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wholoveseggs · 2 months

Note

Hey, I love the stories you are writing for us! Thank you so much! If there's room for another one, here's an idea: human reader is pregnant with Elijah's child but is afraid he might not believe her as it is impossible for a vampire to procreate. His reaction, in fact, causes her to leave New Orleans, and a few years later, she returns, and Elijah learns he is a dad. Fluffy, possibly smutty. ")

Devotion

he's so daddy, he's so father

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

When you find out you are pregnant you are afraid of how Elijah will react. His anxieties around fatherhood get the best of him and he gives in to his darker impulses.

♡♡ Thanks for the request(s) @originals23 @classymesstuff009 & anon ♡♡

I combined the ideas and changed some elements, but I hope I captured the spirit of the requests -xoxo

7.7k words - Warnings: this is less of a story with a plot and more of a series of events over the course of readers pregnancy, lots of angst, childbirth, so so so corny, so much fluff, lots of belly touches, Elijah being violently over protective, more fluff, lots of affection, smut at the end, unprotected sex (duh)

"No no no no no," you mumbled, staring down at the fourth positive pregnancy test you'd taken that day. This couldn't be happening, it wasn't possible. But as you glanced over the little box and read the word "pregnant" again and again, it began to sink in. You were having a baby, Elijah Mikaelson's baby, a baby whose existence was impossible.

A sob you had been suppressing broke free, and you collapsed on the edge of the tub. You had no idea what you were going to do, your relationship with Elijah was complicated and had no label, and the thought of raising a baby by yourself was daunting.

"I'll figure it out," you told yourself as you pulled yourself up and splashed some cold water on your face.

You needed to tell Elijah, which was an entirely different kind of terrifying. He had always been very clear that vampires were unable to procreate, so he likely would not believe you. The thought made your stomach turn, and you rushed to the toilet once more to empty the meager contents.

It took you a couple weeks before you were able to build up the courage to tell Elijah. You had tried to find the words to break the news, but every time you thought you had it figured out, you panicked and decided against it.

But you were starting to show, and you knew it wouldn't be long until your clothes no longer concealed your growing belly. So, the day after your second ultrasound you invited Elijah over for dinner.

He was worried about you, it had been over a month since he'd seen you last and over two months since the last time you were intimate together. He missed you, and wondered if you'd met someone else. But that was the only explanation he could think of.

When he arrived at your place, he noticed something different right away. You looked exhausted, but you had a small glow to you, he also noticed that you gained some weight and he enjoyed how it filled out your figure.

You greeted him at the door, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek before handing you a bottle of wine. "Thank you," you smiled softly, leading him inside and taking the wine to the kitchen.

"It's been awhile," Elijah began, not knowing where to start, "are you doing alright?"

"Not exactly," you admitted, pouring two glasses of water and taking a seat on the couch next to him. Your hands began to shake, fear gripping you once more.

Elijah reached over and took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What is wrong?" He asked, searching your eyes.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment before speaking. "I'm pregnant."

You could see the confusion, the anger, the disappointment and a dozen other emotions flash through his eyes. You couldn't stand the way he was looking at you, so you pulled your hand from his and stood, pacing around the room.

Elijah didn't know what to think, clearly you were seeing someone else. It hurt him, but neither of you ever had the talk about being exclusive. The thought of you with another man disappointed him immensely, it made him realize how much he wanted you all to himself. But it was too late for that now.

"Elijah, say something," you begged, tears streaming down your face. You were desperate for him to just say anything.

"Who is the father?" He questioned, his voice low.

You expected this question and had thought about your response for a while. Of course he wouldn't think it was his, it was impossible. But you had been with no one else, and you were tired of being a secret, you wanted to be a family, and if he rejected the idea, then that was on him.

"You," you answered, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"That's not possible," he shook his head. "I can't procreate."

"Klaus can, why not you?" You snapped. You weren't expecting him to believe you, but the reality of it hurt more than you expected.

"Klaus is unique, I am not," he stated plainly. You were quite distressed and although he didn't believe himself to be the father he still had sympathy for your situation.

“Is the father not... A good man?" He asked.

You began to sob, the hormones were really working against you, and you didn't know what to do. He had no idea how to react, and the longer you stayed silent, the more worried he became.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, his voice low, as he moved towards you.

"Don't," you shook your head, pulling away from his touch. "If you don't believe me, that's fine. I'm not going to beg you. I can raise this baby on my own."

