternity or longer. The pleasure he brought you was almost violent in nature. You let out a string of incomprehensible words, moaning and whimpering as he drank your arousal.

“You taste so good, baby,” he pressed his lips to your clit, “So sweet. You’re perfect.”

One of his hands slid back up your body, leaving goosebumps behind. He stopped between your breasts, strong fingers pressed against your sternum ever so slightly, holding you still. Over the next few moments, as his teeth and tongue teased you relentlessly, dragging you to the edge at a rapid pace, your hand slipped into his. His claws bit into your skin. Your nails bit into his.

“Fuck- fuck, Eddie-”

“Gettin’ close, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your words fell to nothing as you cried out his name, shaking as you came for him. Your voice echoed off the walls, and Eddie didn’t think he’d ever heard a sweeter sound. He could feel your heart racing under his hand, your pulse racing through your wrist. The way your fingers squeezed around his- like you wanted him, like you needed him- made him feel weak.

It took you a minute to come back to earth. You could barely hear Eddie shrugging off his shirt and jacket over the sound of your own panting. The metallic clink of his belt buckle meeting the floor as he removed it got your attention.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him. Your eyes traced up his slender waist, over scarred and tattooed skin. His wings cast sharp shadows over his body. He freed his cock from his pants, and you tried to keep yourself from drooling as it sprang up against his stomach.

Eddie had always been gifted. He had always been big, thick- the sight of him was always enough to make your mouth water. Even before the Upside Down had so kindly bestowed him with new shit, you thought he was perfect. But after?

You weren’t sure why Vecna had decided to give your boyfriend’s cock ridges and a few extra inches, but you weren’t about to look a gift dick in the mouth. You would never get used to the sight- it would always make you shiver with want, make you drip with need. Perhaps a rational person would be intimidated by the sheer size of him, by the ridges that now covered his length, but you? Never. You didn’t care about anything. You didn’t fear anything. You just wanted him.

Your eyes caught his- honey shining in the twilight, warm, wanting, and slightly hesitant. His pupils were blown out, dark voids drinking in the sight of you. He wanted to give you a moment to catch your breath. He wanted to take a second to kiss you and to hold you close. Eddie wanted to be gentle, but something deep inside him- specifically all the blood he’d drained from you and your attackers- demanded that he get his cock inside you as fast as he fucking could.

“Baby, are you- are you sure you want this? I’m not- I’m not gonna be nice.”

“I don’t care, I don’t-” you sat up, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him down on top of you, “I want you, Eds. I don’t care about anything else.”

“Okay. Okay, just- promise me you’ll stop me. If I hurt you, or if it’s too much, promise you’ll stop me.”

“I will,” you could barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart, “Whatever you need, I promise.”

He took a deep breath before taking his cock in his hand, stroking it twice. He lined himself up with your entrance, pressing against you ever so slightly. He kissed up your jaw, pressing his lips against your ear before he whispered, “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

In one swift movement, he was inside you, buried to the hilt. You were wet and ready for him, but the sudden stretch- the sudden ache of his length pressing against your walls was still a lot for your already sore body to take. Tears sprang to your eyes. A scream tore itself from your throat before you could block it, mingling in the air with the sound of Eddie’s moans.

You could see the guilt in his eyes, but he didn’t slow his pace. His thrusts were fast and deep, almost violent in their intensity. The drag of his cock inside your needy cunt- the feeling of his veins and ridges against your walls- had your eyes rolling back, had you moaning like some mindless slut.

Eddie wasn’t doing much better. He quickly lost himself in the feeling of your body writhing under his, squeezing his dick every time moved. He brushed against a spot inside you that made you see stars. Your muscles clenched as his cock brushed it over and over again. Pain and pleasure shot through you, sparking through your veins and making you dig your nails into his back. He barely felt it.

Eddie took your hips into his hands, his grip bruising, his claws digging in. You could feel your blood pooling beneath his claws, staining his nails red. His lips were against your chest again, his teeth biting and scratching your skin. You barely noticed. You were too focused on him, on his cock forcing its way deeper and deeper inside, finding places that only he could reach.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” His voice was raspy, rough around the edges as he tried to catch breath that he didn’t technically need.

“Still with you,” your voice was just as breathless as his, “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The sound of his hips slamming into yours cut through the silence of the night. Your fingers moved over Eddie’s back, scratching white lines into his skin. Your hands danced over the bones and flesh of his wings, darting over every sensitive spot. You knew his body well, and in seconds he was melting into you. Maybe it was a dirty move- you pulling out all of the stops on him- but you were sure he didn’t mind if his moans were anything to go by. His cock twitched inside your walls, and you moaned at the sensation. You were weak and wanting, and he was much the same.

“That’s it, baby,” he purred, “That’s my girl. So fucking good for me, so tight.”

His words slurred together, morphing into a low growl as he fucked into you. The smell of sex filled the barn, overtaking the stench of blood and decay. The barn itself seemed to fade further and further from view with every stroke, leaving only Eddie behind. For the moment, it was just the two of you. There were no threats to your life, no disgusted old ladies in grocery stores, and no jocks that wanted you dead. It was just you and the boy you loved.

One of his hands left your hip, moving back downwards to press his fingers against your clit. You could feel him trying to set a pace while also trying to keep his claws from scratching your delicate skin. As his fingers traced those familiar tight circles, you spiralled under him, walls clenching down around him as you drowned in the feeling of his skin on yours.

You could faintly hear him whispering filthy things in your ear- descriptions of all the depraved things he would do to you spoken over the deafening roar of your beating heart and the sound of skin on skin. Between words, his lips pressed kisses to every part of you that he could reach. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you neared overstimulation. Eddie kissed them away.

Mindlessly, one of your hands slipped away from his wings and over his side. Your fingers brushed something wet, a gouge in Eddie’s skin. The bullet wound. Immediately he flinched, clenching his jaw tightly to keep from crying out. You pulled back with near-inhuman speed, but the damage had been done. In your panic, you didn’t notice Eddie’s pained gasp turning into a laugh. You didn’t feel his cock pulsing inside you. As apologies spilled from your mouth, he took your now-bloodied hand in his free one.

“Damn,” he spoke over you, his voice rough and low, “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

You stared up at him, stunned into silence. Your face burned under his gaze. Even if you knew how to respond to that, you didn’t get the chance. Eddie brought your fingers to and past his lips, stealing your breath from your lungs in the process. His tongue moved around your fingers with a certain grace as he licked the cranberry colour of his blood off of your skin. The sight of it- of his lips around your fingers, drawing you in- was enough to take you to the edge. A little added pressure on your clit was enough to send you over, into a white-hot abyss.

You cried out as your walls clenched down around him. Tears stained your cheeks as your orgasm overtook you. Eddie pulled back, groaning slightly. Transparent strings connected his lips to your now damp fingers. A devilish grin overtook his features, “You liked that, huh? You came hard for me, sweet thing.”

You let out an embarrassingly loud whine in agreement, your body shaking as it came down from its high. Eddie let out a groan that matched your volume as he moved his hips against yours at a harsh and unforgiving pace.

He panted, “I’m- I’m gonna need you to use your words, baby. Need you to- fuck- need you to tell me. You can do that for me, right?”

You let out another whimper before you let out a broken confession, “I- I liked that,” he leaned in to kiss you, but you cut him off again, “But you didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be hurt- unless y’know, it’s kinky.”

Eddie froze for a second. Your words had caught him off guard. As he stilled inside you, his smile changed. Everything about him became less devilish and more genuine. He broke eye contact. You could just see a pink flush spread over the pale skin of his neck and cheeks as he buried his face in your shoulder. When he spoke again, his words were muffled by your flesh against his mouth.

“You’re too good to me.”

His thrusts picked back up again, the same as they were before. He slowly placed your hand back where he found it, “Far too good.”

A sharp sting spread through your body as his teeth pierced your flesh. A fresh round of tears pooled in your eyes at the new ache. Blood dripped down your shoulder and over your chest, painting red lines down your tits. Ruby-red droplets jumped slightly with each snap of his hips. You felt him twitch at the sight of it. His grip tightened, and he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr.

“You’re- fuck,” his voice edged on wicked, desperation seeping in as he reached up to wipe your tears away, “You’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to. Gonna make sure they know- make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

“Please, Eds. I want you- I want you to claim me. Want you to show them that I’m just your slut-”

Eddie felt a twinge in his chest, guilt taking arousal’s usual place. Degradation was usually fun to some degree, but he knew what people in this town called you. He knew what they thought you were and he knew the danger it put you in; and with the events that had led you here, his fear was raw. Worry burned through his head, turning brain cells into exposed wires. His lips quickly pressed his lips to yours bringing your pleas to a brief halt. When he pulled away, he whispered, “You know you’re more than that, right?”

“I know,” you leaned up to kiss him, recognizing the emotion in his eyes, “A thing can be two things. I’m a person, and I’m yours, body and soul. Just yours.”

He shut his eyes, chasing down your lips and kissing you breathless. It was sweet, not gentle, but kind- and you wanted to change that. You wrapped your teeth over his lower lip and bit down. You didn’t draw blood. You weren’t sure that you could, but you sure as hell tried. Eddie growled, but before he could say anything, you were whispering into him again.

“You’re mine, too. Remember that.”

The smile that crossed his face was blinding. Desire consumed him again as his hips moved against yours. His thrusts came faster, deeper, and impossibly harder. His eyes clouded over with lust, and you were pretty sure that if you had a mirror, you would see the same thing reflected in your own face. The want. The need. Your body melted beneath Eddie’s as he fucked into you the way he said he would- like a fucking animal.

Your body craved his- you wanted him to keep his word, to take you, claim you, protect you. You wondered, briefly, what it said about you- that you wanted your partner to commit acts of violence in your name. You brushed those thoughts away as a familiar tension began to build in your core.

As your edge grew nearer, Eddie could feel his monstrous instincts overtake him. He knew that his grip on your body was just a bit too firm, that he was leaving dark bruises and deep bite marks all over you. If he wasn’t careful, he would hurt you, but careful seemed to be the last thing you wanted. You kept begging him for more, arching your body into his, digging your nails into him. Soft, depraved pleas escaped your lips, morphing into cries as you came undone beneath him.

Eddie wasn’t sure what happened next. He blinked, eyes falling shut, and when he opened them, he was using your body with a level of violence he had always tried to keep you from.

A broken scream ripped its way out of your throat as the head of Eddie’s cock rammed against your cervix with bruising force. A blinding agony spread through you, crawling through your nerves and making you gasp for air. You could barely feel Eddie’s claws digging into your sides, barely feel it as he thrust back into you. Your thighs slammed shut around his hips. A whimper escaped your lips as your nails scratched down his back, desperately searching for purchase.

Eddie paused for a split second, looking down at you with wide, panicked eyes. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He hated himself for it. You took a deep breath as he kept moving, as he kept thrusting deep within your walls. You tried to relax, to let the pain fade. You failed. You felt the head of his cock hit your cervix a second time, and you bit down on your lip, drawing blood. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you held back a scream- you couldn’t hold back your pleas for mercy.

“Eddie-” your voice broke, “Eddie, stop. Please, please, stop- I can’t-”

All pleasure had left your voice, leaving only pain and fear behind. Again, he didn’t stop. He wanted to stop- he desperately wanted to stop. He needed to stop, and he knew that. He was hurting you, and that killed him, but some shameful part of his blood-drunk mind was excited by your pain. It wanted to keep going, even if he didn’t.

In a panic-fueled attempt to end your agony, your hands pressed against Eddie’s shoulders, pushing him back. It was enough to snap him out of it and make him stop- and it made him notice the blood dripping over your lip and down your chin.

The first word to pass his lips was, “No.”

There was a deep, disbelieving horror in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he had done to you. He reached for you, slowly and cautiously, giving you plenty of time to stop him. When you didn’t, he wiped the blood off your face with his thumb, cradling your jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“Shit- shit, shit, shit,” his other hand came up to hover near your face. Tears filled his eyes. If you didn’t see it, you would’ve heard it in his voice. Your boy sounded so broken, “I’m sorry, baby, fuck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “You know.”

Eddie wrapped his hands around yours and pinned your arms to the concrete above your head. He kept your fingers intertwined. As much as he hated himself for it, he didn’t want to let go. A whimper escaped you, and you watched Eddie’s face as he shut his eyes and hissed. For a moment, you thought he was hurt.

“Eddie-”

“You know that the man you love is a monster. You know that every time I touch you, I risk hurting you. You know I could kill you, the same way I killed those men tonight. The same way they tried to kill you, I could just-”

His hands squeezed yours. He wouldn’t look you in the eye. He looked anywhere else, just not into your eyes.

“Eddie,” your voice was softer, reassuring.

“Sweetheart, when I fuck you, you are being violated by a monster. If I claim you, it means that you’re owned by a monster. If we-if I got you pregnant, if you had my kids… they’d be like me. A monster just like their dad.”

He shifted slightly, preparing to pull away from you as he began to sink into that familiar pit of self-loathing. Eddie had barely moved an inch when you latched onto him further, clinging to him, wrapping your legs around his hips to make him stay.

“You think this is a violation? Eddie, I asked for this. Do you not want-?”

“Oh god. Baby, I want this. I want you, more than I should, but I hurt you. I didn’t stop when you needed me to, and that- it terrifies me. This was a mistake, I never should’ve-”

“I don’t think this was a mistake. Any of it,” you sat up a bit, just enough to press your forehead against his, “You stopped. I’m okay. And, uh… I kind of liked what you were saying. But-”

“But?”

“You really think our kids would be monsters?” you asked, “With you as their father? No way. Menaces, maybe, but not monsters.”

He said nothing, but a small smile crossed his face. He didn’t pull any further away. He just stared at you with those sweet doe eyes of his, so warm, so enamoured with you, and still so full of guilt.

It wasn’t a surprise that his mind had gone to such a place- he had killed a bunch of people moments before, fucked you on top of their bodies, and now, he had hurt you. It was an accident, you both knew that, but the guilt would eat him alive if he let it. You weren’t willing to let that happen. You hadn’t let those dark thoughts get to him in the past, and you sure as shit weren’t going to start now.

“Eddie. Everything you did tonight, you did to save me. Everything you do is to protect the people you love and care about. Tonight, two years ago, and even further back. You love with everything you have. You- are so brave, and so deeply kind, even if you pretend not to be, and if that makes you a monster, then I hope our children are monsters, too. And I hope they have your eyes.”

He remained still for a moment. His expression betrayed both his shock at your statement and his want. In the next second, his lips were on yours. He let go of your wrists, bringing his hands back to your face.

“I love you,” he whispered into the kiss, “I love you, I love you.”

You leaned up and into him, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “I love you too. So much. And I want you to remember, I also killed a man tonight. If you’re a monster, then…”

He let out a quiet laugh, lips moving down your neck, feathering kisses over your skin all the way to your collarbone, “We’re monsters together, then.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, “Exactly,” you purred. You paused for a second, becoming violently aware of the weight of his cock inside of you. You taped your fingers against his spine before you thrust your hips down against his, “You can, uh… you can start again now. I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

You leaned closer, whispering against his lips, “I am.”

He pressed his lips to yours, tongue slipping between your lips as he began to thrust into you again. His pace was quick, but not painful, and not quite so unforgiving. Your fingers reached up to wrap around the messy strands of his hair, tugging gently. He moaned into the kiss, sounding hungry and desperate once again.

As you drew nearer to your edge, your thoughts began to race. His words spilled through your mind, drowning your psyche with every sentiment he’d put forward. He loves you deeply. He’s terrified of hurting you. He’s desperate to keep you safe. You mean something to him. He’s thought about having kids with you, and you wanted him to think about that- fuck.

Your walls tightened around him. His cock twitched inside of you as he neared his own edge.

You whimpered out Eddie’s name, tugging on his hair until he pulled away from you. His brows furrowed in concern as he took in the sight of you, but you didn’t look like you were in pain. Your eyes were wide, filled with lust, and your chest heaved with every breath you took. You were covered in blood and sweat, and you were the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen. He felt your hands move to his face, and his gaze focused on your lips as you spoke.

“Eddie,” your voice was soft, “I need you to cum inside me.”

You watched as his eyes widened, as his lips parted in shock and a faint blush covered his cheeks. You were kind of proud that even in a moment this intimate, you could still get him to flush like that.

“You- you want me to-?”

You nodded, cutting him off and pulling him closer, “I want you to fill me up. Breed me, please.”

He shivered, a current of electricity running through him at your words. His body and his instincts screamed at him to do exactly as you’d said.

“You,” he whispered, “You’re perfect.”

His mouth slipped downwards, lips pressing against the space between your throat and your shoulder. His teeth sunk into your shoulder. Pain spread through your skin, white-hot as your blood dripped over your chest. Your muscles spasmed around him as the coil snapped. Your grip tightened on his hair. You could faintly hear him cry out in your own haze. His claws dug into you as he fell over that all-consuming edge.

Eddie bit down harder on your throat as he came, drinking just enough from you to make you see stars. His cock throbbed against your walls as his seed spread inside you, thick, and hot, and perfect. You clung to him, your breath stuttering as your muscles clenched, milking him for more.

As he finished, the monstrous need to fuck and breed you faded away to nothing. He was left with the more human parts of him after that- the parts of him that knew what aftercare was and that you would need it, the parts of him that knew he had to get you somewhere safe, somewhere away from the bodies of your attackers. Your body was limp beneath Eddie’s. Your eyes were closed, and your lips slightly parted. You were fucked out, completely cock drunk, and utterly perfect.

Eddie brushed your hair off your face. You could hear him repeating your name softly as you came back to earth. When you opened your eyes, he was hovering above you, looking at you with more affection than you could put into words.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and slightly shaky.

“Hi,” you let one of your hands move up to his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

“You okay, pretty girl?”

“‘M more than okay.”

He smiled, taking your hand from his cheek and pressing his lips to it, “Thank god, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t.”

“You’d probably lose your mind.”

“Oh, I’d definitely lose my mind.”

You finally caught your breath as he kissed each of your knuckles and your wrist before he brushed his lips down your arm and to your shoulder. He let his cheek rest against your chest, listening to your heartbeat as it finally slowed down to something resembling normal.

Once it had, he lifted his head back up to look you in the eye, “We should probably get out of here, though. Get you home.”

“God, I would like that so much.”

He pulled himself up until he was kneeling, fixing his pants and passing his shirt to you. You pulled it over your head, watching as he got to his feet. He held out his hands to you and you took them, letting him help you to stand. You shook slightly, weak in the knees from both the attack and from everything Eddie had done to you. You buried your face in his chest as his cum dripped down from your abused cunt onto your thigh.

“Ah,” you hissed, “I have no pants.”

Eddie left a hand on your arm, supporting you as he stooped down to collect your torn clothes, “I guess there’s no saving these?”

You shook your head, smiling slightly as he winced.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it baby,” you leaned up and kissed his cheek, “It was more than worth it.”

His grin showed you his teeth. He picked up his jacket off the ground and wrapped it around your shoulders. You still had no pants, but it would be enough for now. You pressed a kiss to his bare collarbone as thanks. He tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you properly.

“Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s go home.”

You pulled away from him for a second, looking around at the abandoned barn. It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie. Blood covered the floor and stained the walls. Seven bodies laid out on the concrete, mutilated in various ways. You felt Eddie’s fingers on your jaw, gently bringing your gaze back to him.

His eyes were wide- something in them was almost scared. He didn’t want you to fear him- to hate him. He didn’t want you to think that he was a monster, but the bodies in the room only led to one conclusion- and you didn’t mind it. Monster or otherwise, Eddie was yours.

“Yeah,” you brushed your lips against his, “Let’s go home.”

A grin crossed his face, and the fear faded from his eyes as he bent down and scooped you up, pulling you into his arms. Maybe two years ago, when he was still human, he wouldn’t have been able to carry you home, but his vampiric strength was at present, a gift.

You let your head rest against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck as he stepped through the blood, out of the barn, and into the night.

You fell asleep on the way home. You shut your eyes outside the barn, with the moon shining above you like a pearl in an inky black ocean, and opened them in the safety of the home you shared with Eddie- Hopper’s old cabin.

It had been in a bit of a state when Hopper had given it to you, but it was more than worth the hours you’d spent fixing it. It was a safe place for Eddie to stay- secret, isolated. It was the only place you could stay without the fear of capture and torture hanging over your heads.

At least, it had been. But that fear had come too close, breaking down your door and ripping its way into your life. You had been saved this time, but the experience followed you home. You weren’t sure what would come next.

You turned your focus away from the nebulous future and towards the present. Beneath you, your couch was soft. The living room was warmly lit by a lamp on the end side table next to you. You couldn’t see Eddie, but you could hear the sound of the tap running in the bathroom. From your spot, you could see grocery bags neatly folded on your kitchen table. With them sat a bottle of cranberry juice. You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry at the sight of it.

You sat up and immediately, you had regrets. Every inch of your body ached. Your face stung from the blows you’d taken, and the space between your legs burned and throbbed. The bite marks that marred your skin stung, and you somehow managed to hit every bruise you had in the small act of sitting up.

Despite that pain, you forced yourself to try and stand. You failed miserably. Your knees buckled beneath you, and before you could do anything to maintain your balance, you were back on the couch. The door to the bathroom swung open, and Eddie burst out with a wet cloth in hand.

“Shit! You’re up, hi!”

You couldn’t help but smile at him as he sped towards the couch. He was still shirtless, wearing the same pants he’d worn while saving you. His missing shirt still covered your body and your legs were still bare. His jacket was thrown over the back of the couch beside you.

“Hi,” you reached out for him as he got to the couch. He took your hand in his, kissing it before he placed another kiss on your lips.

“Hey, hi,” he pulled back from you, giving your hand a squeeze, “Sorry, pretty thing, I was just- I was trying to get you cleaned up.”

“Oh! Well,” you reached for the hem of your shirt, “That should be a little easier now that I’m up, right?”

He flushed as you pulled your shirt over your head. It didn’t seem to matter that his cock had been inside you maybe an hour earlier, he still went red at the sight of your boobs. You smirked at him, reaching out and running a hand through his hair.

“You are far too cute, Eddie Munson.”

“And you,” he pushed you back onto the couch, throwing himself down next to you and pulling your legs over his lap, “Are far too beautiful, sweetheart.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your knee.

“So, do you uh- are you okay with this?” he raised the wet washcloth in his hand, “Or do you wanna shower, or?”

“Well, I would get up, but when I tried I fell, so,” you grimaced.

“I could help you,” he gave your leg a squeeze, “Could hold you, up if you want.”

You sat up, pressing kisses to his jaw, “I would like that.”

With a smile, he wrapped your arms around his neck and picked you back up. The trip to the bathroom was a short one. It took even less time for Eddie to remove his clothes and get both of you into the shower.

You kept your arms around him, leaning into his chest as warm water flowed over your back. You could feel your muscles begin to relax, knots unravelling the longer you stood there. Slowly, he started to move. His touch was heartbreakingly gentle as he cleaned every bite mark and every bruise.

In turn, you washed the sweat and blood that came with the fight off of him. Your fingers grazed his side, and you were pleased to find that the gunshot wound he’d taken had almost healed completely. Your hand remained there for a second, your touch feather-light and shaking slightly. You didn’t want to hurt him.