"I can't be the father, y/n," Elijah said, trying to reach for you once more.

"Just leave, please," you pleaded. He didn't believe you, he thought you were seeing someone else, and you couldn't stand to be in the same room with him any longer. "Get out Elijah!" You shouted.

Frustration rose within him, he didn't enjoy being blamed for something he didn't do.

“Fine," he muttered, moving towards the door.

You felt overwhelmed with despair and wanted nothing more to do with him, so you watched him walk out the door without saying a word.

It had been a few weeks since you last saw Elijah and your mental health was deteriorating at an alarming rate. You had very little support financially or emotionally and it was taking a toll on you.

You hadn't slept or eaten well and when you did, you often felt sick afterwards. You had known about postpartum depression, but apparently there was something called prenatal depression as well. You had been reading online about the symptoms, and it was almost as though you were looking in a mirror.

You needed help, but couldn't will yourself to ask for it. You had no family, and no friends in the city. The only person you knew in Louisiana was Elijah, and you didn't want anything to do with him.

His rejection of you and the baby hurt more than anything you'd ever experienced before. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at a picture of the ultrasound. You felt alone and abandoned.

You would walk the streets at night, a foolish thing to do considering the threats in New Orleans. But it was the only thing that seemed to calm your mind, and the fresh air helped ease the nausea.

It was a clear, warm night and the streets were quiet. The soft glow of the street lights created a calming atmosphere, and the cool breeze blew the hair away from your face. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the moment of peace.

Then you started to cry, your hormones making you feel like you were losing your mind. You hated it, you would start to cry for no reason and then cry some more because you were frustrated over crying for no reason. It was an endless cycle.

You felt so lost, you thought you could do this all on your own, but you hadn't even had the baby yet and you were falling apart. Even though Elijah didn't believe the child to be his, it was still a Mikaelson and that came with many consequences, some you couldn't possibly foresee. You knew of Hope and how she barely survived her birth, what if the same thing happened to you and your child? You didn't have Elijah to protect you.

You knew you needed to swallow your pride and convince Elijah, he was the only one who could protect both of you.

Your feet took you to the compound before you could talk yourself out of it, and you stood at the gates, hesitating for a moment before making your way inside. You could feel the baby kick and move, it strengthened your resolve.

Elijah was in his study when he heard you approaching, and he wondered what you wanted. He decided to leave you alone after you kicked him out. It was the right thing to do, he reminded himself, he was not the father.

When he saw you standing in the doorway, he could tell you were upset, but he had no desire to talk to you, not after the last time.

"Elijah, please listen to me," you said softly, the words sticking in your throat. "The baby is yours, I have never slept with anyone but you. There is no one else, only you."

He sighed, he wished he could believe you, but he knew it was not possible. He wondered how awful the true father had to be if you were here lying to him once again.

"I know we were never exclusive, but I wish you would be honest with me about whoever the father is," he said, his voice low.

You stared at him for a moment before a sob escaped your lips. "Elijah, there is no one else, there has never been anyone else."

"Why do you insist upon lying?" He asked, turning away from you, unable to stand the pain in your eyes.

Sudden rage boiled over inside of you and you lashed out at the nearby table, knocking the items onto the floor. "I am not fucking lying!" You shouted.

Your outburst was quite unexpected, and he turned back to look at you, his eyes narrowing. Before he could say anything Freya walked in, alerted by the yelling and broken glass.

"What's going on?" She asked, stepping in between the two of you.

The tears returned, always at the most inconvenient times, and you just sobbed into your hands and knelt to the floor. Pure frustration and exhaustion took over and you were completely overwhelmed.

Freya looked at Elijah, confused and annoyed. He wasn't the type to yell, and certainly not at a pregnant woman. She wondered what was going on and why you were so upset.

Elijah shook his head, and began cleaning up the mess you'd made. He couldn't bear to look at you, the pain in your eyes was too much for him.

Freya walked over and knelt next to you, rubbing your back. "Tell me what's wrong sweetheart," she said softly.

The moment Freya touched you she felt it, her own blood, running through your veins.

"It's okay," Freya assured you. "Can I touch your belly?"

You nodded again, and she gently placed her hand over the swell, and instantly felt the magic pulsating from your womb. Freya could always sense her own blood, so long she searched for it. And here it was, right in front of her.