“Hey,” you whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He laughed a little, though the sound was void of joy, “Yeah? I’m glad that you’re alive.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your shoulder before asking you to hang onto him. Your hands clutched onto him as he knelt before you, washing off your thighs. You took a deep breath as his hands neared your cunt. He looked up at you with wide eyes, a question held within them.

He quickly put it into words, “You down for round two?”

You grinned as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “Yes, please.”

His mouth was on you in an instant. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, pressing you up against the shower wall, keeping you steady with his hands. You tilted your head back at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your arousal. You found yourself biting down on your bottom lip as his lips wrapped around your clit. Your hands moved over your chest, pinching lightly at your nipples. In minutes, you were coming undone against him. Both of you were breathless as he pulled himself away from you.

When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his lips. You wondered if he could taste himself in you. He cradled your face in his hands

“How’re you feeling?”

“Stupid good,” you murmured, brushing strands of Eddie’s dripping hair out of his eyes.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist as he kissed you a thousand more times. You let out a content hum, smiling into him as you lost yourself in him.

As the two of you climbed out of the shower, you caught sight of your body in the mirror. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the reflection of your bruised and battered body. Bitemarks littered your skin. Splotches of red and purple covered your skin.

You felt heat build within you at the sight of everything Eddie had done- and you felt your stomach twist at the sight of the things he hadn’t. The marks he hadn’t left would leave scars on your mind. You hoped they wouldn’t stain your body longer than they had to.

Eddie noticed your gaze, your eyes riveted to the mirror. He stood from where he’d been drying off your legs and moved to stand behind you. He took your arms in his hands, running them down until your fingers intertwined with his over your stomach. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, just under the bloodied spot where Kurt’s gun had struck you so much earlier.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, gently rocking you from side to side.

“Hey, don’t apologize. You aren’t the one who kidnapped me at gunpoint and threatened to break my bones by way of gun,” you shook your head at the ridiculous nature of your captors’ plans, but Eddie had a different reaction.

He buried his face in your shoulder, letting out a whine, “Jesus Christ.”

His hands started to shake against your skin. His breath sped up as his arms tightened around you.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That never should’ve happened, they never should’ve gotten to you.”

“Hey,” you broke eye contact with your reflection in the mirror and turned around in Eddie’s hold, “There was nothing you could have done. If you had been with me, they would have tried to hurt you. Maybe they would’ve succeeded. And we needed groceries, so-”

“Then I should’ve sent Steve with you. Or Nancy, just someone-”

“I had Max. She’s arguably scarier than Steve and- oh shit, Max,” you pushed away from Eddie, stumbling as you took a step back, “Max, is she okay!? Did someone get her?”

Eddie kept your forearms in his hands, helping to keep you steady, “Deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths. Max is alright. As soon as she called me I had Steve go and get her, ironically enough.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you let out a tired breath as you collapsed against Eddie’s chest, “I guess we have them to thank for the grocery bags on the table?”

Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “That we do.”

“God, I’m gonna have to call them. To say thank you. And sorry, my God,” you rubbed at your eyes with one hand, “I can’t believe I put Max through that, holy shit.”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t put Max through anything. You got her out of there. That was the best thing you could do, you kept her safe. Besides,” he moved back to look you in the eye, “Red’s a tough kid. She’s dealt with worse than this.”

“I know,” your voice was half a groan, “I still feel bad, though.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie gently grabbed a hold of you, turning you around to face yourself in the mirror. His hands slipped back into yours, and he brought them back to the expanse of your stomach, “You’ve had, what some would call, a long day, sweetheart.”

You leaned into him, letting out a soft whine when he pressed his lips to your shoulder. You squeezed his hands, “Yeah, you could say that.”

Eddie squeezed back, “Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

“Fuck. Yes, please.”

He picked you up again, pulling you into his arms and letting your head rest against his chest. You felt a bit ridiculous having him carry you around your small home, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. Your legs were tired, too weak to carry you. Fortunately, Eddie was more than strong enough.

He laid you on the bed gently, planting a kiss over your new bitemarks before he crawled into bed with you. He started at your side, but within minutes, he was on top of you, his head resting between your breasts. He took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers before kissing them gently.

The two of you lay in silence for a few moments. You ran a hand through his still-damp hair, listening to the sound of your breathing and his. For perhaps the first time today, you were both breathing evenly, completely calm.

On top of you, Eddie was listening to the sound of your heartbeat, sure and steady beneath him. He had spent so much of the day afraid that he would never hear that sound again. He had been terrified that he was going to lose you- that the town that had taken so much from him would take you, too.

But it hadn’t. It had tried, the jocks had tried, but he had stopped them. You were safe now. Safe, and protected, and Eddie seriously didn’t plan on letting you out of his sight for a few days.

“Hey,” you whispered, “How did you- how did you know where I was? Max saw me get kidnapped, but she didn’t know where they took me after.”

His fingers brushed over your temple, “I could smell your blood. Almost killed me when I noticed it. The stronger it got… the more I wanted to end them.”

You leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his.

“I wouldn’t take back what I did,” he continued, “I don’t regret it. I could never regret it. But I’m- I’m afraid that all I am is a weapon. That all I’ll ever be is a weapon. The things Vecna made me do…” he faded off into silence, pulling away and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

You sat up with him, reaching out to trace his strong, scarred arms. You could do nothing but watch as a war raged inside the man you loved. Guilt slipped beneath your skin, thrumming beneath muscle and bone. Eddie had protected you- he killed for you without remorse, and you were excited by that violence. You wondered again what that said about you.

Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead to Eddie’s. He relaxed against you, calmed by your touch.

“Hey, you know you’re more than that, right?” You echoed his words from earlier, “You’re not a weapon, you’re not his puppet, you’re-”

“I’m your man,” he said, a small grin crossing his face, “Your protector. Your slut.”

You giggled, shocked and pleased, and Eddie looked so proud to be the cause of the smile on your face. When his laughter subsided, you crawled into his hold, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands moved to your waist. You sat there for a moment, taking in his lack of a heartbeat as he listened to the steady rhythm of yours.

“You know this goes both ways, right?” You whispered, running your fingers over the spot where his wings met his back, “You protect me, I protect you? And we protect… whatever comes along. I might not have the claws or the fangs, but I’ve been told I can be a bit of a bitch when I want to be, so there’s that.”

Eddie pulled you closer to him, pinning your chest to his and holding you there as he laid back on the mattress. One of his hands brushed through your hair while the other traced intricate patterns over your back. You shut your eyes and let yourself bury your face in the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“I know,” he tilted his face to press a kiss to your head, “I couldn’t have asked for a better bodyguard.”

You smiled against his throat, “Neither could I.”

You hummed contentedly as he pulled a blanket over your bodies. The mindless motions of his calloused hands on your back pulled the tension from your muscles, making you relax. Your eyelids grew heavy as you breathed him in- the faint scents of blood and cigarette smoke overtaken by the smell of your body wash. You were so calm, unafraid, and bizarrely happy for a woman who had spent most of her day trying not to die at the hands of her kidnappers.

Maybe having sex on the corpses of your enemies was just a natural mood booster. Maybe it was the man you were having sex with.

“You make me feel safe,” you murmured, words slurred with sleep, “Always have.”

“Good,” his voice was quiet, but he sounded like he was wide awake. You focused on the feeling of his hand running through your hair, of his skin, ice cold beneath your lips.

“Keep doing it?”

“I always will, sweetheart. I won’t let anything hurt you. I won’t lose you.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, and you smiled against his neck, “Good. Protect me.”

Without waiting for a response, you pulled his skin between your teeth and bit down; hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to draw the sweet cranberry-coloured wine that ran through his veins. His soft moan was music to your ears. With your lips on his throat, and his hands in your hair, you fell into a dreamless sleep. Eddie stayed awake through the night, keeping watch over you until the sun began to rise.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader

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yeonzzzn · 13 days

Text

second in command: yang jungwon

a break the chain series: three / seven

pairing: jungwon x afab!reader word count: 3.5k

synopsis: jungwon’s leadership and being second in command position gets tested when him, you, heeseung and his mate go on a mission to gather intel to stop the next upcoming war. things go south and you have a fight for your life.

genre: established relationship, vampire!jungwon, vampire!reader, suggestive content, biker!jungwon

warnings: swearing, blood mentions, reader struggles with their new vampire powers, jungwon gets a bit handsy, death mentions.

prt 1: vampires bleeding | prt 2: you complete me

“You can’t go alone!!” Jay snapped, slamming his fists onto the table, the royal guard and officials narrowing their eyes down at Jay.

Heeseung caught their stares, pleading with Jay with his eyes to stay calm, “I am the king, I can go alone if I wish to.” Heeseung hated having to play the role of an asshole with the officials around. But if he didn’t…he didn’t want to find out what control they would try and take over.

“Babe,” Heeseung’s mate said, placing her hand on top of his, “Jay is right, it’s too dangerous. Take me with—“

“No!” He interrupted, fully taking her hand in his, “If something happens to you I…” Heeseung broke his king persona, holding his mate's hand tightly and not caring what the royals thought, “I can’t lose you.”

“Then take us instead!!” Jay yelled, pointing his hands at the whole pack, “We held our own perfectly fine before you officially became king, and we can do it again.”

E cleared his throat, a sure enough sign that Heeseung needed to take back control.

His face hardened and glared at Jay, “I said no. That’s final.”

At that moment, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Niki all started shouting. Their mates sat idle as they watched their men fight.

Jungwon crossed his arms over his chest, making eye contact with Heeseung. Heeseung nodded at Jungwon.

Heeseung’s eyes shined their gold at the same time as Jungwon's burned crimson. Both males stood to their feet, hands gripping the edge of the table, “SHUT UP!” Both males growled, gritting their teeth.

The other males sat quietly now, looking back and forth between their king and leader, their brothers. The power those two have at this moment even had the royal's hands shaking.

Jungwon looks back at Heeseung, “With all respect, my king, you don’t need to go alone.”

Heeseung’s golden eyes faded, turning back to their natural color. He sat back down, folding his hands together, “What do you suggest then, second in command?”

Jungwon’s eyes slowly faded, tilting his head at his king, “We go together.”

Jay opened his mouth to say something, but Heeseung’s piercing eyes shut him up quickly.

You pulled at your mate’s shirt, “Wonnie…”

Heeseung’s mate also pulled at him, eyes pleading.

Heeseung looked between you, Jungwon, and his mate, face in a concentration of debate.

E cleared his throat again, Heeseung tilting his head to the side towards his courtier, “As second in command, Jungwon will accompany me…along with our mates.”

You relaxed, hand still clinging to your mate. You look at the queen, seeing the relief also on her face.

Jay locked his jaw, clenching his fists at his side.

You felt bad for Jay, you knew how much going on this mission meant for him ever since you all caught word that Lilly was attempting to rally forces in a town a week's worth of travel. After what she did to his old apartment and threatened his mate…you could only imagine how badly he wanted to be the one to take on this mission. But that’s exactly why Heeseung was so against it, mostly when the royals won’t let all of the boys go. They made it clear to Heeseung that they didn’t want him going at all, but this wasn’t about Heeseung’s power as the king, he couldn’t lose his family and made the choice to go. Jungwon going as second in command only made sense, Heeseung wasn’t even sure if he wanted Jungwon with him, but with him being king and Won being the leader of the pack AND second in command…they would be unstoppable against Lilly and the small army she could have, but that’s if she was alone or had a small circle.

Before you knew it, the four of you (along with E and M and a small number of soldiers parked in a town over) were now in an old run-down hotel, the perfect disguise to hide from Lilly. Or so you had hoped.

Jungwon traced a finger down the side of your face, “What's on your mind, my love? Are you thirsty? I can grab you a blood bag.”

You were still trying to get used to your vampire life. Yeah, it’s been two years, but it wasn’t just something to get used to. Jungwon always comforted you and said that it would take time and that you didn’t get the change the rest of them got. They were forced to change and were pushed out into the world to feed and figure things out on their own, you wanted this. You had the support of Jungwon and the other males to help guide you, but it wasn’t easy.

Something has always felt off about your changing, something you couldn’t put your finger on. You felt like you were the main character in an anime waiting for something bad to happen to their character development. The only thing that came easy to you was drinking the blood bags and running faster. Having super hearing still bothered you to an extent, feeling and hearing the heartbeats of the other pack members was also something that you struggled with, mostly when someone else was feeling down, just like how Jake was recently. It pained you to feel that pain he was feeling and not be able to do anything about it or to push it off.

The others were strong, Sunghoon and Sunoo’s mates were lucky in one aspect of not dealing with the same things. They felt it too, just not to the same extent.

You shook your head, finally answering your mate after being silent, “No, Wonnie, I am okay.”

He leaned back against the headboard of the bed and pulled your back to his chest, resting his hands on your thighs and squeezing them, “Then what’s wrong my love?” he slowly traced his hands up your thighs and to your hips, brushing his nose against your ear, “Is there something else you want? Or want to talk about?”

You could smell the scent of his arousal and could feel it hardening against your back. His lips kissed the shell of your ear then moved down to below your jaw, that sweet spot on your neck Jungwon loved kisses so much.

You tilted your head, giving him more access to you. His hand had moved to your waist and kept going up and up to cup your breasts. His fangs pricked your neck and his breathing became uneven, “I want to sink my teeth into you.”

One thing Jungwon loved was the taste of your blood and loved even more that your taste didn’t change after you turned. He gets just as high of your blood as he did before. Vampires don’t normally feed on other vampires, unless for specific reasons. Jungwon’s reason just so happened to be because he’s in love with you, you’re mates, and he just really loves your blood.

“Then do it,” you whisper, tilting your head even more for him.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby,” he whispers into your neck, his fangs coming to their full point and sinking into your skin. You gasp softly, your own arousal increasing as he presses his body closer to yours and his hands squeeze your breasts as he sucks your blood down his throat.

You snapped your thoughts back to his question and not knowing what to say. How can you tell him you’re not feeling yourself and that you’re worried about being here? It would put Jungwon’s focus on you instead of where it should be.

Jungwon removed his fangs, flattening his tongue to lick the sprinkle of blood that came out, and then pressed a kiss to the wounds, watching as they closed.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly why you were acting differently. Jungwon has had to deal with six brothers and their emotions and since he’s their leader…he knows how to pick up the senses.

So he takes your chin between his fingers and forces you to look up at him, “Baby, being an undead creature takes time to get used to, it’s not some walk in the park.”

You averted your eyes from him, looking at the peeling wallpaper on the wall.

He squeezed your chin, forcing your eyes to look back at him, him using his leadership power, “I’ve said it before, you were created willingly, I had full consent to turn you. You didn’t have to go through the painful experiences the rest of us had to,” he let go of your chin and brushed the side of your face, “Nothing is wrong with you. You’ll find your missing pieces and be the best damn vampire around.”

You shrugged, “Kind of hard to do that when I am mated to the leader of our pack and who is second in command to the king.”

Jungwon smiled and pulled you to his lips, “I love you,” he whispered between kisses, “You’re perfect.”

You deepen the kiss and press yourself harder against his chest, feeling his length twitch against you.

“Keep it up and I’ll have to put you on your back,” he groans, nipping his fangs on your bottom lip.

You smirked, ready to test his patience until he pulled away from you. His fangs retracted and his eyes became focused.

You felt it too, that pull. Heeseung was calling for him.

Jungwon quickly pressed a kiss to your forehead and was at the door in seconds, his bike helmet on his head and leather jacket being pulled to his body. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how hot it was that he rode a bike.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, pressing your knees to your chest.

“Heeseung and the scouts caught Lilly’s scent.”

You quickly stood to your feet, rushing to the door, “Let me come too!”

Jungwon set you back on the bed, “No, please stay here. __ is downstairs too, Heeseung didn’t let her go either.”

You wanted to protest, but if the queen wasn’t allowed to go, what made you think you’d be allowed to?

You lifted up his visor, staring deeply into his brown eyes, “Come back to me,” you whispered, “I love you.”

“I always do,” he said, cupping your face between his gloved hands, “I love you too.”

Then he was gone. The sound of his bike fading out into the distance.

—

Heeseung was already waiting for him. Jungwon made sure to park his bike further enough away and run the rest of the path on foot, quickly kneeling down beside Heeseung, staring off at a village beneath the hill they perched on.

“My king,” Jungwon said, knowing some official guards sat off in the distance at another hill, listening…always listening.

Heeseung cocks his head, playing the same game, “Second in command.” He hated this, truly. Having to play and act like he’s above his pack when in reality he doesn’t think of such things. He honestly couldn’t wait until this was all over and everyone could go back home, forgetting the castle and the responsibilities.

“Did the queen give you hell?” Jungwon asked, his lips curling a bit, not being able to hide his playfulness.

Heeseung chuckled, “Oh yeah,” he sighed, “YN?”

Jungwon narrowed his eyes down at the village, noticing how quiet it was, “She tried,” It did honestly kill Jungwon to leave you behind, to not have you right here beside him. You’ve been training hard back at the castle, he knows you could hold your own, but sometimes he forgets you aren’t human anymore, that you aren’t fragile. You’re strong, so strong. He’d honestly love to see how you’d fight alongside him, but that fear of losing you…that outweighs it all, “Something feels off,” he changed the subject, “I can sense everyone in that village except Lilly.”

Heeseung nodded, “Me too. That’s why I called you, to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.”

Something indeed was off. Because you felt it too, the confusion Jungwon and Heeseung felt. The air at the old hotel grew thicker, more uneasy.

“You feel it too?” The queen said, not with words, but the pull she sent down the pack bond towards you.

You swallowed, “Yes…something is wrong.”

You stood from the bed, body shaking as you walked to the door of your room, before you could even touch the door handle, the door flew open and closed and a knife was hovering above your neck.

“It’s nice to finally meet you officially, YN.”

Anger pitted within you, “I’d say the same, but I didn’t want to meet you.”

She laughed, inching the knife closer. You didn’t have to even look at the weapon to know that it’s the exact same material the vampire kings are given to use in fights. The same type Heeseung used against __ all that time ago.

With that realization, you started to panic.

“Nuh uh, none of that,” she whispered getting closer to your ear, “I don’t need you sending a signal to your pack—“ she sighs, “Too late, I assume.” With her free hand, she waved at the door, a purple aura forming around it and the room's walls. You swallowed, she learned the witch's magic too. Banging came from the other side, the queen screaming out your name. “Guess it’s true that it takes a while for newly turned to control projecting their emotions.”

You tilted your head up, narrowing your eyes, “You were born a vampire.”

Lilly laughed again, “Of course I was, it was a blessing, really. Vampire babies born between two vampire parents are so very rare, but I was part of that rare percentage.”

You felt it then, the power she has. You weren’t there when the pack took down Dorian, so you had no clue how terrible he was, but you could feel it within Lilly, “What do you want?”

You could feel her hot breath on your ear, her long dark red hair flowing over your shoulder, “I was expecting Jay and his mate to be here, we have…unfinished business, I suppose you’d say. But alas, you’re here instead. Dorian wanted you just as much as Jay’s mate, so you’d have to do.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” you snapped, her body tightened harder against yours, and the knife moved a few inches closer to your throat.

“You want the real answer?” she smirks, “I want your king's head.”

__’s banging on the other side of the door grew more desperate at the mention of the threat on her mate’s life.

Lilly just laughs, “Sadly, your mate is with him and I know I can’t take’em both alone, not yet. My army isn’t ready. But,” she sighs, “The sniper I have parked in the village will be taking out Jungwon any minute now.”

Your panic rose, body shaking as you pushed every ounce of warning to your mate, knowing the queen already was sending signals to Heeseung and the rest of the pack.

Jungwon’s heart was racing fast, “She’s not even in the fucking village!!” he snapped, his anger fueling as his need to get back to you quickly.

Heeseung felt his mate’s words through the bond, his eyes widening, quickly reaching for Jungwon, “GET DOWN!” Heeseung barely had Jungwon to the grass, when the sniper bullet pierced through his shoulder, “FUCK!”

Jungwon quickly placed his hands on his king’s shoulder, “You’re healing fast, just breathe.”

Heeseung shoved Jungwon away, “I know!” he snapped, “I don’t care about some gunshot wound, we need to get back to our mates!! Lilly has YN.”

Jungwon was back on his bike in seconds, Heeseung jumping on with him, completely forgetting about the royal guard.

“Your mates are on the way,” Lilly growled, “So are the rest of the pack, so much for them following orders.”

You took a deep breath and then moved, quickly dipping yourself to the floor, pulling her arm above your head, flipping her over you. But Lilly worked just as quickly, her hand attached to your neck, pinning you to the hard floor, the tip of the knife pointing above your collarbone.

You stared at her with piercing eyes, she gave them right back at you, “I wanted to take you alive and finish what Dorian started, to kidnap each female one by one and finish his legacy!” she snapped, baring her teeth, “But you’re proving to be more problems than you’re worth, and now with your mates and the pack on the way, I don’t have time to waste,” she dug the tip into your skin, “I’ll just kill you now.”

Lilly pushed the knife in, the burning of the metal hissed at your skin, and inside, your screams echoed through the walls, making Jungwon shake to his core at the distance away he was, he could feel you dying.

You started to hyperventilate, digging your nails into Lilly’s arms. She pushed the knife as far as it could go, quickly pulled it out, and shoved it back in on another spot closer to your neck.

The world slowed, the whole thing you could hear was Jungwon’s heartbeat from miles away, the screams of your queen as she tried to tear away at the door through the magic, and the anger of your pack as they ran as fast as they could. The light was slipping from you, your vision blurry.

“You’re stronger than that!” Heeseung shoved down the pack bond, “Don’t let her win. FIGHT.”

You closed your eyes, not knowing if you had the strength to even attempt.

“Baby,” it was Jungwon this time, “I can’t lose you, please. You’re perfect. I love you. I love you.”

Lilly pulled the knife out and shoved it back in and darkness consumed you.

Jungwon was at the door, screaming, tears rolling down his face, and threatening Lilly, he felt your light fading. Heeseung did too as he clawed at the door with Jungwon.

Within the darkness, you saw a yellow light, a spark. Some type of energy that coursed through you…powering you. “Don’t give up…please.”

Jungwon fell to his knees, hanging his head low. Every ounce of will he had to live was slowly fading as he was losing you.

Heeseung was yelling at him, but no words reached his ears. All there was—was silence.

The yellow electricity flowed through you, small sparks radiated off your arms.

Lilly raised her brows, “What the hell…?”

Jungwon’s eyes widened, “What?”

Your vision came back along with a flash of yellow, knocking Lilly off you and dropping the purple shield.

Jungwon, Heeseung, and __ rushed into the room, seeing you standing slowly up from the floor, yellow electricity flowing through your whole body and covering your arms.

You looked down and you smiled. Your missing puzzle piece…this was your power. What made you whole.

You looked up to your pack members, making eye contact with your mate. He had fallen to his knees, tears staining his eyes as he looked at you.

“Well, that’s new,” Lilly scoffs. You whipped your head to her, seeing blood dripping from her side where your blast hit her hard, along the half the wall behind you blown to pieces, the moonlit sky pouring in. Lilly took one last look at you and then at your mates, glaring at Heeseung, “Your pack really is something.” She smirks, “See ya!” She jumped from the building and was gone in a flash.

You took a step to go after her, but your newfound power drained you, dropping you to the floor.

“YN!” Jungwon cried as he was now at your side, holding you close to him. Your electricity shocked him, but he didn’t care, you were alive. You were alive.

Your brain went dizzy and your power shimmered down, “What…what is this?”

Heeseung knelt beside you and Jungwon, brows furrowed in confusion, “A gift is what we are going to call it for right now.”

Jungwon pulled you closer, his tears dropping against your skin, “I felt you die…” he said with a shaky voice, fingers clinging to your body, “I felt your last heartbeat.”

That’s right, you were on the edge of death before your power came through. You touched your mate's face, rubbing your thumb against his cheek, “It’s okay Wonnie, I am right here.”

Jungwon pressed his lips to yours, cupping his hands to your face, breathing you in, “You can bet your sweet ass I am never leaving your side again.”

You smiled against his lips, holding him tight.

Heeseung stood to his feet, pulling his mate to his arms, and sighed, “This is going to be one hell of a talk with the others.”

Jungwon nodded, resting his forehead against yours, “Is it because I am the leader? Is something wrong with my venom?”

Heeseung didn’t have an answer, but once they were all back at the castle, he knew the answers would come.

“Let’s wait for the rest to get here, brainstorm, then head back. I’m sure the royals know about this.”

Jungwon pulled you both to your feet, his hands holding yours tightly.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen next, but you sure as hell felt alive now and Jungwon was sure his second in command position was about to be threatened.

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#wonnie #breakthechain #jungwon x reader #reader x jungwon #jungwon #yang jungwon #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #established relationship #vampire!au #yeonzzzn writing

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perseephoneee · 7 months

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four times we almost kissed and the one time we did (kol mikaelson x f!reader)

warnings: slight blood sharing, mostly frusteration

a/n: unfortunately for my sanity, i have fallen in love with kol. why? i couldn't tell you. the actor drives me up a fucking wall. but the character? i am down for bad. so here ya go. feel free to request more kol or over tvdu characters!!

↳ masterlist ↳ want to be shipped with a fic character?

[1] First meeting

Magic has existed in New Orleans for as long as anyone can remember. The prevalence of voodoo-- NOLA's most giant "tourist trap"-- originated in 1791 with enslaved West Africans who moved to Louisiana to grow a community for as many free people of color. That spirit meant that many of its inhabitants descended from that original society or were drawn here for its magical properties. Your family was one of the latter, a bunch of witches seeking solace in a place that nurtured it. Except with magic came strife, and eventually, other creatures came knocking at the door. Enter the Mikaelsons, New Orlean's resident vampire family that was always at the center of whatever drama was happening. Right now, something involving all those magically oriented.

You made it a point to stay clear of the fight. Not because you didn't care– you did– but because it wasn't your fight to be had. That's how you stayed alive in this neighborhood; you knew where to stick your nose and when to stay clear. Besides, all the commotion with one of the Harvest girls (Cassie, you believe her name was) and the witch's distaste of vampires meant tensions were high. You could help the community from the background anyway; you didn't need to make yourself known.

At least, that's what you hoped. But things rarely turned out how you wanted, and this was one of those times. Walking through the back streets of NOLA was never an excellent idea, but it was shorter, and you just wanted to get to the metaphysical supply store before it closed. You needed more laurel leaves to create protection charms around your house, especially with the uptake in strife in the recent year.

Which is how you came upon a witch killing three vampires in the alley.

You wanted to turn on your heel and leave, but the witch noticed you before you could. You didn't recognize him, so you were unsure what coven he belonged to. He was tall enough to probably tower over you, with golden curly hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut your fingers if you touched it. He was unbelievably handsome, and you hated that it caught your breath.

"You shouldn't be here, luv," he crooned, his English accent thick. He sauntered down the alley, coming up to you with narrowed eyes.

"I don't recognize you," you countered, shifting your weight as you crossed your arms. It's best not to let him know that you're flustered.

"New in town," he smiled, a cocky grin that told you that he absolutely knew the effect he had on women. It left a bad taste in your mouth. "New Orleans is a big city; I'm surprised you would know everyone."

"I know witches," you said, peering up at him.

"Ah, are you a magical thing yourself?"

"What do you think?" You arched a brow. He stepped closer, reaching up to twirl a piece of your hair around his finger. You recoiled slightly but didn't pull back. Never show fear; that's one thing this town taught you.

"I think you're a pretty young thing," he hummed. "I'm Kol." He peered at you as if waiting for you to offer your name. You didn't.

"Not interested," you pulled back from him, letting the hair he had touched fall back in front of your face. He stepped back into your space.

"I don't know, darling," he smiled, leaning closer so his breath fanned your face. It was minty like he had just had an Altoid. "I think you're interested." You hated admitting that this tall, handsome stranger (such a cliche) was right. And you really hated that if you leaned up slightly, you could feel the warmth from his lips. He stepped back, though, hands in his pockets. The same hands that had used magic to wrangle the undead life of the vampires behind him. You took that as a sign to start to leave, walking backward before turning on your heel and ignoring the gaze of the witch behind you.

"Never got your name!" He chimed. You smiled to yourself.

"Figure it out yourself."

[2] Cemetery watch

Disgruntled. That's how you felt. Chaos had grown over the past weeks, but you didn't see Kol again. A sliver of disappointment, as you did find him cute, but also a relief. You know enough flirtatious bastards to not want to add more to your life.

You weren't thinking about him today, though. You were thinking about your grandmother, who lived in the cemetery right outside your block. A popular cemetery for Wiccan rituals, it made sense for your grandma (the high priestess of your family) to be buried there with heavy praise.

You were laying a combination of roses, lavender, and rosemary for protection when the hair on your neck stood up. Feeling a presence, you soon turn around, making eye contact with the stranger who approached you.

Definitely not a witch; his aura was too dark for that. He was tall, with tousled brown hair and eyes that lingered on you for far too long. He was cute, though, even if he was dangerous.

"Hello darling," he purrs, stalking closer.

"Can I help you?" You sigh, crossing your arms as you peer at him with suspicion. He wears a cocky smile and a look that tells you he would love to have a taste.

"Don't remember me? I'm hurt," he puts a hand on his chest, feigning pain. You look at him closely, but the only recognition is in the pet name. Darling. Not many people called you darling.

"Kol," you said. "You're shorter." His face had a hint of shock before settling into amusement.

"That was uncalled for," he laughed, walking closer to you. In closer proximity, you could see that he was, in fact, very handsome, and he was definitely aware of that.

"I'm reiterating my previous question, can I help you?"

"When my family sent me on this mission to track down the 'wisest witch in the quarter,' I was not expecting you," he looked down at you with gold-flecked eyes. "The beautiful girl who wouldn't give me her name. Except now I know it's Y/N."

"I thought you were a witch," you took a hesitant step back, trying to create space.

"Temporarily," he sighed. "Now I'm back in my original form of vampire." The way he said it gave you pause, as if he was resigned to the fact but not happy about it. You could relate. If you lost your magic, you would be devastated.

"You said something about your family?" you coughed, changing the subject.

"There's someone working against them, and we would prefer if they don't kill us," Kol shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up at the clouds above. "People tend to hate us, Mikaelsons."

"You're a Mikaelson?" you hissed. It was because of the Mikaelsons your home was in constant disaster. "Why should I help you? Any of you?"

"For the most part, we don't want to cause trouble. It just tends to find us. Helping eliminate a threat means fewer problems in the quarter," Kol sighed, stepping closer. His fingers brushed your cheek, delicate as if touching the grass in a meadow. "Also, you'd get to spend time with me."

"Why would I want to spend time with you?" you breathed, voice wavering slightly. Curse your damn hormones for being swayed by a vampire of all creatures. His thumb came under your chin, allowing him to bring your face closer to his. Kol smelled like fresh snow and evergreens, and you knew that if he leaned a little bit closer, you wouldn't stop him. In the process, likely offend the ghost of your grandmother who was probably rolling her eyes at you right now. Before you could offend all the ancestors with your choices, Kol stepped back, resuming his cocky grin and leaving your breath lodged in your throat. Without a second thought of the implications, you made your decision.

"Fine, I'll help you."

[3] Late night spell-casting

Late nights in the Mikaelson compound meant one thing. Coffee, and lots of it.

You made a deal with the Mikaelsons after you agreed to help them that in exchange for your time, they had to buy you cafe drinks whenever you liked it. Elijah was the most taken aback, but Kol chuckled as if he found you amusing. Still, they found it a small price, not expecting how much you valued your drinks. Most nights, it was coffee, sometimes tea, or even hot cocoa. Quite honestly, you just liked having the power to make them run around.

You sat at one of their many couches, a book of shadows in your lap and a notepad in your hands as you made quick notes about possible spells that could combat the evil at hand. A couple of ideas swam in your head, but you wanted to exhaust your options before risking anyone else's life with a botched spell. Still, you had been at it for hours and started getting sleepy. You yawned, feeling your eyes close slightly. Thankfully, footsteps alerting you to the presence of one of the originals had you sitting up and shaking off your fatigue. Unfortunately, that original was Kol with your coffee order.

Kol was precisely what you thought he would be. Flirtatious, cocky, impulsive, and too attractive for his own good. You hated when murderers were cute; it made life confusing. There were moments, though, when the two of you were performing recon or pouring over spell books that you saw a side of him that only showed when his guard wasn't up. He was calmer, more academic, and a lot more unsure of himself. The only thing you hated about seeing that side is it made you like him more.

"How's my witchling doing?" he chimed, dropping off your coffee and settling beside you on the couch. You told him that being called darling felt ridiculous, so instead, he found a new nickname, which was even worse.

"The usual, I suppose," you yawned again, leaning your head against the back of the couch.

"Take a break."

"You realize it's your life on the line, right?" you huffed, turning to look at him.

"My life will always be in danger, Y/N," Kol hummed, taking your books out of your lap with a minor protest from you. "That's not going to change tonight."

"Don't underestimate me," you grabbed your cup, taking a deep sip and looking at him over the lid.

"I would never underestimate you," he grabbed your coffee and stole a sip himself, earning a growl from you. "Half the things you say shock and confuse me."

"It's my charm."

"Let's do something fun," Kol stood up, trying to drag you with him. "Research is bloody boring."

"We have two very different ideas of 'fun,' Mikaelson," you curled up into a ball on the couch, peering up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. An idea sparked in your head, and you turned a devilish smile to the brunette. "How about tarot cards?"

You found an old deck in the compound, creating a space on the table in the central area to lay out the spread. Even though having your cards would be better, you thought you could probably make do with these. You gave Kol the cards to shuffle and watched as he spent meticulous time connecting with the cards before handing the deck back to you. You started laying out the cards on the table, forming a cross with four cards separate on the side. You tucked your legs underneath you, curling up on the floor so you were huddled by the table. Kol joined you, his back against the couch as he peered at you straightening up the cards.

"You realize you're going to flip them over, right?"

"Shut up, Mikaelson," you chimed, finishing your organization. He watched you with a small smile, and you made the effort to ignore his stare. "We'll start with your Present card."

“Boring,” Kol sing-songed. "Tell me my future."

"I have to go in order, to give an accurate reading."

"Darling, the cards are already laid out; you can do whatever you want," Kol leaned closer to you, squinting his eyes in amusement. "I live my life in futures; who cares about the past?"

Sighing, you decided to obey the nosey vampire and flip over his cards for Future and Near Future. The two cards revealed were the Lovers and Ace of Cups, respectively.

"In your Future is a strong romantic relationship," you start, pointing out the Lovers card featuring two swans intertwined. "This correlates to the Ace of Cups, which signifies new beginnings. Since the Ace of Cups is in your near future, you'll likely encounter someone you'll soon develop a deep, long-lasting relationship with." You turn your eyes to Kol, raising an eyebrow. "Shocking, considering your personality."

"It's not that shocking," Kol quipped, leaning closer to you. "We're here, aren't we?"

His pupils were enlarged as he gazed upon you, and his glance to your lips told you exactly where his mind was. You couldn't deny you weren't thinking the same thing. It didn't help that Kol was dangerous in an enticing way. Ignoring all rational thought, you leaned in closer, nudging his nose with yours. Your heart was beating erratically, and you heard the sharp intake of breath he took. His fingers traced up your arm, each finger leaving goosebumps in their wake. What were you doing?

"How's the research going?" a voice called from the hallway. You scooted away immediately, but Kol stayed where he was. His jaw clenched as he suppressed a growl. Freya appeared, not aware of the situation and probably not caring anyway.

"I have a few ideas," you coughed, taking a deep breath to calm your beating heart.

"Great, I'd love to hear them so I can stop having stressful dreams," Freya chuckled, moving over to the couch. You sent Kol a glance as you passed your journal to Freya. The look he gave you told you that what started wasn't over. And the worst part was you didn't want it to be over.

[4] Injured after a fight

A headache. That's what you were nursing.

A sharp ringing pierced through your ears, the lights above you blurring into a bad abstract painting. A figure appeared above you, and you slowly registered that it was calling your name. You squinted your eyes, the action causing a splitting pain as the shape of Kol formed in front of you. Worry creased his brows, and blood splattered his face.

"Y/N, Y/N, can you hear me?" Kol asked, cradling your head. You nodded, grabbing his arms to help pull yourself up. Chaos was erupting around you, and the stifling smell of magic was enough to knock you out again. That's what had happened. It was an ambush, and despite your abilities, you were blasted back into a wall, probably with a concussion and broken bones. It was times like this when you were envious of a vampire's healing skills. "I need to get you out of here."

"They need our help," you grimaced, catching Klaus ripping off someone's arms in the background. Kol caught your gaze and bothered with a slight smirk.

"I'm sure Nik is fully capable of handling himself. Plus, my other siblings are here, and Freya called Vincent. They won't miss us."

"I'll be fine," you tried to say, but it ended in a wheeze as the effort of sitting up caused pain in your lungs.

"You will not. Can you stand?" Kol watched you struggle for a second before picking you up. In a normal situation, you would've complained, but considering all you felt was ow ow ow ow ow you thought better than to complain. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he sped out of the scene and back to the compound. Kol laid you gently on the couch, kneeling before you, biting into his wrist and holding it to your lips. "You need to drink."

"I don't want to be a vampire," you mumbled, brushing a hand across your forehead. Your fingers held blood on them, and you became dizzy with that knowledge.

"I won't let that happen now, drink," Kol insisted, his voice having a hard edge. Considering he was a stubborn bastard, you relented. You hesitantly grabbed his wrist and brought it up to your mouth. The blood slid down your throat cleanly, but you had to suppress the urge to gag anyway since it was blood. You felt your bones click into place, and your headache dull to a memory. You finally looked up, catching Kol's gaze on you. How was it intensely erotic to have someone watch you drink their blood? There must be therapy for issues like this, but you didn't really care. How he looked at you was akin to a predator waiting to devour its next meal. You knew if you let him, he would fulfill every potential vampire fantasy one could have. He touched your cheek, touching your lips where his blood was just a second ago. He pulled away, red coating his fingers, and you suppressed a groan when he sucked the leftover blood.

"Kol," you whispered, your voice raspy. He sat up at eye level, leaning down as if to kiss you. Of course, things weren't that easy, as his family burst into the compound right at that moment. You wanted to let out a scream of frustration but ended up being caught off guard by Klaus dropping a head by the entryway.

"Glad to see our little witch is okay," Klaus chimed, looking pretty proud of himself. If Kol were a cartoon character, he'd blow smoke out of his ears.

"I'm alive," you sighed. Klaus walked over, ignoring his brother's glares, and patted you on the shoulder. That was the closest thing to the affection you were getting from the hybrid. As the rest of the family delved into a conversation about the ambush, you finally got up and looked at the original kneeling on the ground before you. "We'll finish this later," you smiled, pretending to ignore the slight growl that left Kol's mouth as you walked off.

[5] Evil has passed

"I thought you would've left."

Kol stood in the entryway of his bedroom at the Mikaelson home while you stood (guilty) by his bookshelf.

"I was returning this book I borrowed from you," you said innocently. Putting the book back on the shelf, you turned to the man before you, trying his best to plaster on a convincing smile. The threat has passed, your job was over, and yet you were melancholy. These people had caused problems throughout your home since they arrived, yet your temporary alliance ending was something of sadness. You were tired of pretending it was for any reason other than Kol. Kol started as an annoying individual who sought to drive you up the wall, but now was someone you saw a kinship with. Your long talks on history and adventures across the globe were moments where you saw his guard fall, and you loved every second of it. It helped that he was pretty to look at.

"I guess this means goodbye then, doesn't it witchling?" Kol sighed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. You could swear he sounded disappointed, but you didn't want to get your hopes up.

"Depends," you crossed your arms. "I could be persuaded to come back."

"Persuaded?" Kol inquired, that mischievous glint in his eyes telling you he would ensure a way to keep you around. "Any particular reason?"

"If someone wanted me around, I guess," you smiled, a tiny grin but good enough for Kol to stroll towards you until he towered over your figure.

"I'll give you a good reason," Kol murmured, a devilish smirk on his lips. "Something that we kept getting interrupted for in the past." He cupped your face in his hands, lowering his lips so they were a hairsbreadth from yours.

"Don't be a tease," you breathed. Letting out a dark chuckle, he pressed his lips to yours. It was surprisingly light, not hungry like his usual personality. He tasted like a fresh snowstorm and an evergreen forest, and you know you could get drunk on that alone. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you brought him closer to you, deepening the kiss and earning a light groan from the vampire. Kol's hands tangled in your hair, one of them going to hold your waist. Every touch of his was coldfire, and you were so glad that you were finally alone to burn in him. He tilted your head back, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat that caused you let out a moan. He nipped the junction of your neck and shoulder, kissing over it until he was back at your lips again, leaving a searing kiss. Kol pulled away, glancing at you with eyes abysmal. "What took you so long to do that?" you breathed, a grin covering your face as Kol laughed, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You're all mine now," Kol smiled, kissing you again. "Always and forever."

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson #freya mikaelson #the originals #vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #tvdu imagines #mikaelson #mikaelson family #my writing

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randomfanner · 6 months

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Spawn Astarion + His Siblings Headcanons

Time for Spawn Astartion, his headcanons are probably going to be the lightest this far, mind you I am writing this before I actual write the headcanons so this is subject to change. Unless of course it doesn't!

When I do Ascended Astarion, there is going to be a lot of warnings but that is Ascended Astarion. We are letting this vampire man be happy five minutes before we go into what happens if his life gets ruined.

There is a mention of the slimmest piece of shit. The rattest of rat bastard: Cazador. Only mentioned.

Discussing Astarion's relationship with sex. Not sex itself, there is nothing safe for work, just how Astarion is most definitely demi-sexual.

This is going to be tooth rotting:

Astarion is trying so fucking hard to be a good boyfriend. Do you have idea how much he is trying? He has no idea what he is doing, he meant that so he tries to figure it out by doing everything he can for you.

This man will wait on you hand and foot and I am serious.

He loves to do it too. You are the first thing to make this man feel safe, loved and wanted in 200 years. You have aided him in getting free from the tadpole in his head, the Absolute nonsense, his past, his tormentor, that ritual and, perhaps most importantly:

Himself

"So by all means dear, sit down, relax," he guides you to sit down on the couch. "This is the least you deserve. Besides I do think you have a few friend who would be happy to be lathered in your lovely attention well I make dinner," of course he is referring to Scratch and Owlbear cub. He will give you a kiss on the cheek as he goes to make you dinner.

Of course afterward he is done with dinner, he joins the cuddle pile. giving you kisses and praises... If you are gracious enough to allow him a nibble he certainly will not deny though.

This to be said even after all this time he is not used to receiving affection and positive attention back. Not anything genuine at least and so it can take him... time to get used to receiving your touch.

Oh the man loves it. Do not get it right you make him feel... wanted. He is just not used to that feeling. So sometimes he may flinch away from you when you try to be soft with him. He doesn't want you to feel offended and does assure you "It is in no way you, my beloved, it is all me."

Give him time and he always does come seek out your touch eventually. He does thrive on the warm you make him feel with your softer moments.

Astarion notices he is slowly becoming... good. He hates it. He does like it, but he really hates it

One day he was walking home after getting groceries from the night market and saw someone dropped their wallet, and with out thinking, he returned the wallet. He got thanked and walked away with out even realizing what he did and then he just.

Stops.

He debates on going back and stealing the wallet back. He can, he knows he can... but he just.... doesn't. He just goes home and isn't sure what he just did and man may have a crisis.

"Don't worry about me, dearest!" if you try check on him. "I just did a good thing with out reason and I am not taking it well- give me a minute. I do want to discuss this!"

He becomes very clear with his emotions and tries not to hide them with you at all. He will tell you what he is thinking, when he is thinking and makes sure you expect complete honesty from him. You have shown him all and more trust in the world.

He did try to kill you at minimum twice and he was fully intent on using you. He still feels... guilty about those things as much as he tries to deny it. And he does talk with you about it when it comes up. Because he trusts you.

He honestly trusts you. It means the world to him that despite how little he deserves it, you showed him trust. And he is so happy you are here with him.

Astarion tends to go hunting a lot in peaceful times. He is still a vampire and even with out the blood lust of hunger he sometimes just... needs to kill something. A predator instinct that is going to be with him as long as he is a vampire.

Not that he minds. Going hunting for animals, sometimes monsters, and any nasties who are stupid enough to try and attack him make him feel excited.

He keeps his promise not to attack innocent of course and has saved a few lives by his hunting. Whether it be a child who got lost in the woods at night, or perhaps a foolhardy adventurer. A lot of these you wouldn't have known about if it weren't for the fact the people he has saved have stopped by during the day, bringing by gold or gifts as a reward.

Astarion never expects it but it makes him... happy. It makes him really happy.

Take him shopping when you get to Baldur's Gate. Like, do it, please. Take him to the Facemake Boutique and let him pick out his own, nice clothes and maybe some dye.

Oh the man is more than ecstatic. His appearances matters to him, it makes to him a lot. If you have no, read the description on his clothes: it made me cry.

He does cry about it afterwards . He will just be sitting on his bed at the Elf Song, staring at his old clothing , clothes he struggled to keep nice and now he has nice clothes from someone he cares about that he got to pick out.

It gets and makes you so many gifts. He will go to Halsin, whether you are in a relationship with him or not, and ask him to help him learn how to skin animals and begin using the pelts and leathers of animals he kills. (if you are also dating Halsin, it is a wonderful bonding activity for the two of them).

Man does sew and has been stitching up your clothes during the adventure. Even before he realized he was in love. He noticed a rip on your camp outfit and "Give that here, I will fix it for you."

He fixes your clothes with embroidery. He adds something that reminds you of him to your outfit and just hands it over to you, muttering how you need to be more careful with your clothing. And now he will ask if he can add a bit more flare to your outfits.

Man has a lot of fears that he doesn't realize are fears until they come up again. They were things that he accepted as life and now he doesn't have too, he is terrified of them. Please protect him.

So this is you decided to not kill the vampires. I personally could not kill the vampires:

Knocking on the door is never an expected sound. Most people tended to leave you, Astarion(and Halsin) alone. Especially when it is the middle of the night. But when Astarion answered the door well.

"May... may we come in?"

"What in the bloody hells are you doing here?"

He never expected to see his brother or sisters again after you had convinced him to spare them. And if he did see them again he didn't expect them to show up at his house! He.... debates before he lets them in.

He is on edge about it as he officially introduces you to his family. You all really did not have any time for names or such when Cazador was still alive but now you are. He allows them to stay for dinner.

His siblings wanted to come thank you, officially and more completely than last time. And also get to know whoever the hell managed to give Astarion hope again.