She was overjoyed, she had a niece or nephew, a new tiny Mikaelson for her to dote on. She was also so angry at her foolish brother she could have strangled him.

"Elijah," she said sternly, mustering her big sister voice to scold her little brother. "It's yours," she said firmly, standing and facing him.

He froze, a mixture of emotions passing through him. First he felt disbelief, then excitement, and finally dread. If this was his child, then the threats they faced everyday were even more dangerous.

"Are you certain?" He asked, not wanting to believe, fear gripping his heart.

Freya nodded, and moved to stand next to you, helping you to your feet. You were exhausted, physically and emotionally.

"Why didn't you bring her to me sooner?" She asked him, helping you over to the sofa and fetching you a glass of water. "Look at her Elijah, how could you leave her like this?"

He knew his sister was right, and he felt ashamed. He had been a fool, and caused you unnecessary suffering. He would not be making that mistake again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, coming to kneel in front of you. "Forgive me, please."

"I tried to tell you," you said softly, sniffling quietly.

"Leave us Freya, thank you," he said, not taking his eyes off you.

Freya was reluctant, but agreed, closing the door behind her. Elijah sat next to you, his posture stiff, and his face a stony expression. You were afraid, unsure what he would do or say.

He was always prone to self-loathing, but this was a new level, and he didn't know what to do. He felt incredibly guilty and responsible for the pain and stress he caused you. You did not look well, and he knew he needed to do everything he could to fix this.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, you looked dazed and swayed a bit, he pulled you close, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Don't apologize," you whispered, lifting your head and looking at him, "just promise you will help me, that's all I ask,"

Elijah was taken aback by the request. Of course he was going to help, why wouldn't he? But the fact that you needed to ask, made him feel terrible, made him feel like Klaus.

"Of course," he assured you, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

A few tears escaped your eyes. You were tired and overwhelmed and his words and gentle touches were enough to completely break you. You began to cry, burying your face in his chest as you sobbed. A tidal wave of conflicting emotions washing over you, frustration, anger, guilt and a tiny hint of relief.

Elijah felt terrible, and he hated himself for causing this. You were pregnant, alone, and suffering. He would never forgive himself.

"You will stay here and you don't have to worry about a thing," he soothed, gently rubbing your back, "I will take care of everything, I promise,"

He meant it, you and the baby were his responsibility now, and he would protect you both with his life.

It had been a month since you moved into the compound and Elijah was true to his word and took care of everything.

He compelled doctors to check on you and Freya was also doing a spell daily to ensure the baby was healthy and developing well.

But he didn't have to compel people for the things that mattered. He was the one cooking your meals, helping with the nursery, and ensuring you were getting rest.

One night after dinner, you were sitting on the sofa together, talking and laughing.

You were starting to feel better, but you still struggled with your emotions, and Elijah did his best to make sure you were always happy and stress free.

You began to feel a little anxious, and he immediately sensed it, pulling you close to cuddle with him. Neither of you had discussed your growing feelings and neither of you knew where you stood with each other.

He placed a warm hand on your growing bump, and it instantly soothed the baby, and in turn, helped calm your nerves. You leaned closer into him and he wrapped his other arm around your shoulder.

He enjoyed having you so close, and he could smell the sweet scent of your shampoo as you rested your head against his shoulder. He still felt such guilt for the pain and stress he had caused you.

"Is this okay?" He asked softly, his hand slowly moving over the swell.

You smiled, enjoying the gentle caress. "Mmhmm," you hummed, snuggling deeper into his side.

He was being very sweet, and you were beginning to suspect that he had more than just feelings of obligation for the baby.

Elijah was enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his, and he hoped that he could continue to make amends for the way he behaved.

"Have you thought of any names?" He asked, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Hmmm," you thought, enjoying the warmth of his hand and the rumble of his chest. "I'm thinking… Elijah jr," you teased, giggling.

He chuckled and gave you a light squeeze. "Absolutely not," he smirked, kissing the top of your head.

It was a pleasant moment and the two of you laughed and talked about the upcoming birth and baby names.

Eventually, you fell asleep, and Elijah picked you up and carried you to bed. He gently tucked you in and placed a kiss on your forehead.

Now that you were asleep, he could let his own anxieties surface. The trauma around Hope's birth still haunted him and he would do anything to prevent that from happening to you.

So he did the same thing he had done every night since you moved in. He left the compound to go hunting.