It is extremely awkward at first, there isn't even enough room for them at the dinning table but.... you guys just start chatting about how life has been since things ended.

You hear about the vampires, how they are doing, and you get to meet his siblings. They are all damaged people but they are... nice people. Astarion is... kind of glad that they came.

Perhaps... they can have a relationships. Not forced siblings but... friends.

Willing friends.

#astarion x mc #astarion romance #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #this is tooth rotting fluff #Astarion being soft #He is doing his best

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dreamkidddream · 11 months

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Vampire!Miguel O’Hara Headcanons!

He has been living in my head RENT FREE ever since I saw the movie last week and rightfully so cause my lord does his fangs have me weak 😮‍💨 expect something more full-fledged written out on his fangs and the vampire AU- reader is gender neutral!

A/N: in this AU Lyla is a vampire instead of AI (but still his assistant somewhat) and this is kinda sorta based off of this post!

It’s been a tragic and lonely life for Miguel. The last time he truly felt at peace was when you were still by his side- his dear, sweet, human lover

Just the thought of you caused him unbearable pain- he remembers the good moments, the fleeting kisses and more- and then he remembers you dying in his arms, your blood coating his hands as you tried to comfort him. That’s how kind you were- spending your last moments alive choking out how much you love him before you passed on

He’s been an empty shell ever since, even after hundreds of years. The world continued to evolve, and it took a while for Miguel to adapt with it. Having Lyla helped him stay sane somewhat, but he would never be able to let go of the past- of you

He was bitter and angry- angry at your kind for your death, angry at himself for not being able to save you, angry that you’re not here. All it took was one glance at your portrait and his fury would boil over. It’s been nights where Lyla would have to leave him be as he tore apart his home, no way of calming him down. Those nights, while now very rare, were hard to witness

He was able to blend in with humans- somewhat. It wasn’t a secret that a lot of people were attracted to him, even if Miguel made it clear that he wasn’t interested (he would always tell you that if his heart did beat, it would beat solely for you). But he could deal with it if it meant getting a meal out of it (and getting rid of some of his annoyances and pent up frustration all at once)

But he does enjoy some of the modern inventions that came out of this time (as much as he hates to admit)- and it lead him to finding something he once lost years ago

It was only an accident- in a rush someone bumped into him outside on the way home. A minor inconvenience, one that he can scoff and glare at (he sometime forgets to be mindful of his fangs if he’s really irritated)-

Until he smelled it- the sweet, comforting scent that drove him wild, that made his fangs poke out in dire need for more. Your scent

He couldn’t believe it- has he finally gone mad? But as he whipped around, he saw you facing him. You- donned in this time period’s clothes, bright eyes gazing at him like all those years ago. It was you, it was you!

Miguel know that he looks like a fool, mouth agape while his eyes blown out. He wanted to take you in his arms so bad, hands outstretched with his a genuine smile that he hasn’t worn in years-

Until he sees your confusion and remembers that you don’t know nor remember him

He’s heartbroken as his hands return to his side- but then he gets an idea and newfound determination. You both were given another chance, and he has nothing but time to remind you of what was once before

He plays off his mistake well (always the charmer and gentleman) and it doesn’t take much before he’s taking your hand in his, introducing himself and vice versa. How long has it been since he’s heard your melodic voice? He had to repress his groan when his name left your lips, a shiver going down his spine. The same warmth he missed has finally returned, and all he wants to do is soak it all in

He already has Lyla finding all of your social media accounts and more when he walks away- wanting to know your interests/hobbies, where you work, if anyone is interested in you, where you live- everything

Outsiders wouldn’t be able to tell (but Lyla could after knowing him for literal hundreds of years), but Miguel’s attitude has improved after his encounter with you. He’s still uptight and stone face, but he’s gotten a bit softer with his approach to others and has a little more patience (if you squint). He’s also going to her more for “advice” (ie. tell me what to do to win (Y/N) back now)

This is probably the greatest moment in her life knowing Miguel actually wants her in his business for once lmao

Miguel’s delusional in a sense- he wants back what he lost so long ago that he’s willing to do anything to have you back. He’s already making a plan on what needs to be done before you can come home with him, setting up arrangements to make your arrival comfortable when the time comes

His appetite isn’t yet satisfied- if anything it’s grown more in anticipation. Miguel couldn’t let himself go feral and scare you off, so he needed to feed before he saw you. Just thinking about how sweet your blood smelled had his head spinning- you were too tempting to be around already, especially when he’s hungry

He couldn’t stop thinking about you before, but now he really can’t- he’s imagining all of the new memories you’ll make together once you’re with him. His love for you hasn’t changed, even if it pains him that you don’t remember any of it

He’s already lost you once, and he refuses to let it happen again

He’s made the mistake of not turning you the first time- he doesn’t plan on making it again

#dream rambles about spiderverse 🕸️#across the spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse x you #spiderverse x y/n #atsv x you #atsv x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #spiderverse x gender neutral reader #miguel o’hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #gender neutral reader #vampire miguel o’hara

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voidpetrova · 8 months

Text

fearless — jeremy gilbert x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genres: swearing, alcohol consumption, sex in general but specifically hate sex, degradation, teasing, slapping — smut, fluff

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: a reluctant alliance forms between two individuals whose paths were never meant to cross. you were enigmatic, possessing a cunning personality and wielding your formidable powers to manipulate and eliminate those in youe path, driven by an insatiable thirst for dominance. jeremy gilbert stood as a stalwart protector of his friends, the beacon of light amid the encroaching shadows. you hated each other, but the sex was great

word count: 5.2K

✧.*

the air was thick with tension as stefan and damon salvatore paced within their dimly lit hideout. an air of urgency hung heavy as they exchanged anxious glances, a shared weight on their shoulders.

the sun and moon curse's ominous deadline loomed ever closer, and their search for a solution had led them to a most unlikely ally.

the heavy door creaked open, admitting you with an air of effortless poise. your presence exuded an aura of power, a testament to the centuries you'd spent as a vampire. but it wasn't just your immortality that set you apart—it was the cunning glint in your eyes and the unspoken authority you held over the supernatural realm.

“ah, the illustrious newcomer graces us with her presence,” damon drawled, his tone laced with equal parts skepticism and intrigue.

“delighted to be here, darling,” you replied, your voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm as your gaze met his with a challenge.

stefan offered a reserved nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. “we need all the help we can get, even if it means partnering with someone— unconventional.”

you smirked, unfazed by their reservations. unconventional was your middle name, after all. “well, boys, let's not waste any more time discussing my unorthodox methods. i assume you've gathered the necessary components?”

damon motioned toward the table where the picture of the moonstone practically gleamed, an ancient relic that held the key to breaking the curse. “they've got your precious rock.”

as the days turned into weeks, your alliance with the salvatores' group slowly shifted from an uneasy coexistence to a begrudging respect. collaborating on plans to break the curse revealed your strategic prowess and your cunning ability to outmaneuver the most formidable foes. and while your ultimate goals remained shrouded in mystery, the shared purpose brought a strange sense of unity.

enter jeremy gilbert, the stubborn, quick-witted thorn in your side. he had a knack for pushing your buttons, and you retaliated with a barrage of snarky remarks that could match his every jab.

“you know, i've met kittens scarier than you,” he quipped one evening, leaning against the wall with an infuriating smirk.

“and yet, here you are, all grown up and trying to play with the big cats,” you shot back, a dangerous glint in your eyes.

as the days turned into nights, the lines between alliance and camaraderie blurred. banter evolved into heated debates, and reluctant admiration gave way to unexpected camaraderie. the tension between you and jeremy simmered beneath the surface, an electric undercurrent neither of you could ignore.

and in the midst of this intricate dance, damon and stefan's affections for you grew more pronounced. their lingering gazes and the palpable yearning in their voices didn't go unnoticed, a silent acknowledgment of the magnetic pull you held over them.

the gathering of mystic falls' finest was a tense affair. the salvatore mansion's grand halls echoed with hushed conversations and wary glances as the gang assembled. elena's cautious eyes flitted over your figure, her distrust clear, while bonnie's wary expression mirrored the unease of the others.

as the room's atmosphere hung heavy with skepticism, you leaned against a table, regarding them all with a calm detachment that belied the storm of thoughts swirling within you. it wasn't often that those around you faced an enigma as formidable as yourself, and their unease was almost amusing.

stefan cleared his throat, his voice steady but laden with tension. “we're all here because we share the same goal—to break the sun and moon curse.”

damon's eyes darted to you, a calculated smirk tugging at his lips. “and our newest ally here,” he nodded in your direction, “seems to think she's got the answers.”

you met damon's gaze with a raised brow, amusement dancing in your eyes. “only time will tell, won't it?”

as the days went on, the initial hostility began to thaw. your sharp wit and undeniable competence in matters of the supernatural earned you reluctant respect. small alliances formed as each member of the gang found common ground in their distrust of you. still, tension hung in the air, even as you started offering strategic advice on finding the elusive components to break the curse.

“bonnie, we need to focus on finding the doppelgänger's blood,” you advised one evening, your tone authoritative.

her eyebrows knitted in concentration. “but where would we even begin looking?”

“the old witch's grimoire might hold the answers you seek,” you replied smoothly, watching her nod thoughtfully.

weeks turned into a whirlwind of information-gathering, research, and spellwork. amid the whirlwind, your calculated charm began to chip away at the group's skepticism. unbeknownst to them, the instructions you provided were expertly tailored misdirections.

elena approached you one evening, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “you seem to know a lot about these curses.”

“centuries of experience have their perks,” you replied cryptically, your lips curving into a half-smile.

the circle of trust continued to expand as elena shared her own insights, and bonnie began to confide in you about her struggles. but it was jeremy who surprised you the most. his sarcastic retorts softened, replaced by genuine questions about your history and motivations.

“you don't strike me as the kind who'd want to help anyone,” he remarked one night, his eyes scrutinizing.

“perhaps there's more to me than meets the eye,” you mused, a hint of vulnerability slipping into your voice before you shifted the topic.

as the gang worked tirelessly, chasing the components under your careful guidance, the bonds of camaraderie deepened. they came to rely on your knowledge and your uncanny ability to predict the next move of their adversaries. your once-foreign presence became an integral part of their mission.

unbeknownst to them, the pieces they sought were carefully chosen to further your own ambitions. you needed the moonstone for yourself—to amplify your already formidable abilities. the complexity of the web you'd woven began to unravel, but as the lines blurred between ally and enemy, the truth seemed farther out of reach than ever before.

and amid the confusion and danger, jeremy's attitude toward you shifted. the tension that had once been laced with hostility took on a different quality—one tinged with a jealousy he couldn't quite understand. as the group inched closer to their goal, the undercurrents of desire, manipulation, and secrets threatened to pull them all into a tangled web of fate they could never have predicted.

one evening, everybody congregated at a dimly lit bar, the low hum of chatter mingling with the clinking of glasses as they hashed out their plans. you leaned against the bar, a glass of red wine in hand, exuding an air of effortless confidence that had both mystified and infuriated jeremy since your arrival.

“so, this is where the brilliant minds of mystic falls come to plot their next move?” you quipped, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

jeremy shot you a glare. “better than scheming in the shadows and brooding like it's our day job.”

damon chuckled. “brooding can be quite lucrative, actually.”

you raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in your eyes. “ah, damon salvatore, the town's resident brooding entrepreneur.”

stefan tried to steer the conversation back on track. “we need to focus on the witch's power.”

bonnie nodded. “tapping into that much magic is going to be risky.”

jeremy's eyes flickered to you. “and risky business seems to be your forte.”

you tilted your head, an infuriatingly smug grin playing on your lips. “why, gilbert, i didn't know you paid such close attention to my strengths.”

elena shot him a look. “guys, can we stay on topic?”

damon smirked. “stay focused, jeremy. you don't want to miss out on the riveting discussion.”

jeremy turned his attention back to you. “trust me, it's riveting every time you open your mouth.”

you leaned in, your eyes narrowing playfully. “oh, i aim to impress.”

bonnie sighed, exasperated. “can we please just get back to the spell?”

damon nudged you with his elbow. “don't worry, bonnie. our illustrious guest is about to enlighten us.”

you rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your wine. “keep the enthusiasm to a minimum, damon. wouldn't want you to overexert yourself.”

jeremy shook his head, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “you really have a talent for making friends, don't you?”

“friends are overrated,” you shot back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

as the night wore on, the insults continued to fly, a never-ending volley of jabs and comebacks that seemed to fuel both irritation and reluctant amusement. jeremy's persistent sarcasm and your biting retorts formed a rhythm that was as familiar as it was aggravating.

and then, in a moment that caught both of you off guard, jeremy's snide remarks faltered as he met your gaze. a fleeting stillness settled between you, a charged silence that held a hint of something else—recognition, perhaps, of the shared tension that had been building since the moment you'd met. despite the brewing hatred, he couldn't help but find you pretty. he liked the way your hair was wavy, the way your makeup was smokey. he liked the way you walked in high heels and talked with such intensity, everybody was drawn towards you. including him.

uncomfortable with the intensity of the moment, he cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to be absorbed in his drink. but you saw through the facade, and a subtle, self-satisfied smile curved your lips. the electricity in the air wasn't just a product of the supernatural—it was a testament to the magnetic pull you both tried so hard to deny.

as the bar hummed with conversations and laughter, an unspoken understanding lingered—an understanding that even amid the insults and the tension, something deeper was at play, something that neither of you could ignore.

as the discussion carried on, the intricacies of the plan fell into place. the group debated strategy, magic, and the dangerous risks they were about to undertake. despite the tension that had become second nature, a sense of unity emerged as the gang rallied around a common goal.

“and that's our course of action,” stefan concluded, his voice firm and resolute.

damon raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. “you agree with the salvatore plan, oh mighty oracle?”

you arched an eyebrow right back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “imagine that, i'm capable of agreement.”

jeremy rolled his eyes. “must be a once-in-a-lifetime event.”

you turned your full attention to him, a fire dancing in your eyes. “careful, gilbert. your wit might be a match for mine someday.”

an exasperated sigh escaped bonnie's lips. “can we please just stay focused?”

but it seemed jeremy had reached his limit. pushing away from the table, he confronted you, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and frustration. “you're not fooling anyone with your act. we all know you've got your own agenda.”

your gaze turned icy, the mask of charm slipping for a moment. “and what would that be, gilbert?”

“to use us to get what you want,” he shot back, his voice hard.

damon intervened, stepping between the two of you. “hey, hey, let's not start a brawl in the middle of planning, okay?”

tension hung thick in the air as the fight was broken up. you exchanged one last fiery glare with jeremy before the group continued their deliberations. the atmosphere had shifted, and even the slightest glimmers of trust began to fracture.

as the night drew to a close, the group started to disperse. one by one, they filed out of the bar, leaving you and jeremy alone in the lingering silence. the tension remained, a palpable force between you.

finally, as the last echo of footsteps faded away, you turned to him, your expression unreadable. “you're right, you know.”

jeremy's brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “about what?”

a heavy sigh escaped your lips. “i can't be trusted.”

he looked taken aback by your admission. “you're admitting it?”

a bitter smile tugged at your lips. “it's not a matter of admitting, it's a matter of facts.”

he crossed his arms, his guard still up. “so, what's your game then?”

the weight of centuries seemed to settle on your shoulders. “my game, jeremy, is survival. power. dominance. and that moonstone you're all chasing? i intend to claim it for myself, break the curse, and harness the energy for my own greater power.”

his eyes narrowed. “you're going to betray us?”

“betrayal implies there was trust to begin with,” you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

jeremy's gaze held yours, a mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. “you've been alive for centuries. what could you possibly need more power for?”

a wistful smile touched your lips. “it's not about what i need, jeremy. it's about what i want.”

with that enigmatic statement, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, grappling with the revelation and the tangled web of your intentions.

as you disappeared into the night, the truth you'd laid bare lingered in the air—a truth that carried the weight of desire, ambition, and a world that was anything but black and white.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the town . in the wake of the fractured alliance, jeremy found himself carrying the weight of a heavy secret—one that he believed had the potential to alter the course of their dangerous collaboration.

with a determined resolve, he reached out to his friends, explaining his suspicions about your true intentions. despite initial resistance, the group agreed that he would need to deceive you to ensure the moonstone's safety.

when the moonstone's location was revealed, jeremy found himself facing you, his expression a mixture of resignation and guilt. “i've got some news for you.”

you arched an eyebrow, your voice dripping with skepticism. “let me guess, you're the bearer of bad tidings?”

he nodded, his gaze unsteady. “yeah. the moonstone's somewhere in the damn woods.”

a humorless smile touched your lips. “well, aren't you the group's little messenger boy?”

his eyes held yours, unflinching. “i'm the one who's not afraid of you.”

with a sigh, you stepped away from the crowd, settling on the curb as a sense of weariness settled over you. jeremy followed, his confusion palpable.

“why are you even sitting out here?” he asked, his voice softer than before.

uou leaned back, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “sometimes it's easier to think when the walls aren't closing in.”

he took a seat beside you, the silence stretching between you for a moment before you spoke, your voice laced with a vulnerability that surprised even yourself. “you know, there's a lot you don't know about me, jeremy.”

he looked at you, curiosity mingling with the wariness in his eyes. “i'm all ears.”

and so, in the quiet of the night, you shared the stories of the past five centuries—the struggles, the losses, and the insatiable hunger for power that had driven you to this point. jeremy listened, his gaze never leaving your face as the weight of your history settled over both of you.

when you fell silent, he hesitated before speaking, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. “i lost my parents. and after that, i went down a dark path. addiction.”

your gaze softened as you turned to him, your words gentle. “we all have our demons, Jeremy.”

he looked away, his expression a mix of regret and understanding. “yeah, but not everyone has been around for centuries to accumulate them.”

you placed a comforting hand on his arm. “our experiences may differ, but pain is universal.”

a rare moment of empathy passed between you, a connection forged from shared struggles and the understanding that the road to survival was paved with sacrifices.

feeling a newfound sense of safety and companionship, jeremy met your gaze. “the moonstone's not in the woods. it's hidden somewhere safer.”

you raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “and you're telling me this because?”

“because i think you deserve a chance to prove everyone wrong,” he replied, his voice steady.

a faint smile played at the corners of your lips. “you're a curious contradiction, jeremy gilbert.”

je grinned, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “and you're not as heartless as you want people to believe.”

in that moment, a delicate understanding blossomed between you—a fragile alliance built on mutual vulnerability. as the moon cast its soft glow over the night, the secrets you shared and the bond you'd formed seemed to transcend the chaos and betrayals of the world around you.

the confrontation hung in the air like a storm ready to break. you stood at the center of the room, your expression a careful mask of indifference as your friends stared you down, accusations evident in their eyes.

“we know about your plan,” damon's voice cut through the tense silence. “jeremy spilled the beans.”

your lips curled into a sardonic smile. “ah, the ever-reliable messenger boy.”

elena's voice was sharp. “you've been manipulating us from the start.”

a fire ignited in your eyes. “i've been trying to help, in case you've forgotten.”

caroline's tone was accusatory. “by playing both sides?”

“by ensuring that i don't end up on the losing side,” you shot back, your voice dripping with disdain.

then, with a calculated move, you shifted your gaze to jeremy, whose eyes met yours with a mixture of defiance and regret. “isn't that right, gilbert?”

his voice was steady, despite the tension crackling in the room. “i told them the truth.”

“did you?” you countered, your tone laced with an edge of challenge. “or did you decide to help the team after our little chat on the curb?”

jeremy clenched his jaw. “it doesn't matter. we know your intentions now.”

a bitter laugh escaped your lips. “and you think that changes anything? i've been around for centuries, gilbert. i've seen alliances crumble and betrayals unfold. a few teenagers thinking they've got it all figured out doesn't rattle me.”

his eyes flared with anger. “you're not as untouchable as you think.”

a surge of rage fueled your next words. “try me.”

everybody else chose to back off, exiting the room in fear for their safety. one by one, the group filed out of the room, leaving you and jeremy alone. the space between you was charged, emotions and unspoken words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

in an instant, the air was charged with electricity as jeremy lunged at you, his fist aimed at your face. you deftly sidestepped, catching his wrist in your grip before he could connect. his frustration mirrored your own, and as he tried to wrest free, you spun him around, slamming him against the wall with a force that left him momentarily breathless.

his eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration and determination. and then, with a furious glare, he spat out the word that had always held the power to cut deep. “slut.”

you didn't flinch, your voice laced with icy disdain. “junkie.”

the room crackled with tension, a volatile mix of desire and anger simmering beneath the surface. and then, in a twist that seemed almost inevitable, his lips crashed onto yours, igniting a spark that had been smoldering all along.

rhe kiss was fierce and demanding, fueled by a potent mixture of pent-up frustration and a desire that had always been there, masked by animosity. the walls that had separated you seemed to crumble, and for a brief moment, nothing else mattered.

but as quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended, leaving you both breathless and disoriented. the room was heavy with the weight of what had transpired, an unspoken understanding of the tangled emotions that had been unearthed.

and as you stood there, the tension between you felt almost unbearable—a blend of desire and hatred, a maelstrom that defied categorization. the path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—the thin line between love and hate had been irrevocably blurred.

“couldn't resist me, could you, little gilbert?” you taunted, a sultry smile playing on your lips. the smudged lipstick on your bottom lip lent you a disheveled allure, a stark contrast to the tension that had gripped the room. keremy's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze locked onto yours. his heartbeat quickened, a rapid rhythm that you could almost hear, like a trapped animal trying to escape its confines. “thought you said you weren't afraid of me,” you teased, your tone suggestive.

he clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of frustration and desire. “i'm not.” a knowing smile curled your lips. “is that so? because it seems to me that you're standing here like a deer caught in headlights.” his cheeks flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and defiance flickering in his eyes. "you don't intimidate me."

“is that why you let me get under your skin?” you countered, your voice a low purr.

a flicker of frustration crossed his features, his hands clenching at his sides. “this doesn't change anything.”

“doesn't it?” you mused, taking a step closer, the space between you narrowing.

he held his ground, his gaze locked onto yours. “we still don't trust you.”

a humorless chuckle escaped your lips. “trust is overrated, jeremy. but i have a feeling that whatever this is between us isn't just about trust.”

his nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “you're wrong.”

your lips brushed against his ear as you leaned in, your voice a whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “am i?”

for a moment, the room seemed to hang in suspended animation, the tension between you so thick you could practically taste it. the clash of emotions—attraction, defiance, and something deeper—was a battle neither of you could ignore.

and then, in a surge of movement, jeremy's lips crashed onto yours once again. the kiss was fierce, fueled by a potent mixture of desire and frustration. it was a culmination of everything that had simmered beneath the surface, a declaration of a connection that defied explanation.

as you pulled away, your lips swollen and your gaze locked onto his, the words that hung unspoken between you seemed to resonate in the air—a silent acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you had ventured into.

“i fucking hate you.” he snarled, his lips latching onto the thin surface of the crease of your neck. you let out a soft moan as you found your fingers in his hair, pulling his luscious locks. “i hate you just as much.” you retorted. there was no drawn line between desire and hatred at this point.

“you let all our friends use you like this?” he asked in a demeaning tone as he began to strip you of your clothes. your shirt was pulled over your head, leaving you in your bra and skirt. jeremy's shirt came after, your eyes travelling down his toned biceps. “you let damon and stefan make you feel this good?” he practically growled as he began kissing down your neck, leaving a trail of hungry kisses between your tits as his hands fiercely groped them, nearly tearing your bra off.

you couldn't help but moan at his touch, but you wanted all the control. “of course i don't,” you pressed your knee in between his legs, pushing upwards as you rubbed his dick through the material of his jeans. he couldn't help his heavy breathing “but they'd make me feel even better.”

in a second, your stomach was pressed to the wall. he held onto your wrists tightly with one of his hands, breath fanning your ear. you had successfully got the reaction you wanted out of him. “i wouldn't be so sure,” he taunted as he pulled your skirt down, jeans tightening even further at the sight of your black panties tucked in your ass, the amount of fat calling his name. “once i tear your pussy up, no one's gonna wanna touch you again.”

“are you sure about that?”

“absolutely positive.”

he flipped you back around, knowing he wanted you to get a good look at what was coming. his dick sprang our of his boxers, twitching mid-air. you didn't expect the sheer length of it, not from him. he was huge, you just didn't wanna fuel his ego. “i see why they call you little gilbert now.” he couldn't help but scoff, but your expressions were readable. for the first time, he wasn't the one who was afraid.

on the worn-out sofa, you were spread out for him. your hair was a mess, your makeup was a mess. your bra was in his hand as he pressed it into his nose, inhaling the scent of your desire before tossing it over his shoulder, knowing it'd be a souvenier for him later on. he was placed in between your legs, his dick pressing ever so gently against your dripping heat. he leaned forward, hands on either side of your head as he kissed you passionately.

you kissed back just as hard—hands caressing and gripping at the muscles that adorned his arms and back, clawing at them before pulling at his hair once more. you wanted him all to yourself, and it was reciprocated. he admired you as his tongue slid into your mouth, licking away at every inch. he used his free hand to tap his dick against your clit, rubbing it slowly. you pulled away, giving him a desperate look.

“i think it's your turn to beg, don't you?” you couldn't believe what you were hearing, nearly bursting into laughter at the mere thought.

“you're kidding, right?” you could take it, you were strong. you swatted his hand away, playing his game better than he had expected, taking his dick into your hand as you did exactly what he did. only this time, his patience was wearing thin. you dipped half of the tip inside of your wet heat, earning moans from him, before completely retracting. he watched the way your pussy glistened with arousal as his red, angry tips traced against your bundle of nerves. “we don't have to fuck. by all means, leave the door open. i'm sure stefan and damon would love to—”

you didn't get a warning before he slammed into you, the mentioning of their names tipping the scale for jeremy. you let out a loud moan of his name as your legs went up in the air, heels now digging into his shoulders. you were in a pure state of bliss, his thick cock buried inside your pretty pussy, and he had no intention of going easy on you.

“say that again,” he taunted, fingernails digging into your hips as he prepared himself. you were a mess, exterior breaking down as he held onto your hips. “what was that about stefan and damon?” he pounded into you relentlessly, the tip of his dick smashing into you, hitting your sweet spot faster than you had even imagined. he noticed the way you were unable to speak.

“can't believe i shut you up so fast,” he felt proud, watching the way your eyes filled up with tears as you looked up at him. he almost felt bad. “it's only been a minute and i've already fucked you stupid.” you whined at his mockery, at the way his pace quickened while he watched your pretty face and the way your tits moved with every thrust.

he removed a hand from your hip and brought it up to your face, stroking your cheek in the most brutally taunting way. it didn't last a second too long before he brought it back up—just to deliver a harsh slap to you face. you clenched around his dick, the stinging bringing you nothing but pleasure. he took notice, eyebrows rising in shock as he tsked at you.

“i like you better when you're an obedient little bitch,” he cooed, relishing in the lack of sarcastic and venomous retorts he was getting. his hand made its way back to your cheek, his thumb prodding at the crease in your lips before you reluctantly opened you mouth, letting his thumb slide in as you wrapped your tongue around it, wetting it. “that's a good fucking girl.” as a reward, he brought his hand down to your pussy, freshly wet thumb furiously rubbing your clit, earning a string of moans from you that only encouraged him to pound into you even harder.

when you came, it was at the same time. breathless pants and the smell of sex and sweat filled the room, limp bodies deciding between a round two and a glass of bourbon.

with a knowing smile, you began to straighten yourself, the disheveled remains of your earlier encounter a testament to the tangled desires that had fueled your actions. the lipstick on your bottom lip was smeared once again, your naked body bare against the sofa with the fireplace crackling in the background.

as you reached for one of damon's nearby cigars and leisurely lit it, you could feel jeremy's gaze on you—admiring, contemplative, and perhaps a touch regretful.

“you're something else,” he said, his voice a mixture of awe and resignation.

you exhaled a plume of smoke, turning to face him. “is that a compliment or a complaint, gilbert?”

he shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “i don't even know anymore.”

with a sultry smile, you leaned against the table, exhaling another puff of smoke. “mysteries make life interesting, don't you think?”

he stepped closer, his gaze tracing the contours of your face as if committing them to memory. “you could have the moonstone. take it and run.”

you raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing. “and here I thought you were brave, willing to stand up to the big, bad vampire.”

a wistful look crossed his features. “i wish i were that brave.”

with a knowing glint in your eyes, you set your cigar down and took a step toward him. “keremy, it's not about the stone anymore.”

his brows furrowed, confusion etching lines on his forehead. “then what is it about?”

you closed the distance between you, your voice softening. “ot's about more than power, more than secrets. it's about us.”

his eyes searched yours, vulnerability flickering in their depths. “and where do we go from here?”

you reached out to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “we go forward. together.”

he looked both amazed and conflicted, his emotions warring within him. “why would you help me?”

a genuine smile played on your lips. “because, jeremy gilbert, i've developed a fondness for you.”

his lips twitched into a half-smile. “fondness, huh?”

you nodded, your eyes locked onto his. “more than i care to admit.”

he took a deep breath, his voice gentle. “i've developed a fondness for you too.”

in that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath—a fragile bridge connecting two souls who had danced on the precipice of animosity and desire.

as you both stood there, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words, you knew that the path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and unknowns. but in each other's gaze, you found something that transcended the chaos and complexities—a shared understanding of the tangled web you'd woven and the uncharted emotions that had ignited between you.

#tvd #the vampire diaries #elena gilbert #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #jeremy gilbert #jeremy gilbert angst #jeremy gilbert x reader #jeremy gilbert smut #jeremy x reader

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captainsophiestark · 16 days

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Summary: When a serious magical threat comes to Mystic Falls and puts Josie and Lizzie at risk, Caroline and Ric send Klaus' ex down to New Orleans to seek safe harbor for the girls with him. Or, what if Y/N went to New Orleans instead of Caroline, and Klaus was free to see them.

Word Count: 2,966

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I chewed my lip as I stared up at the building before me. If this were any other situation, I would've turned on my heel and run by now. But there were two little girls, one on either side of me, who needed me to be strong. This was their best hope of being safe, which meant all of my stuff needed to take a back seat.

I took a deep breath, trying not to let the girls sense just how nervous I was, then started heading for the door to the bar. It was the middle of the day, so hopefully no one would mind me bringing two kids in with me.

Caroline and Ric had trusted me with Josie and Lizzie, and I refused to let them down. Some new supernatural none of us knew existed had come to town and, worse, had started going after the girls. So, I'd sat down with their parents, and we'd figured out a plan to keep them safe: take them to the bigger, badder supernatural who I used to know.

My eyes scanned the bar for the familiar face of Klaus Mikaelson, and after a moment, I found him. He was leaning against the counter talking to the bartender, and I was surprised he couldn't hear my heart beating out of my chest from here. I hadn't seen him in years, and I'd also rejected him the last time I saw him. But he was the best chance the girls had, so I was just going to have to hope he didn't hate me now.

I cleared my throat, shook my nerves off as well as I could, herded the girls into a booth where I could keep an eye on them, then turned to face the bar. I found Klaus already looking at me, his arms crossed and a curious look on his face as he leaned against the counter. A wave of emotions hit me at once, but I shoved back against the feeling, squaring my shoulders and putting one foot in front of the other until I stood in front of Klaus.

"Hello, love," he said, and my heart damn near stopped in my chest. I took a deep breath. "It's good to see you again."

"It's... it's good to see you again, too."

And it was. Most of my friends had been relieved when Klaus finally left town, and they'd freaked out the minute they found out he'd come back to see me. And at the time, I'd convinced myself they were right, and that it was better he was gone. But standing before him now, that slight smirk on his face, I realized I had really, really missed him.

"So what brings you to New Orleans?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked past me to where the girls were playing a clapping game in the booth. "I take it it has something to do with them."

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"And who's the father?"

Now it was my turn to cross my arms and raise an eyebrow.

"They're actually not mine. But I'd say you don't have a lot of room to judge, considering the reason you moved to New Orleans in the first place."

"Who said I was judging? I was just trying to gauge how jealous I might need to be."

I huffed a laugh, trying and failing to hide my smile by glancing at the ground. Nik grinned at me, and for just a flash of a moment, it was like nothing had changed between us since the last time I'd seen him.

But then I heard Josie and Lizzie behind me, and I remember why I'd come here in the first place. I sighed and met Nik's eyes again.

"I need your help."

His eyebrows immediately drew together, and he straightened up from the bar, taking a half step towards me. The intensity of his worried stare made my heart melt.

"What's wrong, love?"

"There's a new supernatural in town. Or a few new ones, I guess. We're struggling a little bit to deal with them, and they've made Josie and Lizzie their targets. Caroline and Ric are their parents for all intents and purposes, and we sat down and decided our best chance at keeping the girls safe is if I left with them, alone, and came to you."

"And whose idea was that?"

"...Mine. It... actually took a lot of convincing for Ric and Caroline to let me bring them to you."

A hint of a smile flickered across Nic's face as he huffed a barely audible laugh. His beautiful blue eyes met mine with the intensity I'd seen a thousand times for both good and bad moments, and it made my heart race.

"You will always be welcome here, with me. I'll keep the three of you safe."

Relief washed over me. I closed my eyes, taking a minute, and when I opened them again I found Nik still watching me intently. I thought he might lean in for a hug or a kiss or something else, but instead, he just gave me a small smile and nodded in the direction of the girls.

"Mind introducing me?"

The girls absolutely loved Nik from the first moment they met him, and he was nothing but sweet and patient and kind. He made a few absolutely ridiculous jokes that had them falling out of their chairs laughing, and had my heart melting all over again. We left the bar together, the four of us strolling through the streets of New Orleans as Nik led us to his home. He glanced over at me a few times with the roguish smile I'd come to love, and despite the fact that I'd come here on the run to protect the girls, I couldn't help enjoying this moment with him. In different circumstances, it might've just felt right.

"We're almost home, but I just had a thought," said Nik, his arm swinging back and forth with Lizzie's as they marched down the street together. Lizzie and Josie held hands, and I did the same with Josie, making us a little chain. I turned to smile at Nik over the girls' heads.

"And what's that?" I asked. Nik smiled at me, then turned his attention to the girls.

"My favorite ice cream place in the whole of the city is very close to here. Does anyone else feel like we ought to make a pitstop?"

"YES!" the girls screamed in unison. I laughed as Nik stopped abruptly, turning on his heel and then pulling us in the other direction.

"Alright, come on then!"

The girls cheered as they marched after him, and my heart soared as I followed along behind the three of them. I'd gotten to see Nik like this every so often in Mystic Falls, but a lot of our interactions were colored by whatever drama he and his family had going on with my friends and I. Being with him, like this, and seeing him being so amazing with the girls was seriously doing something to me.

"This place really does have the best ice cream," Nik assured me as we stepped inside and joined the line, the girls bouncing excitedly in front of us as we stood shoulder to shoulder. "Hope loves it."

"Hope... how is she? How's... how's Hayley?"

Nik smirked. "They're both good. We've had our rough patches, but Hayley and I have found our rhythm as coparents despite not being together."

I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and Nik laughed.

"Now look who's trying to gauge their jealousy."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't hold back a grin all the same.

"Whatever. But... you're happy? Being a dad, and being here, and... and everything?"

The corner of Nik's mouth quirked up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Like anything, it's had its ups and downs. But I wouldn't trade Hope for anything in the world."

I nodded, and the two of us fell into comfortable silence as we worked our way through the line. The girls were ecstatic to try their cones, and Nik recommended his favorite flavor to me, which lived up to the hype he'd promised. The four of us wandered slowly the rest of the way to our destination, which turned out to be an absolutely massive compound in the middle of the French Quarter.

Nik pushed open the door and led us inside just as the sun began to set outside. I came to a stop in the beautiful open space just inside the front doors, staring around at it in awe.

"C'mon, love," Nik said gently, resting a hand on my back and guiding me in the direction of the stairs. "Let's get the girls settled in for the night."

I just nodded, putting my focus back on the girls as we followed Nik through the massive compound. He pushed open one of the many doors along the second floor, letting us into a bedroom with two beds. I even spotted a few kids books on the shelves to one side of the room.

I slid my eyes to Nik with a raised eyebrow, but he just shrugged.

"For Hope, and any friends she might decide to bring over when the time comes. No reason to not be prepared, especially since we have the space for it." The corner of my mouth tugged up into a smile, that warm feeling spreading in my chest again. "I'll bring a few of her pajamas in, they should fit these two alright."

"Thanks."

"Of course, love."

Between the two of us, Nik and I managed to get the girls settled down and in bed in under an hour. They'd had a long, tiring day, after all, and if I weren't practically jittering with nerves after the afternoon I'd spent with Nik I'm sure I would've been right behind them.

Instead, I found myself following him after we closed the door to the girls' room, going who knows where in this massive house in his new life since he'd left Mystic Falls. After a few moments, I couldn't really take the silence anymore, so I spoke up.

"Where are the rest of the Mikaelsons?" I asked, my voice thankfully even. "I'd expected to see at least one of the siblings by now."

Nik turned to give me a little smirk over his shoulder, and I hated that he could probably hear my heart race.

"They're busy with other things for the night. And Hope is with Hayley having a mother-daughter weekend away from everything. It's just us, tonight."

My heart sped up even more, although that shouldn't have been possible. After a moment, Nik led me into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator. I took a seat at one of the high stools at the counter, watching him as he moved.

"I assume you still like hot chocolate more than most other drinks?" asked Nik without turning around. I smiled.

"Absolutely. I know it's been a little while, but come on Nik, I'm not a completely different person."

He paused to give me a smile over his shoulder, then continued in his hot chocolate preparations. I scratched at something on the counter while he worked, trying to get up the courage to talk about all the million things hanging in the air before us. Finally, I cleared my throat and forced myself to look up, watching Nik's back as I spoke.

"Thank you for this, by the way. For taking us in, even after... Well, even after I told to leave me and Mystic Falls."

Nik sighed, bringing our two mugs of hot chocolate over and setting them down on the counter before walking around to stand in front of me. We were barely an inch apart, but he didn't make a move to close the distance anymore. I'd set a boundary the last time I'd seen him, and he clearly had no intention of crossing it.

"I will always be here for you if you need me, love. If you seek me out for refuge, or to change your mind and take me up on my offer to show you the world, or even because I make the best hot chocolate in the entire world and you just can't live without it... I'll be waiting."

I stared up at Nik, a slight twinkle in his eye, as I fought to keep tears out of my own. He'd truly caused so many problems in Mystic Falls. My friends' dislike-to-hate of him made sense. But he'd always been sweet and funny, patient and kind and understanding, with me. If I was totally honest with myself, I'd been starting to fall in love with him before I'd decided to side with my friends and push him away.

"Don't cry, love. It's alright," he said, his eyes scanning my face. I hiccupped, the tears finally starting to fall, a combination of all the different emotions and stressors of my past few days coming together and overwhelming me at once. I'd held it together for the girls, but now they were in bed and taken care of, so I could safely fall apart.

I leaned forward, falling into Nik's chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around me the moment I did.

"It's alright. You're safe with me."

That brought on a whole new wave of tears, not just for the stress of the day, but for everything I'd lost with Nik, too. He just held me tighter, rubbing soothing circles on my back as I let it all out, then slowly started to calm down.

I pulled back slightly once I managed to get ahold of myself. One of Nik's hands stayed on my arm, and he brought his other hand up to gently cup my face, wiping away a few of the tears with his thumb.

"What can I do, love? Tell me how I can help you and I'll do it."

I choked back another sob, this one turning into a half-laugh.

"You've already done enough, Nik. More than enough. It's just... it's been such a long day. I feel like I've been barely holding back a complete stress breakdown for like a week, and I always had the girls with me so I had to keep it together..."

"Well then, why don't we get you settled into a room so you can get some sleep, hm? We can always talk more in the morning."

Nik started to move to help me off the stool and up to bed, but I stopped him, hands resting on his biceps. He raised an eyebrow at me but didn't move away.

"No, Nik. I don't want to talk tomorrow, I need to say this. I... I love you."

Any hint of humor or lightness dropped off Nik's face, replaced by completely serious shock. My heart was racing out of my chest, and I knew he could hear it, but I pushed on anyway.

"I think I was falling in love with you before, and I didn't want to admit it to myself. But being with you here, now... it feels right. There are a bunch of powerful murderers chasing me, trying to hurt two kids whose parents have trusted me, exclusively, with their safety, and I'm in a strange city far from anywhere I've ever called home. But for some reason I just feel... happy. Happy to see you again, happy to spend time with you, about a thousand times calmer than I was without you. You feel like home, Nik, and I love you. I just... that just feels like something you should know."

Nik's eyes had been scanning and searching my face intently the entire time I'd been talking, the slightest hint of wetness gathering in his own eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth once I'd finished speaking, and he brought his hand back up to cup my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

"I don't think I've made it any secret how I feel about you, love," he said, voice soft and tender. "But in case you need to hear it again, I love you. Always and forever."

A few tears managed to sneak out and down my cheeks again, but this time I had a smile on my face. Nik's expression mirrored my own.

"Once... once all of this is over, do you think... well, maybe I could come back here. To New Orleans, once the girls are safe back home. That is, if... if your offer to follow you to New Orleans still stands from the first time you extended it?"

Nik beamed back at me. "I can honestly tell you that absolutely nothing would make me happier."

My smile grew to the point of pain as I stared up at Nik, a light in his eyes that I'd missed much more than I'd realized. I leaned forward just slightly, Nik mirroring my move as I glanced at his lips. One corner of his mouth rose higher in the troublemaking smirk that always made my heart race before he closed the rest of the distance between us, his lips meeting mine, soft at first and then with the same urgency pulsing in my heart.

I'd kissed him before, but it had always been tempered by concern for my friends, and about what they'd think. But this time, as fireworks exploded in my chest and thousands of butterflies took off in my stomach, I couldn't bring myself to care.

I was safe and happy in the arms of the man I loved, kissing him senseless. I'd missed out on a lot of times like this, but from now on, I didn't intend to let anything keep me from spending every second I could just like this, friends and insane supernatural threats be damned. Always and forever.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

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thegettingbyp2 · 1 year

Note

hello!

would you write something for Edward Cullen and reader (vampire) where they first meet in the woods? like running into your mate kinda-

(I hope im even making sense)

You've Got Me

Edward Cullen had been watching you from the second he first saw you wandering the hallways of Forks High School; eyes bright red and looking unnaturally beautiful. He’d never spoken to you but your appearance and the smooth fluidity of your movements told him everything that he needed to know; you were a vampire, and not the same kind as him and his family. Even though he knew what you were and your preferred diet, he couldn’t help but be drawn to you though he never approached you at school.

However, a couple of months of watching you from a distance, he finally spoke to you. He had decided to take a solo hunting trip to clear his head from thoughts of you. What he didn’t expect was that he would come across you kneeling on the floor in the clearing in the woods, crying and your clothes covered with blood.

In an instant, Edward was across the clearing and kneeling beside you without a second thought. ‘What did you do?’ he murmured as he took in your appearance and, without knowing why, all he wanted to do was wrap you up in his arms and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

‘I tried, I really tried,’ you cried, hiding your face in your hands. ‘I thought that I’d be able to do it.’

‘Thought you’d be able to do what?’ he asked, tentatively putting his hand on your back. You pulled your hands away from your face to look up at him and Edward felt his breath leave his body as he saw your tear-filled eyes. What shocked him the most was the fact that instead of blood red, your eyes had turned into a strange mix of red and amber. ‘You were trying to feed on animal blood,’ he stated.

You nodded gently. ‘I hate having to hurt people and then I saw you and your family had these different coloured eyes so I asked Alice and she said that you only feed on animal blood. I thought that I’d be able to do it and then you’d actually want to talk to me when I didn’t look like a monster but I couldn’t do it.’ You had started to ramble and Edward gathered you into his arms, wiping your tears with his thumb.

‘It takes time,’ he spoke softly, trying to calm your racing heart. ‘It gets easier but you’ll be able to do it. And I never avoided you because you looked like a monster. I avoided you because I was drawn to you and I didn’t know what it meant. I’d see you walking down the hall and every single cell in my body was telling me to talk to you but I never trusted what would happen if I did. If you’d rejected me, I don’t think I would have survived.’

‘Really?’ you asked quietly, peering up at you with your eyes that were his new favourite colour. ‘I’ve felt the same. Which is why I thought if my eyes matched yours, you’d let me talk to you.’

Edward cut your words off at the end of your sentence by pressing his lips gently to yours. He smiled against your lips when he felt you melt into him as you began to kiss him back. ‘I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,’ he said, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Right now, we’re going to go and get you cleaned up and then I’m going to help you get through this, okay? We’ll go on hunts together and we will get you through this,’ he vowed.

‘How?’ you asked, still unsure.

‘You’ve got me,’ he replied simply.

#edward cullen #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen x reader #twilight

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bakugotrashpanda · 1 year

Text

Vampire!Bakugou x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.5k

All Souls Trilogy AU (if you squint)

!!: blood, angst

Your wish is his command… except for one thing.

Ornate metal lattice digs into Bakugou’s hands as he listens to your councilors inform you of the situation at hand. Inform. That’s a joke. More like condescend or manipulate. If he was actually allowed in the room as opposed to hiding behind the equivalent of a confessional, they wouldn’t treat you like that.

Bronze creaks under his hand. Conversation that, to normal human ears, would be muffled by a red curtain pauses. You dismiss the sound. The conversation continues.

“Patience,” your voice finds his ears. A futile command meant for him. But he waits. And when the simpering men leave your court, he finally emerges. Male stench hangs in the room. God, he hates these meetings. You can’t smell it, but Bakugou can’t help but pick up the underlying notes of ambition, hatred, lust. He could break their necks at the drop of a hat.

If you ordered it, he’d do anything.

“Well?” you sigh, “You heard them. The armada will be at our port in three days. Our fleet is battered. We wouldn’t be able to hold them off.”

Bakugou walks beside your chair and looks down at you. It was built for your grandfather. Big man, big ego, big dreams. Big shoes to fill. In comparison, you look like a child slumped at the dinner table waiting to be allowed to leave.

“And they want you to lock the capital,” he sneers, “Leaving the masses — your people — the fend for themselves.” They want to stay safe in their cushy houses, and they currently do while the average person suffers.

A grim smile twists your lovely features. Bakugou longs to see your natural smile as opposed to this mockery of it. Oh how war hardens even the softest of hearts.

“So, my Shadow,” you look up at him now, “What are my other options?”

Bakugou clenches a fist at his side. There’s nothing more in the world he wants than to reach out and cup your cheek and memorize the glimmer of hope hiding in your eyes. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, your intoxicating scent causing his heart to beat once. Exhaling, he rolls his shoulders before answering you. “The witches are eager to prove themselves. Become useful in your eyes.”

“They want protection from the masses.”

Bakugou holds back a smirk. Of course you’d read between the lines. Nothing is given for free. “I advise you use them.”

“And then what? Offer them carte blanche?” you scoff. “If one more zealot cries foul again I’ll have an uprising worse than what my father faced.” You wince. You may try to forget the way he was dragged from the castle and beheaded and your shaky rise to power – eyes of the masses hungry for bloodshed, but he remembers it as vividly as yesterday. You were barely a woman, fear and a shattered innocence filled you to the core as you swore before all the powers that be to protect your realms.

And Bakugou silently promised to guide you better than he had your father and his father before him.

“You’ll think of something.”

“What use are you then if you don’t aid your queen?” Your tongue and eyes are sharp and turned on him. “You will not make me a vampire such as yourself and grant me the powers I need to stabilize my kingdom. You tease solutions, but offer nothing more than that.” Bakugou watches you stand, your face hardening into an impassive mask. “The witches worry that I will turn my back on them, but perhaps it is the vampires who will lose favor.”

Pacing back and forth, you watch him, waiting for any reaction — something you can use to move the argument along.

But all he gives you is. He can’t say anything – no matter how much he wants to. In truth, he has no more power than your advisors who bow their heads with a ‘yes, Your Majesty’ and say what you want to hear in an attempt to curry favor for themselves.

Your shoulders slump when it’s clear he’s not going to take the bait. “I have a kingdom to protect and ensure that we will see better days. I swore an oath before all the gods that I would do this,” your jaw juts out stubbornly. “I still have no consort and no heir. Everything will fall to chaos. Will you really deny your queen the ability to ensure there is a future for my people?”

Bakugou falls into a wide stance and clasps his hands behind his back. He’s heard this argument time and time again. No doubt your stubbornness will hold strong this time too. “I told your father and your father’s father the same thing: no. We do not lead in human politics.”

“Yet you’ll meddle.”

Bakugou sighs. He’ll respond that yes, creatures will meddle – who wouldn’t? You’ll spew more stories meant to guilt trip him. He’ll hold fast in his position that you will not be made a vampire. You’ll insinuate that if he won’t do it, you’ll find someone who will. His heart will beat again, and he’ll snarl that whatever vampire you find would sooner kill you than turn you. You’ll storm away. Nothing will be resolved.

If he tries a different approach, maybe he can avoid what will surely be a weeklong headache. “My Queen,” he grits out. Fuck these insufferable games he must play in order to speak his mind. “Permission to speak freely?”

Back when he was reborn there was no need to ask to speak. He and his brethren did what they wanted without consequence. Lands were conquered on whims, the blood flowed freely. And now? He’s reduced to acting like one of the humans who advises you.

You nod. How generous.

“If I made you what I am,” he says silkily, “I would have your kingdom at my mercy. I could order you to do my bidding, and you would not be able to deny me. As a vampire you wouldn’t have the heir you so desperately want. I would ruin you.” He stalks towards you, only a plumper of the predator within. To your credit, you stand your ground and appear unimpressed — your scent, however, betrays you. “In the time it would take for you to control your blood thirst, your people that you so valiantly want to protect would all be dead.”

He bends at the waist so your faces are even. Smiling, he adds on, “And that’s if you don’t kill them all yourself.” With a flourish, he bows and stalks towards the door. He doesn’t care that you’re fuming at his breach in etiquette.

Bakugou isn’t summoned for more than a week. That whole time he does what he does best: stick to the shadows. To say you’re irritated is an understatement. The only time you do call upon him is to send him on an errand worthy of a human. Maybe it’s your form of punishment – to remind him of what you are.

But he’s addicted to you and can’t stay away. Many nights he finds himself spending time with the gargoyles lining the roof outside your window.

He’s late tonight — not that sitting outside your chambers has a set time. A questioning took longer than he expected, and had extra clean up to deal with. Bakugou settles in at his usual spot and listens. Normal nightly ambience quickly filters away. All he wants to hear is you.

Elevated heartbeat. Rapid breathing. Excitement. Bakugou turns his head away from your window. This isn’t the first time he’s heard you… enjoy yourself. But it’s a moment when you think you’re alone, so he does his best to give you privacy. He’s about to leave his hiding spot outside your window when he hears another faint heartbeat. Jealousy shoots through him. His hold on the nearest statue cracks the stone. Pebbles fall to the ground stories below. Who would you possibly have there with you?

About to break one of his own self-imposed rules and peek into your chambers, he’s blindsided by a scent.

Hatred.

It assaults his senses. A putrid scent wraps around his nose. It’s cloying, stinging his nose and pricking his eyes.

You’re not alone. But you’re not enjoying yourself either. No, if his senses are anything to go off of, there’s someone in your chambers with you who intends to do you harm.

Flashes of green cloud his vision. A past he swore he left behind eons ago.

A mumbling. Yours?

Bakugou can’t wait. He dives into the room and pinpoints the stench. It’s reflex at this point – sharpened claws embed into flesh. Warmth trickles down his fingers. He’s probably the only one who can hear the final exhale from the human hidden behind thick curtains in your room. Iron hitting the floor and bouncing around before coming to rest ricochets in his ears.

You inhale sharply and sit up in your bed. Even in your anger and silence with him, you call for Bakugou – albeit at a whisper. Bakugou emerges from the curtain, blood drips down his hand in the moonlight. Your eyes fixate on the dark liquid. He sniffs it, but disdain taints it. There’s no point in savoring it, or even drinking it.

And then it hits him.

The blood curdling scream ripped from your lungs.

Soldiers rush into the room, swords drawn. Your blood spikes. There’s no way you’re in any shape to issue orders. Bakugou takes over, barking out demands to round up your advisors. Little do you know, but the human who had planned on destroying you was one of the people you trusted most – outside of him.

You’re still in shock – in bed staring dumbfounded as the chaos in your bedchambers winds down. Bakugou aches to hold you close, make promises that nothing like this will happen again. But he can’t.

Could he even handle a rejection from you? Or would he snap? It wouldn’t be the first time.

No, it’s better if he excuses himself first.

“Katuski, please, stay.”

Against his better judgment, his feet stumble to a stop and he stares at the door in front of him. Does he stay? Is it wise?

He turns. Faces you for the first time since you cast him out of your council chambers. For the first time since your father’s death, you look your age. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but you’ve made a valiant effort to keep your head held high despite all the troubles and tribulations thrown your way. Now though, in a bed that dwarfs you, you look more like yourself and less like the young queen he serves.

Bakugou tentatively sits on the edge of your bed. You play with a stray thread from the enormous cover. He watches you wind and unwind it around your finger. It’s only when it snaps completely that you speak.

“He… I… I trusted him. And he wanted to kill me.” Bakugou remains silent. He watches you process the moment. Your brows push together and pull apart as sadness overtakes you. “I trusted him. He advised me. And he wanted me dead.”

Visions of the past swim in his eyes. He wanted me dead. A deep, garbled voice pleads with him. For what? Desperation. Blood. Death.

“He can’t hurt you.” Bakugou masks the hollowness of his voice with a bow of his head. “I am your faithful servant, now and always.”

“Would he be able to kill me if I were a creature like you?”

Not again. He’s not ready for another argument. You’re only just beginning to talk to him again. “Not in the way he wanted.” It’s not impossible, but vampires are much harder to kill than mere mortals.

“Katsuki, I’m begging.” Warm fingers grasp his forearm. “Change me. Make me one of you.”

It would be so easy. “I am bound by the laws created by and for creatures. I can’t. And if I was able to, I wouldn’t.”

Your mouth opens, an objection on your tongue. He speaks quickly, cutting off a protest he’s heard countless times before. “I don’t have many regrets – I can count them on one hand.” A pair of eyes, pleading. A pair of emeralds that haunt him when he somehow sleeps. Shiny. Reflective. Crying? Blood everywhere. A life too soon extinguished. A love lost. All his fault. “I turned someone I thought I loved. I was ready to spend the rest of eternity with a mate.” It ended with a body, a broken heart, and a promise never to repeat that mistake.

“I’m not like her, I promise.”

“No, you’re not like him,” Bakugou snaps. How many times does he have to say it? “But I won’t do it, no matter how much I love you.”

The silence hangs heavy in the room. You sit back. The cavernous distance between your bodies makes his fingers itch.

Maybe you didn’t hear him. Maybe you’ll think he said something else. Maybe-

“Love?”

He curses himself. No, of course you heard, and now one of his secrets is out there. There’s no point in denying it. You’ll never let it drop. And… if he messes up now, he’ll have plenty of chances in the future to make it right. “I’ve always loved you. I always find you, not matter how far I have to go or how far you rise or fall in life.”

“You’ve… found me. Before.” Confusion turns to awe as realization washes over you. There are hushed whispers in religions about reincarnation, but very few have actually believed it.

“And I’ll find you again in your next life.”

“You wouldn’t have to find me again; you could have me now.”

“Don’t say that!” Bakugou’s roar echoes throughout the chamber.

“I’m not scared of you.” Defiance. Just like him. His other love. Only back then, Bakugou believed his words.

“You should be. I’m a monster.” He killed the one he loved. All because he was… afraid of being alone. What good is eternity if you can’t spend it with anyone? “I can hear your blood singing beneath your skin. On the best of days I hang on to my sanity by a thread.”

“What kind of life is that?”

“One I choose for myself.”

Your lips press together. Every incarnation of you never lets it drop. “What’s holding you back?” Maybe… just this once… “Katsuki… talk to me.”

“No. It doesn’t concern you.” He can’t.

You straighten up and arch an eyebrow. “Are you disobeying an order from your queen?”

He smirks. “Are you my queen now instead of the woman I covet most?”

Hesitation overtakes the haughty demeanor on your face. “I can be both.”

“Not to me.”

You sigh. A wry grin replaces the fake demeanor you save for your court. “Then tell me, the woman who wants to spend her whole life with you. What happened?”

He failed. That’s what happened. It was much like this night; an assassination attempt, only the assassin succeeded. And as the love of his life lay in Bakugou’s arms dying, Bakugou offered him a choice. And who can refuse the chance to live forever?

Bakugou licks his lips. How much should he tell you? Would you be jealous after hearing it all? “He was the chieftain,” he starts slowly. “He shouldn’t have been though. It was a different time. Politics… it was all brutal strength. When I heard there was a chief that couldn’t protect his people, I went to him with the intention of wiping him and his people off the face of the earth.”

He can remember the scent of fresh dirt after the rain. The mud squelching beneath his war horse’s hooves. People watched him warily as he rode into town. A green haired man emerged from the largest structure. Innocence.

“But you didn’t?”

“I didn’t,” he nods. “I saw how he led without an iron fist. At first it intrigued me. And then the more I watched, the more I wanted to protect him. He knew what I was and he welcomed me. Everyone did. The peacefulness messed with me. First time in eons I’d felt that way. But it didn’t last, and I couldn’t protect him. He was wounded and I offered him a chance to stay with me. Forever.”

His blood tasted sweet. It was laced with love and hope, none of the desperation that usually follows death.

“Did he take it?”

“He did. But it wasn’t successful.” Soft emerald eyes woke with a hardness Bakugou saw when he looked at his reflection. An unending hunger. A craving. A need for violence. “He woke with an uncontrollable bloodlust. He slaughtered everyone in his care. But he wasn’t done there. He ran. There was destruction wherever he went. My father…” Bakugou swallows thickly. He remembers his father riding over the hilltop. From across the field of carnage, Bakugou heard him sigh before turning away. “My step-father. He was disappointed in me. I would’ve preferred him being angry. But he calmly told me to clean up my mess. I…”

In the end, Bakugou caught him. It had to be done. I lo- There was peace on his face when Bakugou removed his heart from his chest. Acrid smoke filled Bakugou’s lungs as the body burned. And for a split second, he considered walking into the blazing pyre as well.

“I killed him in the end. I had to.” Bakugou studies his hands. How much blood did he have on them? “I spent centuries trying to find him again. He never resurfaced.”

“Maybe he-”

“No. You haven’t seen it. There are always similarities.” Bakugou studies you for a moment. Sometimes your hair changes. Sometimes you’re shorter than normal. Once it was your eyes, and that took him off guard once he realized it was you. “You, for example, are always in power whether you want it or not. You’re headstrong and stubborn as a mule. You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And your smile. I always recognize your smile. He’s gone. Forever. Turning him must’ve corrupted his soul.”

Your lips form a thin line as grim realization sets in. “That’s why you won’t turn me.”

“I won’t lose you too. At least this way I know that I can search to the ends of the earth and I’ll find you again.” Even if it’s a painful existence.

“Katsuki.” Your hand finds his cheek. Warmth floods his skin, just like it did before his rebirth. His eyes flutter closed, enjoying the sensation. “You may not make me one of you, but I give myself to you, and no other.” Bakugou’s eyes pinch tight. He’s heard those words before. They always spell your downfall. If he doesn’t push you away, there will be no heir to the throne. There will be no victory in the war. Your kingdom will collapse.

And yet…

He’s never had the willpower to say no before.

He cups your cheek. Your skin thrums beneath his touch. The siren’s call from your blood grows deafeningly loud. His lips graze over yours, barely skimming their surface, but his senses explode.

“Mine,” he whispers huskily, “Forever.” Sealing your fate in this life with a searing kiss, he moves his way down to the soft base of your neck. Teeth pierce skin. Your gasp is music to his ears. Your essence coats his tongue

It’s not enough to kill, nor is it enough to turn you, but it is enough to mark you as his territory for all other creatures.

They’ll know that you’re in league with a vampire, and they’ll grow suspicious of you and your word – turn on you when you least expect it.

Just like they have before.

Maybe next time – in your next life – he can stop himself or finally give in to your wishes and turn you.

But for this lifetime, you’re his.

—Modern day—

Bakugou stares out over the city. From the top floor, he can hardly see the people below. It’s hardly the tallest skyscraper, but he and his kind have had to adapt — be more… incognito. Gone are the days of raising hell and taking over. No, much to his chagrin, in this human dominated society, Bakugou has to pretend to be like them.

He glances at the framed magazine cover behind a grandiose oak desk. It’s been enlarged – at least three feet tall. You stand front and center in a smart blazer, arms crossed. Your eyes sear the viewer as if daring them to challenge you. The headline is as bold as you: New Queen of Philanthropy? Meet the latest woman to join the Top 100 Most Powerful People.

The boardroom door silently opens and clicks shut behind him. An intoxicating scent wraps around him, teasing his senses. And for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in it. Maybe this time will be different.

He spins on his heel and extends a hand to you. “Katsuki Bakugou, your father’s chief financial officer.” His heart gives a single beat as his skin makes contact with yours.

“I’ve heard all about you, Mr. Bakugou,” you reply and pointedly stare at the icy handshake. “They call you my father’s shadow; always working in the background, getting him the information he needed, never in the public eye.”

“Please, call me Katsuki,” he grins wolfishly. “I look forward to serving you.”

Images used in banner from unsplash.

#bnha imagines #bakugou #bakugou x reader #vampire #writing #blood #all souls trilogy au #sorta

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awakenedsalamander · 6 months

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Alright, so I’ve obviously given Mage and Vampire some attention. It’s about time I talk about Werewolf: The Apocalypse, you know, round out the “big three.”

Truth be told, I have kind of a love/hate relationship with Werewolf, though that kinda implies it’s an even split of things I enjoy and things I don’t, but that’s not quite correct.

A more accurate breakdown of my feelings would be something like:

- 60% stuff I really love and appreciate

- 20% stuff I go back and forth on

- 15% stuff I dislike but can tolerate (pretty standard for WoD)

- 5% stuff I really, truly, passionately loathe

And it’s honestly that last 5% that I struggle with most. To be clear, a lot of the WoD games have things in them I don’t just dislike, but find sincerely objectionable or harmful. (A certain Vampire sourcebook, the title of which I can’t even comfortably write out, immediately comes to mind.) But I get past those things, because 1) no work of art is morally flawless, and your tastes as a hobbyist or audience member are not your ethics as a human being and 2) a lot of that stuff is from the older editions and has largely been divorced from the game.

So what’s different about Werewolf?

Well, some of it lies in point 2— there are things in Werewolf that are bad and (barring the controversy of 5th Edition’s lore changes, which is a whole other kettle of fish that I’d rather not dive into right now) are still part of the game. Improved somewhat? Absolutely. But the ugliness of some choices still haunts the game.

The ways Werewolf: The Apocalypse talks about native peoples, from Indigenous Australians to First Nations Americans, is a big example. I don’t feel it prudent for me to go into those details, if only because I think it’s not my lane and voices from those cultures should really lead those discussions, but the game has a very weird attitude toward indigenous groups— at one recognizing their history and the atrocities they’ve come through with respect, while still finding ways to exoticize that history, and appropriate much of it. To say nothing of the ways in which it feels comfortable speaking over indigenous groups, even in matters of their rights.

That’s just one example. There’s the way Werewolf conceptualizes ethnicity and ancestry in general, which is weirdly archaic in places despite seemingly trying to criticize that view. There’s its approach to disability and bodies that differ from an assumed norm, which as many have observed can sometimes come across as genuinely eugenicist on occasion.

And of course, the game is about monsters— you’re not meant to agree with the Garou on much of their beliefs, and you’re meant to engage with those very real issues and wrestle with the right way forward.

And honestly? That last part— the reality of the issues at hand— that’s what makes the bad parts of Werewolf so hard to look past. You know, the other games in the World of Darkness deal with real world issues, but they do so in a fairly abstract way. Like, sure I can and do identity the Technocracy of Mage with destructive and cruel systems of power in the real world, but like… there isn’t actually a league of hypereconomists using secret math to influence the fate of the world. That’s just an exaggerated and metaphorical way to engage with the problems at the heart of a late-capitalist world.

But Pentex? Pentex is basically real. The Apocalypse in Werewolf: The Apocalypse is climate change. It’s happening now. When the game tells you that you need to Rage against the dying of Gaia… that’s almost as literal as it gets. And that makes its fumbles, its mistakes, and yes, its deliberate offenses, harder to swallow. The stakes are high enough that when things are wrong, it really hurts.

But… let’s also acknowledge: The reality I’m talking about it? It’s what makes that 60% stuff I like so amazing. The lows of Werewolf are hard to stomach, but the highs are just… exhilarating.

Like, Werewolf is a game that says, “You see the state of the world? You see its monstrous past? Its insidious present that only hides the horror? Do you see the doomed future its on a crash course with? Let’s take it, and let’s rip it to fucking shreds. It these tyrants and thieves want to kill the world, then we’ll kill them first, if that’s what it takes. If the Apocalypse happens, it happens on our terms, on the terms of the people being victimized and shoved to the margins. You and I? We’re gonna build a better world or die trying. All our anger might ruin us, but we have to try. The consequences of our actions are dire, but we don’t go down without making the bastards work for it. Not without a fight.”

And fuck, when the game is saying that? It’s priceless.

In fact, this has all been too down on Werewolf as a whole. I want to get my problems with the game out front, just to acknowledge them and keep space for the critique and change that they demand, but at the end of the day, I am a Werewolf: The Apocalypse fan (if one with a lot of notes). I want to do something a little unusual and show you an outline for an Apocalypse chronicle I haven’t yet had the chance to run, to show you what I love about the game.

So, stay tuned for a glimpse into that later— a glimpse into “Blood Ripples Out.”

#wod #world of darkness #werewolf the apocalypse

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totallynuwonhere · 2 months

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"A mortal like you, with a vampire like me, just isn’t meant to be”

(I came up with that rhyme on the spot holyshit)

Anyways, this was HEAVILY inspired by the pinterest prompt: “I don’t see a future with you.” So blame it-

TW: A!exis, Nonconsensual Trancing (For technicalities sake, Alex!s’ inability to trance Sam doesn’t apply here)

Note: It gets sloppy towards the end only because I had trouble actually creating a driving force that would cause it and I couldn’t properly put to words how this mini drama skit was rolling in my head, but I wanted to finish it, so I did. At 2 AM on a weekend. Hope you like it!

————————

It was late in the evening, they had just gotten back from a pack meeting. They pull into the driveway; the sound of rumbling gravel under the truck’s tires as they put the gear in Park.

It had been a long day for the shifter, and all they wanted was to do was recharge, and relax on their balcony bench, enjoying a cup of coffee while cuddled up with their cowboy. They let out an exhausted sigh, hopping out of the truck and making their way to the porch. Reaching for the keys in their back pocket, they caught a glimpse of the door, already creaked open.

Did they forget to close it? Did Sam forget to close it? It had been hours, who knows what could’ve gotten in, they thought.

————EARLIER————

Sam was upstairs when he heard the door open, “Darlin, is that you?” He said, a smile crawling onto his lips as he made his way down to greet them.

It had been about a year since they moved in together, life was good. He loved how much he got to spend time with them, this night in particular, he wanted to surprise his mate. He had spent his entire afternoon preparing their favorite spot up on the balcony, cozying it up to his heart’s content. Pillows, blankets, coffee and tea, the whole nine yards.

When he turned to exit the hall, he froze. He was greeted by Alex!s, standing in the middle of their living room with a devilish grin.

“What are you doing here..” He muttered through gritted teeth, fist clenched so hard he’d break air if it were possible.

“That’s no way to greet a guest, Samuel.” She said, walking towards him.

“What do you want from me.” He practically growled, staring at her, his eyes filled with nothing but hatred.

“I think what I want is pretty clear, Sam. I want you.”

He scoffed, dumbfounded by this woman’s ability to get him to hate her, more than he already does.

“Too bad, because I don’t.”

She chuckled

“I thought you’d say that…”

stepping closer, dragging her finger through the length of his arm, one he pulled back right away, earning another scoff from Alex!s, staring directly into his eyes.

He was so screwed, realizing too late what Alex!s intended when she stepped closer, she got him. All he had now, at least, for now, was his active consciousness. Meanwhile, Alex!s trance gave her the power to stop him in his tracks, a power he knew she’d soon abuse.

————PRESENT————-

“Sam? You home? You left the door unlocked…”

they called out. Trying to remain calm, they cautiously made their way inside, a cool breeze sending a slight unease down their spine.

Looking around, the sounds of wind chimes soon caught their attention, realizing the door up to the balcony had been open, they made their way up.

“Sam? You up here?”

Upon reaching the door, and seeing the silhouette of their broad-shouldered mate, they sighed in relief. As they walked in, the shifter chuckled, being greeted by the sight of their mate sitting in their favorite spot.

“There you are.”

They said, making their way beside him. They took a seat, their lips curling in a soft smile,

“I missed you-“

“We need to talk.”

He said in a low voice, cutting them off. The shifter tilted their head, confused.

“Ok..about?”

Sam turned to face them, his expression cold as the blowing breeze.

“I— I don’t see a future with you.”

He said, without even a glint of hesitation.

“W-what..?”

They froze.

Tears formed and flowed down their cheeks as they sat there, in complete disbelief.

Sam merely watched in cold silence.

“What do you mean?!”

They exclaimed, you could hear the shakiness of their voice, desperately trying not to break down sobbing .

“I just don’t see a future in us, not anymore. I-I can’t be with you, I can’t be with— a mortal.”

He said, his cold words stabbing right through the shifters’ heart. But this was definitely more painful than any physical hit they’d ever taken.

These were the words of a man whose opinions they valued greatly. A man they respected, loved, and they thought loved them back..

With a heavy heart, they took a deep breath, swallowing back their feelings, and took to their feet.

They left.

Rushing out the house, they entered their car and began pulling out the driveway. No tears, no radio, nothing to tune out the growing silence. A silence they’d grow accustomed to from now on.

He watched as they took off, letting out a heavy sigh as he watched their car disappear into the darkness.

“I hope you’re happy.”

He growled, feeling the dark familiar presence behind him.

“Oh believe me, Sammy. I am. And soon, you will be too.”

She said, slithering beside him, hands grabbing onto his arm.

“You took away the only person that made happy.”

He replied. She chuckled, grabbing his chin and turning it to face them.

“I can do more than take them away from you, Samuel. So I suggest you start making the most of what you have, before I put down your little pup.”

Sam scoffed, in complete disbelief of the evil this woman possessed, but he knew there was too much as stake for him to fuck around.

A few days later, Asher had come to pick up Tank’s things. Turns out, they drove over to his place that night, right after they stopped to pick up a fight at the local bar. Bleeding and Bruised once he reached the beta’s house.

That night, Sam had sneak out to see them, one last time. Knowing full well they wouldn’t want to see him, he kept a distance. Standing behind a tree with just the right view from the shifters’ window.

There they were, sitting on the bed, looking to be in deep thought. Even from far away he could notice the puffiness of their eyes. They looked exhausted. He felt terrible. If it weren’t for Alexis having him on a chain he’d be running to them, wrapping his arms around them for comfort. They loved those…just as much as he loved their arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Darlin…”

He said, choking back his tears as he took one last look at them from a far, never to show his face again.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted sam #redacted darlin’#redacted tank #sam collins #redacted alexis #redacted fanfic #finn writes fanfiction #this took so fucking long i thought it was never gonna see the light of day

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xalygatorx · 3 months

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Unbound | Chapter 17, "Get Up"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Already weakened from their fight with the duergar and subsequently Glut as well to protect Spaw’s circle, the party encounters their most monstrous enemy yet in the Underdark while they seek a place to rest. On their last legs and fighting for their lives, Áine reawakens an old power within herself to save them all at a cost. Astarion, mortally wounded and terrified for Áine, scraps with his allies as they try to help him. The group finds a safe spot to make camp and focus on recovering. An old acquaintance returns to Áine.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Graphic fantasy violence (appropriate for canon, but described in detail); blood; descriptions of pain and injury (seeing it on others and feeling it); grief; trauma and descriptions of trauma, panic, and anxiety responses; angst; comfort/hurt; close calls for canon characters; no one dies but I do love to toe that line, besties; suggestive dialogue and content; lightly proofread

Word Count: 9.3k

Listening to: Destroyer - Of Monsters and Men

“I knew that fucking mushroom was going to be trouble!”

“Seemed like a fun guy at first.”

“Karlach,” Wyll warned through a snicker at Gale’s joke, “he didn’t mean it.” More likely it was Wyll who didn’t mean what he was saying because Gale had gone all-in on that one.

Karlach was halfway between laughing and barbecuing their wizard. “Gods, I hate you both,” she seethed, her flames calming in time with her chuckling. “Affectionately.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel grumbled. “There is no overlap in love and rage.”

“There is when it comes to dealing with their puns, Lae,” Karlach noted, adjusting the straps of her pack. “Gods, I need a nap and away from these two… Áine!” Up ahead, the bard paused and glanced over her shoulder at the tiefling barbarian. “How long until we camp?!”

“Soon,” Áine called back, taking stock of their party while she was half-turned. They were all tired and battered—the duergar had proven a tough fight, especially when their plan to take them by surprise had failed and one of the slavers had raised a small army of zombified corpses to fight on their behalf. Gale had helped to minimize the damage by destroying the rope ladders connecting the wooden platforms and funneling them into a singular nearby path, but they’d still taken a beating.

And then there was Glut. They’d no sooner finished one fight before another was started and they’d had to kill the clanless myconid, who’d attacked them as soon as Áine refused to betray Spaw’s confidence.

They’d meant to take a more straightforward path back to Spaw’s circle, but the path had led them in a more roundabout route than intended and they were now more fatigued than ever. At least the path forward was clear—the Selûnite outpost was just up ahead and with a couple of short climbs, they’d be back near its crumbling walls and able to retrace their familiar path from its gates, back to their old camp.

“What do we think?” Áine asked no one in particular. “Keep going until we’re back to the circle?”

“The outpost is just there,” Shadowheart pointed out, unable to keep the wrinkle from her nose when she gazed upon the outpost again. Áine resisted rolling her eyes. “I don’t recall the circle being too far from where we ran into those minotaurs, do you?”

Áine shook her head. “Not too far, no. And we are likely the safest there while we recover.”

“It sounds as though our best option is to make our way back in full,” Halsin supplied, supportive of their conjectures in his reaffirming way. He cast a glance across the others, his features a little grave as he took in the smattering of split lips, bruises, and limps. “Anyone opposed?”

Silence stretched and Áine drew in a deep breath and nodded to herself. She looked to her side, meeting Astarion’s eyes as she said, “We keep moving then.” He nodded once, equally roughed up but ready to settle down somewhere he felt safe enough to meditate and heal. He walked along just behind Áine as she approached a rocky incline and said, “If anyone starts to feel otherwise, please say something, alright?”

There was a collective murmur of agreement as the group fell into step behind her. Áine set her jaw and prepared for her body to protest as she scaled the craggy outcrop. It echoed its ongoing soreness with renewed fervor, but she made it to the top just fine. Her shoulder was even cooperating for once and it made her a little more optimistic about their journey back.

She was so focused on assessing her condition that she didn’t notice the statue she’d risen beside until it nearly scared her out of her skin. Áine hopped back, prepared for a fight until she realized it was merely stone. On closer inspection, she saw that it was a life-sized statue of a drow in mercenary garb.

On even closer inspection, she realized it had once been a drow. It wasn’t stone-carved, it was a petrified elf. “What in the Hells…,” she murmured, her fingertips tracing along its arm.

“A statue?” Gale asked, stepping to the other side of the petrified drow and lightly knocking against its shoulder.

“Not always, I don’t think,” Áine murmured, her eyes shifting further down the path and seeing more of the same. She raised her voice slightly as she ordered the party, “On your guard.”

“Always,” Lae’zel murmured in confirmation, her hand resting against the hilt of her sword as her reptilian eyes traced the eerie plateau.

Áine neared another of the petrified drow mercenaries, noting that this one was unmasked. The look of unbridled terror on his face, frozen into eternity, sent a chill down her spine. There was no telling when this had happened exactly, but every survival instinct she had urged her not to linger. “Let’s hurry up t—”

She was cut off by an unnatural rumble through the ground beneath her feet. Áine steadied herself, glancing toward her friends also struggling to keep their footing. “Another bulette?” Wyll wondered aloud. It did seem the most likely based on their experiences so far, but Áine’s urge to hasten away intensified nonetheless.

“I don’t want to find out, let’s go,” Áine said, turning around to step back down to the plateau and get to the break in the outpost wall. She didn’t manage more than the turn before she looked up and saw precisely what had created this purgatorial statue garden they stood amongst.

Spines rippling with every undulation of its ghastly tentacles, the monster that had upset the earth in its uprising lifted into the air and opened its singular, enormous yellow eye. Its pupil spasmed and adjusted, skittering between them for just seconds until its mouth opened on a scream, the expression splitting its nightmarish face in twain.

“RUN!” Karlach shouted, jarring them all from their varied states of panicked freezing.

Bolts of light shot from the ends of the spectator’s appendages, barely missing Áine and Gale, but hitting Shadowheart and Halsin. The bolts paralyzed them, rooting them in place with only their eyes able to move. Any plan to retreat was shelved then and those still able to move turned to fight.

Gale was the quickest to react, unleashing a fireball at the creature and hitting it squarely in the eye. It screeched and flung an appendage at him, sending him sprawling against a nearby outcrop. He clutched his side, rivulets of blood weaving from beneath his hair and across his temple as he shot more fire at the creature. “Ardē!”

Arrows sliced the air from Astarion’s bow, finding purchase in the creature’s leathery skin and the jelly of its eye. Lae’zel surged forward, sword in hand, only pausing along the way to free Shadowheart from her paralysis. The cleric looked jarred but nodded to the githyanki in thanks as she quickly dredged up what healing magic she had left, spreading it across the group.

After Halsin was also cured of his paralysis, Wyll concentrated his final dregs of power to unleash bolts of red eldrich energy upon the beast, unsheathing his rapier when he felt his strength draining from the effort to little avail. Nearby, Karlach screamed wrath into her veins, aflame as she took her battleaxe into the fray and hacked at one of the spectator’s tentacles.

Their confidence was momentary. Fleeting, even, as their preexisting injuries screamed back to life, worsened or accompanied by new ones with every bite, every hit, and every bolt the monster threw their way. They were reminded that they’d meant to retreat, only fighting out of necessity, when the spectator took a chunk from Halsin’s broad, blackened shoulder with its needly teeth and flung him into the dirt near Gale.

The appendages ignited anew with bolts of what they first thought would be another paralysis spell but instead found purchase on the petrified drow. Reinvigorated from stasis, the mercenaries were propelled into the spectator’s defense and caught the party’s blades with their own.

Astarion’s attention diverted to sinking arrows into the resurrected drow, finding his shots counting for more against the smaller enemies descending upon their companions. He was unloading an ice-imbued arrow into a mercenary nearing Áine’s flank when the spectator unleashed a new wave of paralysis that caught him in its turning tide. The arrow had found its target, loosed just before the light struck him.

His crimson eyes froze wide as the spectator descended upon him, shredding his torso and right arm with its teeth. He was left unable to scream his agony as his blood poured from the gaping wounds, his undead body barred from beginning any sort of healing process until he could move again.

Cold blood waterfalled from his slashes as the spectator ravaged their frozen, bloodied friends, only Karlach, Lae’zel, and Áine left mobile. He felt his body growing colder, his mind growing fuzzier and number, sending him back in time to when this was his normal state of mind, bloodless and barely alive. If he could have shuddered, his body would’ve made him. Instead, he remained frozen in time, his struggle against the enchantment rooting him in place weakening with every second he continued to bleed.

It occurred to him that only seconds had gone by, seconds that felt like eons, when he heard Áine scream his name. With effort, he focused on her. Unfortunately, so did their foe. As the creature turned on her, suddenly bleeding out in his paralysis wasn’t his worst fate.

Watching this thing kill the woman he adored and being unable to save her was.

Áine had been working off adrenaline and horror ever since the monstrosity hovering over them had hurled Gale to the ground. Each time one of them was paralyzed, it was a race with just her battered legs and her swords to fend it off one of her defenseless friends before it killed them in their stasis. Suddenly it was just herself, Lae’zel, and Karlach left moving. The drow were all dispatched save two. Áine had rushed to help when she saw Karlach roll with one of the resurrected elves over the edge of their plateau and disappear, only stumbling to a stop when the one Lae’zel had been fighting threw the injured gith against a rock and came at her instead.

An arrow had sliced the air and punctured his side, a sweep of ice blossoming beneath the drow’s feet that immediately sent him down on his face. Áine’s mistake had been to assume that was enough in her desperation to get her blades back into the monster assaulting her friends, her vision tunneled into protecting her loved ones as she’d slid on the ice herself and fallen on the drow’s upturned blade.

The possessed mercenary thrust up into her when she slipped and Áine gasped, muffling a low whine of pain as she stabbed her scimitar into his neck, effectively finishing him off. She looked down at the long, spindly dagger he’d plunged into her stomach and her fingers twitched, aching to pull it out despite knowing she shouldn’t. She felt a familiar tickle of drow poison spreading through her, but her resistance was such that pulling the dagger out and letting her wound bleed more freely was the larger danger.

The keening of stripping metal and tearing of flesh broke her bemusement and she whirled, tracing the spectator and seeing amongst its multitudes of teeth—

“Astarion!”

Gods above, there was so much blood. All around her, but leaking without pause from his pale body, his armor shredded where he spurted red. This can’t be the end…

Her vision shifted as her wounds and her panic at seeing her lover and her friends so horrifically mangled sank into her mind. She didn’t see the spectator change course. She wasn’t even sure she would have cared if she had. Perhaps she would have felt relief that it turned its attention away from Astarion onto her. Maybe he could get away.

Áine’s eyes rose to meet the spectator’s gaze, her features taut with defiance as she stabbed both her scimitars into its dripping, lacerated sclera. It responded with an unearthly shriek and a hurl of its tentacles that slammed her like a ragdoll into a nearby stalagmite with a hard crack.

The scream in Astarion’s throat was half-loosed when the paralysis finally wore off, but the condition’s fade sent him immediately tumbling to the ground, into puddles of his own blood. Shaking, he raised himself on his elbows, his nails digging and scraping against the plateau gravel as he tried to drag himself forward. The sensation brutalized his mind with intrusive flashbacks—the scratching and clawing against a stone crypt lid, painstakingly picking dirt out of the ridges after seizing against the dungeon floor for hours after being whipped, beaten, and carved into. He ignored them, unwilling to let his last thoughts be those long wretched years. If anything would be his and his alone, it would be his death.

“No, you can’t die,” he gritted out, his voice barely managing above a murmur as he clawed the dirt in a daze, desperately trying to get to Áine. What would he even do when he got there?

She was slumped in a heap on the ground next to the rock she’d hit, her shiny pearl locks bathed red and pooled around her face. A dagger he hadn’t even seen pierce her stomach was buried to the hilt and poked past her arm folded beside her. The spectator made a breathy noise that almost sounded like a laugh and the odious air flowing from its jaws stirred Áine’s hair. It was the only movement Astarion saw from her.

He snarled, one of his palms slipping in blood and sending him to the ground again. “Get up, damn you!” he growled, but his voice cracked in desperation.

Áine, barely lucid, slowly tilted her head, looking through hair stained red at Astarion. Around them, the paralysis was slowly wearing off the few it affected, Shadowheart included, but the damage was so great and the situation so hopeless that the freed immediately collapsed beneath both. Áine’s vision blurred and she heard Astarion plead with her as if through a long, narrow hallway, his words clear but far away.

Subconsciously, she extended her arm, reaching for him despite knowing neither of them could make the crawl. She winced at the simple movement, her body rending around every injury. She could feel her pulse, an irregular burning around the dagger buried in her belly. Get up, she growled inwardly, her mind’s voice sounding a mix of hers, Astarion’s, and voices from her past, not all of them fond.

Shaking, she withdrew her outstretched hand and planted it against the ground, her bicep straining as she tried to do as he asked. The hilt of the dagger clacked against the dirt, sending a new shock of pain through her body and she shuddered, a hiss escaping between clenched teeth. Áine managed to push herself up just enough to turn towards the lingering spectator, her body vibrating with the effort while her legs remained buckled beneath her. A cough wracked her body and a spatter of blood projected from her parted lips.

The spectator blinked slowly, its lids hitting the hilts of her blades still sheathed in its eye. It seemed undeterred, its gigantic, slobbering tongue slipping over the surface of its teeth as it stared at her and then began to advance again.

She heard her name croaked again from the vampire lying nearby, too weak to even sit up despite trying desperately to. She could hear his hands splashing against the gore he crawled through, too drained to find purchase on the slickened cave floor.

Áine’s mind remained addled with her own urgent demands to her body, her memories surfacing in a mingling of voices. Astarion’s, Shadowheart’s, the illithids’, even her father’s. Was this what people meant when they spoke of one’s life flashing before their eyes? Was she dying?

No. No, she wouldn’t die. None of them would. An old voice resonated in her, reminding her, and her mind traced the contours of that voice with recognition, finding within it a buried ancient power she’d long refused, ignored until it faded into ether and the bearer of that voice left her too. Áine, for the sake of her new family, would embrace them both now.

She shoved herself up once more on one shaking, bleeding arm and with the last of her might extended her other hand toward the looming creature, its bared teeth littered with scraps of their flesh and smears of their blood. Its maw split open, still hungry, still eager to strip every scrap of her skin, every ounce of her defiance off her bones.

A deadly silence fell over them all until all that could be heard was the crackle of building power around Áine’s hand, a building flush of emerald light blaring from her fingertips and the slits of her half-hooded eyes as, in the quiet that also extinguished the vocal clamor in her mind, one final word caressed her conscience with a tone of recognition.

“Oathbreaker.”

The crack that split the air was deafening and, for a second, scattered conscious members of the party feared that Gale’s orb had detonated. A blinding, sickly green light erupted from Áine’s hand. When the light cleared, the spectator lay in steaming slices of viscera across the cavern floor.

When the ringing in Astarion’s ears faded, he heard Áine collapse, unmoving against the rocks. No, was the only word he could think with any clarity and it grew repetitious and feral as his terror and fading condition mingled. No no no no no no no no no no no—

Something touched him and he snarled, swiping backward with one blood-covered hand. He heard Shadowheart mutter at him to stop moving as she dodged around him and turned him over to assess his damage while looking half-dead herself.

“Don’t touch me!” Astarion hissed, attempting to shove her hands away from his destroyed armor but finding himself too weak to win the battle of wills. The realization just made him further lose his composure.

“Hold still!” she snapped, prying apart what she could of his scrapped armor to get at the deep wounds beneath. Shadowheart caught Astarion’s wrists, drawing another angry snarl from the vampire spawn fighting against her aid. “Wyll, help me!”

Wyll’s face appeared in Astarion’s vision and the Blade took hold of his wrists from Shadowheart, pinning his arms above his head and away from her work. Astarion’s anger bordered on panic. There were too many hands on him and he was too weak to rid himself of any of them. He hissed and growled, still struggling despite knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that they were trying to help him. All he could think of was getting them off him and Ái—

“Go help her,” Astarion gritted, snapping at Wyll’s arm when it came within reach. The Blade held fast, avoiding his fangs and maintaining his bruising hold on the vampire’s arms. Seething, Astarion shouted at Shadowheart, “Go to Áine and get off me!”

“You are dying, Astarion,” Shadowheart finally snapped, near-black bruises under her eyes as she forced her remaining magic through her fingertips as they pressed into his torso.

“So is she,” he tried to snarl back, but the words came out with a panicked whine. He twisted desperately to try and see past Wyll to where Áine had collapsed. He got a vantage point just as Halsin and Lae’zel stooped to peel her limp body off the floor. “Bleeding Hells, Áine!”

“Halsin will help her until I can, but you’re in more dire shape than she is and she will never forgive either of us if you die,” Shadowheart gritted, finding Astarion even harder to hold in place now that he’d seen Áine.

“I don’t care!” Astarion spat, his eyes rolling back in his head as his vision blurred sideways again. “I don’t care, just help her—please—”

Shadowheart felt panic lance through her as Astarion started to lose his focus. At least when he was fighting her, she knew he was lucid, but he was drifting again and she could only assume the worst. “Shit,” she snapped, holding his face as his head started to roll sideways. “Stay with me. Astarion!”

Wyll looked at her, panic in his eyes that only flared further when she pulled one of Astarion’s daggers from his belt. “What are you doing?”

“He needs blood,” Shadowheart said under her breath, her features contorted in pain from her own injuries.

“Let me,” Wyll quickly said, holding out his hand. Astarion was half-conscious and had stilled his struggle in his delirium. “I’m in more of a condition to do so.”

Shadowheart hesitated, but he was right and they both knew it. She hesitated, handing him the dagger and switching her hands down to Astarion’s wrists. Wyll sliced his palm with a quick wince and held his dripping hand over Astarion’s mouth, squeezing the wound. There was a moment of uneasy stillness before Astarion’s entire body seized, almost succeeding in bucking Shadowheart off him as he lunged up toward the source of the blood. Wyll jolted but held his ground as Shadowheart wrestled the drained vampire back down onto his back.

“That’s enough,” Shadowheart said as she saw Astarion’s pupils begin to react more normally when shadows passed over them. “That will help and we’ll still be able to cart him to wherever we set up if he fusses again.”

Wyll retracted his hand, starting to scout a makeshift bandage when he felt Shadowheart’s fingertips against his, a gentle light cascading from the touch to knit his cut closed. Wyll looked up, meeting Shadowheart’s tired but grateful gaze. “Thank you.”

Realizing they were lingering, the two quickly retracted their hands and set back to work on getting Astarion into a stable enough state to move him. Astarion had grown slightly more aware with some fresh blood returned to his system, but he felt dissociated from himself. When his eyes did wander, they tried to follow Halsin’s hulking form as he struggled to find Áine again.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way her head had lolled on her neck when they’d picked her up, not an ounce of fight left in her. Furthest from his mind at that moment was what she’d done to save them all. He didn’t care as long as it meant she’d saved herself, too.

It made very little sense to Áine, when she awoke, that she was still alive. It simply didn’t add up. Not the way she felt her eyes open in such a familiar corporeal sense, not the warm hands she felt resting against her stomach, and not the way her persistent, stubborn heart still thudded in her chest.

But her eyes did open. So who was she to argue?

Past the fringe of her lashes, she saw a blur of dancing blue light, a shimmer of iridescent motes. When her amber eyes focused, she saw the bioluminescent spores for what they were, aglow as they wove in through the flap of her tent from outside. Their song thrummed gently against her aching head and seemed to settle among her bruises and cuts, their faint warmth second to the touch against her waist.

Gingerly, Áine turned her head to regard the cleric hunched over her. Shadowheart’s focus was solely on the wound she was pulling together in Áine’s gut, the dagger that had made it set aside near her medical pouch. The pouch was dotted with blood as if the dagger, coated in the substance, had been thrown down in a hurry. The shadows under the cleric’s eyes were nearly black against her ashen skin and while her hands appeared still against Áine’s flesh, she could feel the faint tremble in them through the wound they covered.

Áine tried to speak but found her throat dry as a bone. Shadowheart heard the little sound she made at least and her eyes flickered to the bard under her care. “Welcome back,” Shadowheart murmured, an attempt at humor.

“Did you have to revive me?” Áine asked, managing to find her voice this time but just barely.

“No,” Shadowheart said, the glow fading from her palms as she removed her hands to reveal a fresh scar where the drow’s dagger had run Áine through. “But it was close. Not just for you.”

“Is everyone—?”

“Don’t stress yourself and undo my work,” Shadowheart scolded Áine as she tried to sit up too quickly. “Everyone is alive. We’re back in the circle. We’re safe…” She gave Áine a peculiar look. “Thanks to you.”

Áine let out a shaky sigh of relief to hear the others were all alright. She parsed back through what she could remember before blacking out, but it was scattered. More vividly than what she’d done specifically, she remembered that whisper in her mind, the familiar gravelly voice as vivid in memory as in life. “Oathbreaker.”

At least it had worked.

Áine glanced at Shadowheart’s imploring eyes, feeling bare under the other woman’s scrutiny. She focused on the shadows beneath her eyes again and the bruises and cuts she could see scattered across her uncovered skin. “You should rest, too,” she informed the cleric. When Shadowheart grimaced, Áine insisted, “Seriously. You’ve done more than enough. Take care of yourself for a while. Please?”

“Fine, fine,” Shadowheart mumbled, waving Áine off as she gathered her things back into her pouch. She plucked up the bloodied dagger with a sneer of resentment. “I’m going to rid us of this unless you want it for some reason.”

“I’ve had enough of it, thanks,” Áine murmured.

Shadowheart nodded but didn’t yet budge from Áine’s side. She broke her troubled silence just as Áine was about to insist again that she go get some rest. “You know… Whatever you were before we met, before you were a bard, it’s okay,” she said, catching Áine off-guard. “It won’t change anything, even if you feel it might.”

Áine frowned. “I’m not so sure.”

Shadowheart nodded, meeting Áine’s eyes. “I understand. And I can’t speak for everyone, of course. But I can relate in a way. I felt the same fear when I hadn’t yet told you I was a Sharran. And, for whatever that’s worth in relation to what you’re dealing with, that ended up okay.”

“It’s different. You’re not riddled with shame for it,” Áine said, trying to gentle her curt tone. “But I understand your meaning. And I’ll take it to heart.”

“That’s all I ask,” Shadowheart said, patting Áine’s hand. “That and for you to check on Astarion when you feel ready to get up and around again. Not that you wouldn’t regardless, but—”

“Is he alright?” Áine asked with renewed urgency. Memories of his torso slashed apart, his panicked frozen eyes, and how he’d tried to drag himself to her flashed through her mind.

“He is,” Shadowheart hastened to reassure her. “He wouldn’t be if you hadn’t done what you did. None of us would be, I don’t think. But he made it very difficult to save him and I’m worried I didn’t find all his injuries before he ran me off.”

“Ran you off?” Áine repeated.

“It took me and Wyll to stabilize him on that cliff so we could move him,” Shadowheart told her. “He was fighting us nearly the entire time and telling us not to touch him.” Áine’s heart stung. “And yelling at us to go help you instead. Then when we finally got back and I took you over from Halsin, we had to all but cram him into his tent for him to leave your side and actually rest. Succeeding that, he wouldn’t let anyone in to finish cleaning up his wounds and—”

Shadowheart was becoming more and more impassioned and blustering as she recounted it, only pausing when Áine rested her hand against the cleric’s arm. “I’ll go.” Shadowheart was frustrated and Áine could see it, but she only got this flustered when she was also worried.

“Right. Thank you,” Shadowheart said breathily through a sigh as she ran a hand across her forehead. Her palms and fingertips were speckled with blood she’d missed between patients and her nails were crusted with dirt and grime. She looked like she could pass out at any moment and it was finally that fatigue hitting that encouraged her to follow Áine’s advice. “I think I’ve said it before,” she said as she turned to leave, “but I can’t remember in my current headspace if I’ve said it aloud to you… I was wrong about him.”

Áine adjusted to her side so she could push herself into a seated position. “How so?”

“I told you a while back that I doubted his intentions with you,” Shadowheart explained. “And I still sort of did, even after he asked me about your shoulder. But I was wrong. He loves you. Dearly.”

Áine blushed and the color got mixed in with the bruises splotching her skin. “I wouldn’t go that far, but—”

“Oh, I would,” Shadowheart insisted. ��You should see the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks no one’s paying him any mind. Then you wouldn’t be able to argue with me.”

“I’m sure I’d still find a way,” Áine mused, gathering her hair into a low side-ponytail and noting with some alarm how streaked with blood her hair was. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she supposed she’d just forgotten both how much she’d bled and how much blood she’d fallen into in general during the fight.

“Hm. Probably,” Shadowheart hummed. “Take it easy tonight.”

“I will,” Áine assured her, watching her leave before slowly staggering to her feet. She ducked through her tent door as well, her eyes finding the cleric and watching her progress back to her tent.

Shadowheart started to deviate toward Halsin, who was working on closing a wound on Gale’s scalp. She hesitated and glanced furtively back as she felt Áine’s eyes on her. Áine gave her a scolding look that put Shadowheart back on a path to her tent, not satisfied until the cleric was in her tent with the bit of canvas falling back into place behind her.

Satisfied, Áine scoped out the camp, noting Halsin and Gale again but not resting until she also scoped out Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’zel. The last she’d seen of Karlach, the tiefling had been scrapping with one of the drow mercenaries and it had taken both of them over a ledge, but at a glance, she seemed the most intact of all of them.

Wyll looked more or less just a bit bruised with a few treated cuts to his name and he was assisting Karlach in checking a wound on Lae’zel’s head. Lae’zel had only agreed to Karlach evaluating her wounds, as she saw a sister-in-arms in the tiefling and felt less scrutinized by a fellow warrior. However, Karlach couldn’t touch Lae’zel without setting the young githyanki ablaze, so Wyll was permitted to be Karlach’s hands, carefully moving Lae’zel’s bloodied hair so they could check the damage.

From Áine’s vantage point, they looked like they were doing well to take care of each other, which meant she could feel zero qualms about going to see Astarion and likely staying there for the rest of the night thereafter if he let her. They’d been cohabitating since he’d confided in her just a couple of nights back, but she’d never seen him in such a state of injury and figured there was a chance he preferred to weather those conditions alone.

Meeting her comrades’ gazes as she passed them to get to his tent door, she exchanged smiles and reassuring looks with each, her heart full and her head light with relief that everyone, somehow against their odds, had survived another night. As put-together as she seemed on the surface though, her mind hadn’t stopped racing along with her heart since she remembered how badly wounded Astarion was before she fainted. Neither slowed until she was able to peek through the door of his tent and confirm he was inside, alive and in a deep reverie.

Áine held a hand against her aching heart, a sigh easing from her chest and relaxing her frame. He was okay.

Astarion lay on his bedroll, his fingers curled into small circles for his meditation and his skin littered with cuts and bruises. Shadows bloomed as dark as Shadowheart’s under his closed eyes, standing out against his porcelain pallor, dark petals against snow. He was without a shirt, either of his choosing or something Shadowheart and Wyll had managed to do when they’d fought to stabilize him. His pants remained but they were tattered from the battle, slashed through in several places.

To Áine’s relief, the wounds she remembered pouring blood to stone looked well on their way to healing. His chest rose and fell with even breaths despite not needing to breathe. She was glad he did anyway—it reassured her in times like this.

Her gaze shifted down to a small bowl of water and a cloth near the bedroll, the bowl half spilled across the dirt beside it. A relic of Shadowheart’s scrap with him, she supposed. Áine shook her head as she carefully sank to her knees beside him and submerged the cloth in the lukewarm water, wringing it over the basin. Didn’t he understand that whatever vigil he may have kept in or outside her tent would have done her no good at all if it hindered his healing?

She smirked softly as she supposed he probably hadn’t thought that far at all. He rarely could think more than two steps ahead into a plan at any given time.

Áine started with his arms, carefully wiping away the remnants of blood Shadowheart had been unable to get to and Astarion had likely left in favor of tending to his pain and exhaustion. She took her time to be thorough, humming the melody to “Lilac & Gooseberries” under her breath while she worked, musing over how she could change more of the lyrics to suit his fine qualities. When she felt a sliver of her bardic abilities touch upon the tune, she allowed them to flow in, giving the strokes she made with the cloth a touch of magic to help along his recovery.

She sighed again, soft and more sad this time. My poor boy, she thought, locating his essential oils near one of the pillows she’d brought from her tent and adding a couple of drops to the basin before she began cleaning the blood from his chest and neck. He was okay and she knew that. He’d go hunt and be better in a day’s time and he was already most assuredly more healed up than she was. She just kept thinking back to the look on his face after she’d gone down, and kept hearing that crack in his voice as he’d begged her to get back up.

It was possible, she thought while she featherlight cleansed his neck, face, and ears, that she may not have found it within herself to reawaken that old, unexplored power had she not felt compelled to push through for him. She was giving up before hearing his voice. She’d felt herself buckle, delirious with pain and fatigue, and flood with despair at seeing her friends so broken. At seeing him so broken, too. She’d started to lose hope.

A star in the Underdark, indeed, she thought, thinking she was perhaps still a little delirious with pain when she noted the sappiness of her own musings. She felt herself smile even though it aggravated the split in her lip. Áine drew her lower lip between her teeth, fidgeting with the healing cut while she moved on to Astarion’s hair, meticulously smoothing the red tints from his silver strands.

She didn’t notice he was conscious until a few minutes after he first opened his eyes, too focused on tending to his curls. When her eyes met his, she found them already on her bearing a mix of emotions, some of which she couldn’t quite translate. One almost looked like anger.

Áine’s lips curled in the beginnings of a smile that fell away when he suddenly bolted upright. They stared at each other—Astarion agitated and Áine bewildered—until Áine’s gaze once more traced the dark shadows beneath his scarlet eyes and held out her wrist. Astarion looked between her confused expression and the vein she offered him before scowling as if insulted and swatting her arm away.

More flummoxed than before, Áine’s eyes narrowed and she parted her lips to speak, but he lunged forward and swallowed her words, his hand catching around the back of her neck as he angled her head and kissed her hard. She made a small noise of complaint against his lips, bracing her hands against his chest when he crowded her with his body.

Regardless of his reasoning, Áine was uncomfortable and her wounds were aching as he pulled her closer and she slapped his cheek with as much force as he’d swatted her wrist away. It was enough to jar him and he withdrew, looking at her with shock that had mirrored hers just moments ago.

“Cut it out,” Áine mumbled once her mouth was free, the split on her lower lip feeling like it might bleed again. “Astarion, stop,” she said emphatically when he yanked her closer by her belt, slapping his hands away from the buckle.

His eyes, somehow far away and yet present enough to react, flashed with hurt. “I…,” he faltered, his empty hands hovering with nothing to touch as he tried to reroute his reactions. “Darling, I’m sorry, I just need to be close to you.”

“Then come here and be close to me, my love,” Áine suggested simply and with a patience beyond her years. She guided him to her and folded him in her arms, one of her hands moving to cradle his face as he buried his head against her chest. “Is this better?”

“Yes,” he murmured almost too softly for her to hear. She felt his tears trickle over her hand before she heard them in his voice. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Áine felt her faint frustration with him melt away along with the presentation of his poor coping mechanisms that had caused it in the first place. “You didn’t.”

Astarion craned his head back to look at her, his ear still pressed to her heart. His eyes were rimmed in red. “But I almost did,” he argued in a whisper, a quiet crack in his voice.

“And I almost lost you,” Áine murmured, sniffing against her own tears that threatened to come. “But I didn’t. We didn’t. We’re both alive and on the mend.”

“I don’t think you understand, dearheart,” he said, clearly very shaken. “I can never feel like that again.”

Áine frowned, smoothing her thumb against his tear-dappled cheekbone. “We will,” she told him honestly, not liking it any more than he did. “Probably several times before this is over.”

“Well, that’s…,” he paused, drawing a shaking breath. “That’s shit.”

The bard offered him a smile dipped in nothing but understanding and sympathy. “That’s life.”

Astarion scoffed. “There has to be something I can do,” he seemed to muse exclusively to himself. “If at the source of the tadpoles’ creation, we can sort what controls the cult, the parasites, even the Absolute, too, then—”

“Astarion,” Áine admonished him, her tone flat and unyielding. He stopped and looked at her, his expression pleading. “Power doesn’t make you safe. In fact, it often does the opposite.”

“Darling, I need the means to protect you,” he murmured through clenched teeth as he sat up from her arms, his hands moving to cradle her face. “To protect myself, to protect both of us.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she told him, her hands resting over his and holding them to her cheeks. Áine turned her head just enough to kiss the inside of his wrist. “This is the risk we take in—,” she sighed, kicking her anxiety aside, “in loving each other. Especially in our present circumstances.”

“Well, I hate it,” he snapped, his tone severe even as he stroked her face as carefully as if she were made of glass.

Áine raised a brow at him. A mostly teasing challenge. “You want out?”

“No!” Astarion muttered, tensing with embarrassment at how quickly he’d shot down the notion.

Áine tried to contain her smile but failed utterly. “Good. I don’t either.”

Astarion finally smiled a little and the sight eased the tightness in Áine’s chest. “Good,” he echoed. “May I kiss you now?”

“Depends why you want to,” Áine said. “Is it still old motions?”

“No,” he assured her, still occasionally blown away by how much of him she truly saw. It was becoming less jarring every time. “I just want to kiss you.”

“Then please do,” Áine said with a smile, giggling when her face was immediately peppered with kisses. He relished the sound of her delight before pressing his lips to hers again, his fearful urgency gone and replaced with a gentle savoring that did perfectly well to coax them both back into their bed for the remainder of their rest.

Áine fell asleep in Astarion’s arms, a thing that was now common practice for them but felt much more significant and rare when they’d even for a moment questioned the possibility that they’d ever have this again.

She woke to a faint tugging on her ponytail and when her eyes fluttered open, she saw the cloth she’d been using to clean the blood off Astarion being used to gently wipe down her hair. Áine watched him work for a moment, admiring his hands, before she traced the line of his arm up to his face. He briefly met her eyes to smile at her before he focused back on his task of painstakingly smoothing every reddened layer from her white locks.

“Good ‘morning’,” he said, using the term loosely as it was just as dark outside as when they’d finally settled in.

“Hello, love,” Áine mumbled, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. She noticed the water in the basin had darkened, which told her he’d managed to sort through more of her hair than she first realized. “How did you manage to do all this without waking me sooner?”

Astarion smirked. “Roguish stealth and dexterity, my dear,” he answered simply. “I’m afraid though that because of the oils you added to the basin last night, you’ll smell like me now.”

Áine laughed. “I probably already did.”

“Because you’re mine,” he grumbled as he leaned in to kiss her temple, reaching over her to wet the cloth again and wring it out.

The bard smirked. “Am I now? And what am I to you exactly?”

She’d never seen Astarion get so immediately flustered. His hand froze against the basin and nearly caught the edge and knocked it sideways until he steadied himself. He cleared his throat so hard he had to turn into his sleeve to cough. Were he not low on blood, she was sure he’d be a cherry red. “Well, I…,” he mumbled, realizing she was waiting for an answer. Astarion made an impatient noise in his throat, “Oh I don’t know! But isn’t it nice? Not to know?”

Áine snorted. “Is it?” She hadn’t expected this response, but it was an interesting one.

Astarion groaned and gestured vaguely when words didn’t immediately come to him. “Well, you’re not a victim. Not a target. Not just one-night-it’s-better-to-forget,” he listed off, seeming to find it difficult to look her in the eyes lest she see the vulnerability there. As if she hadn’t seen it before. “But then… Whatever in the world could you be?”

“Is this a test?” Áine asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed loudly as he brought the cloth back to her hair, working on the last few streaks so he could have a secondary reason to not look at her expression. “Well, what would you call this?”

“You mean what would I call us?” Áine bartered.

Astarion bit down a small, schoolboyish smile. “I do still like the sound of that,” he mumbled. Áine melted a little. What a silly man this was. She leaned up and kissed him, a smile curling her lips as she felt him melt into her. When they parted, he tenderly added, “And I do rather like that, you know.”

Áine smiled. “I know,” she murmured, nuzzling his cheek. “I do, too.”

He hummed, ducking his head to brush noses with her. “Thank you, by the way,” he murmured. Before she could ask what for, he bridged the gap and told her, “For snapping me out of my habits. For not taking advantage. For being patient with me.”

Áine’s gaze softened. “No need to thank me,” she told him, her voice a gentle lull. “Thank you for telling me what you needed and letting me help.”

Astarion’s stare became unfathomable and it was mesmerizing for Áine to simply watch the way his features shifted. He swallowed, but the motion looked difficult. “No need to thank me, dearest,” he murmured finally, nodding a little to himself after as he reaffirmed that this was something he could do, something reasonably expected. Something healthy. Something real.

“I would call us partners, for what it’s worth,” Áine answered him at last as he set the cloth back in its bowl. “And I’d also call us late to breakfast based on that aroma coming in.”

Astarion smirked. “You’re late to breakfast, dear,” he corrected her as he rolled the word “partners” around in his mind, testing it against his tongue without moving his mouth. Equal standing, level field, two halves of a whole. He snorted softly as Áine got up to get ready to leave their tent. Cute. He wasn’t entirely sure whether the word crossed his mind in response to her answer or to just watching her get up and around, but he supposed either could’ve been the case.

The couple ducked out of their tent and Áine’s eyes went straight for the campfire, smiling when she saw their friends gathering around to eat yet another hearty meal Gale had somehow scraped together from their supply bags. She was about to apologize for their tardiness when she heard Astarion ask over her shoulder, “Who is that?”

Áine faltered and looked up at him, following his gaze toward where Withers was set up. Her stomach dropped, but she also wasn’t sure why she was surprised. She’d reawakened the dormant powers of her broken oath, why wouldn’t he show up again?

Standing adjacent to Withers was an ornate phantasm of a knight, fully ensconced in spotless bronze armor cloaked in blackened patina. Fierce, fiery eyes of vibrant orange glowed through the slits in the helmet, plumes of necrotic energy flaking from the orange aura to lick at his plating as he leaned against his enormous greatsword. His angry eyes were already resting on Áine by the time she registered his presence.

Astarion expected her to gawk at least, as he was. Or be perturbed by the intruder in their camp space, even if Withers for whatever reason didn’t seem to be. What he didn’t expect was what she actually said.

“An old friend, I suppose,” Áine said, sounding more exasperated than appropriately horrified. It reminded him of how she’d reacted to Withers showing up in their camp as well, excluding when he’d intentionally or unintentionally jumpscared her of course. “I’ll be back in a moment or two.”

Her tone told him well enough that she wanted to speak to him alone, but he felt the urge to insist he accompany her as that innate protectiveness swelled in his chest. Ah how the tables have turned from the original “plan,” he mused, glancing down at her as she walked toward the knight. She was half the strange apparition’s size and yet strode with all the confidence of someone who towered three feet above him. Not for the first time, Astarion found his nerves easing a little at the sight and thinking, That’s my girl.

Áine drew in a deep breath as she crossed the thatch in the myconids’ circle, offering the knight a half-smile as she stopped in front of him. “Hello again,” she greeted him almost sheepishly.

“I have been waiting for you,” the knight informed her, the familiar voice stirring memories that brought her both pain and comfort. Gravelly and thickly accented, but shockingly kind. In more than a few ways, the strange soul who’d saved her in that first year of freedom. Until he’d realized she wanted nothing to do with the power her broken oath granted her and needed to make his way elsewhere to souls who needed his guidance more. At least, that’s what she’d assumed when one day she’d found him gone. “I felt your call rise again. Your broken chains echoed as they shuddered.”

She nodded slowly, still hesitant to accept this part of herself. It felt like a trap, retaining any remnant of her past and the creed that bound it. Even the shattered pieces. “I have people to protect now. I did it for them,” she said softly.

“A noble cause,” he acknowledged. “Just like the first time. I trust you still remember why you abandoned your oath?”

“Every moment of every hour,” Áine said, her throat tightening as her mind shoved the memories back down where she always held them fast. “I… I’ll never forget.”

“Good,” the knight decreed. “To know the reason for your fall, to remember it, is to know the shape of things to come. Your undoing should remain a source of comfort. For all oathbroken who have realized they are far better to choose their own path…but especially for you, Áine Ts’sambra.”

“Forgo my bloodname,” she ordered on a shaken breath. “My kin lie with my oath.”

“Your kin are alive and continue to spread their ill at Moonrise Towers under order of their master,” the knight said. “But you already suspected that.”

Áine’s blood ran cold. She had, but it was something different to hear it. She felt bile burn her throat as she asked with a forced even tone, “And my father?”

“Aye,” the knight confirmed, inclining his incorporeal armored head. “No less would be expected.”

She gave a flippant shrug of one shoulder. “I dunno. Rather hoped he might’ve died, I suppose.”

“Are you sure?” he challenged her.

“Are you suggesting I miss him?” she hissed in an effort to keep her voice low. “That I would ever forgive him?”

“No such thing,” the knight said. “But even now, the shadows gather around you. They have been with you since you ran. They sense the cracks in your armor and they yearn to be used. To be inflicted. Your power reawakens reborn. It is your path to pave, lass.”

Áine pursed her lips and glanced toward her feet. She knew what he implied. And he wasn’t wrong. While her fractured heart and broken mind reeled in terror at returning to those sickly lands knowing that the ones she’d fled still lived, some part of her looked upon this and saw opportunity. Closure. She’d always sworn to kill him, any of them, if they came after her, and some dark part of her welcomed that possibility as it drew ever closer.

“Will you be with us again now?” she asked, turning her gaze back up to his flame-made eyes. “Or is this just my ‘welcome back’ party?”

“You were not ready when first we met,” the knight said, his tone almost gentle. “You accepted this power out of fear of your family, out of fear of your weakness. You now know your way, but we reunite so I may show you how you might reach it if you have need of my teachings.”

Áine nodded. “Well, you are welcome in our camp, if you care for my permission,” she said, drawing a breath. “And I feel as if I owe you an apology. Not for resisting my power, but for how I treated you for most of our time together. I wasn’t myself.”

The knight actually chuckled. “You were young. Tortured. And too kind for your own good. Still seem to be.”

Áine smirked, a guilty press to her lips. “I suppose that’s something I’ll never shake.”

“See that you don’t,” the knight advised. “It is a rare thing and you possess the strength to protect that kindness rather than be taken advantage of for it.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Áine said, adjusting her ponytail and tracing her fingertips over the wet strands Astarion had cleansed the blood from just earlier. She glanced at Withers. “Hope you don’t mind a roommate.”

“Thou art as ever far too keen to seem amusing,” Withers informed her.

“Did you just say I’m not funny?” Áine balked. “You know what, nevermind. I’m done with both of you for a while.” When she turned to walk to the fire, the two strange figures exchanged a glance behind her back.

Áine joined Astarion’s side and served herself a bowl of porridge from the pot hanging over the fire, plunking a dab of honey into it from a jar nearby. She was surprised there was any left given how fond Halsin was of the stuff. As she stirred the honey into her breakfast, she cast another glance back at the stalwart knight. It was so strange to see him again, but also strangely reassuring. As frightening as it was for aspects of her past to be coming full circle, it felt overdue. She only hoped she proved herself in the end.

“Áine, did you hear me?”

“Hm? What?” she piped up, following the source of the voice back to Gale. “Sorry.”

“No need!” he hastened to say. “I was just curious about our, uh, new guest.”

“Do you know them? Or it?” Wyll pressed warily.

Áine deliberated for a moment before she shrugged and went back to eating her food, relaxing when she felt Astarion’s hand trace up her back. He was starting to get a little too attuned to when she was stressed. Or perhaps that was okay. Perhaps that was something she needed like he needed certain things from her.

“Just another member of the ‘Undead Peepaw Corner’,” she said, speaking a little more loudly so she could be sure Withers would hear her. “He’s fine.”

The group shared glances, save for Karlach who was fully focused on shoveling her breakfast into her mouth. Lae’zel also seemed generally unbothered, her trust in Áine enough for her to not push further.

“There has to be more to it than that,” Wyll asserted, earning surprised glances from Shadowheart and Gale for the suspicion in his tone.

Áine glanced at Wyll and set her spoon in her bowl to scratch the owlbear cub’s head when it ambled over to her side. “I mean, you’re welcome to go ask him yourself.”

Wyll glanced toward Withers and the knight before pulling a face and thinking better of striking up that particular conversation.

Next chapter: Chapter 18, "Bard Dance"

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