The first night you arrived, he went out for a drink, planning on just having one to calm his nerves. But then he heard a group of young vampires discussing the strung out looking pregnant woman walking the streets at night. And when they wondered what a pregnant woman's blood would taste like... Well they didn't stand a chance after that.

It made him feel better, seeing their body parts scattered around him, to smell their blood and have their dead hearts in his hands.

And so on it went, he would stalk the streets of the French Quarter, waiting for anyone to dare mention you or the baby. It didn't matter who, why or even where, they would never get a chance to speak again.

Every night he would return, his hunger sated, and he would climb into bed with you. You were still sound asleep and unaware of what he was doing. He would pull you close to him, and listen to the soft rhythmic beat of your heart and the heart of his child. It was the only thing that calmed him, and it helped him drift off into a peaceful sleep.

But that night you woke, the baby was kicking and it made you feel nauseous. You got up to go to the bathroom, too groggy to notice Elijah in the shower until you walked in.

You gasped at the sight of him covered in blood, halfway through washing it off of him under the warm water.

He noticed the shocked look on your face, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Is that... blood?" You asked, eyeing the pink tint to the water as it disappeared down the drain.

Elijah hesitated, "it's nothing you need to worry about," he insisted.

He wasn't trying to lie or deceive you, he was trying to protect you. He knew it was twisted and wrong, and he would be the first to admit he had a dark side, but he would never want you to see it.

"Why are you covered in blood?" You asked, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of your stomach.

Elijah was not accustomed to answering questions, he was usually the one giving the orders, but you were not one of his siblings. He would tell you the truth, you deserved that.

"It's the blood of those who wish to do us harm," he admitted.

He expected you to be shocked, but the truth was, you weren't. He was a Mikaelson, and a powerful vampire, it was only natural that others would want to hurt him and his family. Hayley had shared with you what happened to her when she gave birth to Hope, you were beyond frightened of it happening to you. Fear is a powerful thing, it can override any sort of morals you may possess.

"And did you kill them?" You asked, looking directly into his eyes.

He nodded, he could see that you were not upset, and he was relieved.

"How many?"

Elijah was slightly taken aback by your curiosity, and it gave him pause.

"A lot," he admitted, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light of the room.

"I know you are afraid, I am too," you said softly, reaching out and touching his face. "I'm afraid of the birth, of our child being in danger," you confessed, "and I'm afraid for you and all the darkness you take on to protect us,"

"I'm doing what I have to," he said softly, covering your hand with his.

"I know," you nodded, leaning closer and resting your forehead against his. "And I am grateful for that, and I trust you, but I don't want you to be consumed by it,"

He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you tight, listening to the gentle beat of your heart and that of your child.

"Let's get you back to bed," he said softly, kissing your forehead.

You were still exhausted, and he wanted you to rest. He helped you back to bed and tucked you in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before heading to his own room.

From that night on he stopped hunting, and spent more time with you. The two of you were becoming closer, but he didn't want you do feel any sort of pressure to be with him. He would be happy with whatever you were comfortable with.

He was plagued by nightmares, visions of you dead in his arms the same way Hayley was, and he woke up in a cold sweat every night. He would climb into bed next to you and pull you close, placing his hand on your bump and waiting for the baby to kick. When the child would move, it was a reassurance that the two of you were alive, and you were safe.

Your eighth month of pregnancy was difficult, and Elijah had become even more attentive. Your ankles were swollen, your back ached, and the baby was a wild one.

But the worst part was the hormones, they were completely out of control. You cried at everything, the commercial about a cute dog, a sad movie, and even a happy song. You were a wreck and it was a struggle just to get through the day.

Hayley, Rebekah and Freya had noticed your increasing distress and decided to throw you a baby shower. It was nice to be surrounded by people that cared about you.

The women of the Mikaelson family understood you more than anyone ever could, and they did their best to make sure you were comfortable. Hayley was especially sympathetic and supportive, having been through it herself.

"The last three months are killer," she laughed, patting your belly.

"Tell me about it," you sighed, watching Rebekah and Freya decorate the courtyard for the upcoming party.

"They are really going all out for this," Hayley laughed, and you could tell she was pleased that the other two were trying to make you feel welcome.

"I think it's more for the baby than me," you giggled, "they love being aunties,"

"Am I an auntie too?" Hayley teased, knowing she wasn't biologically connected, but the baby was still family.

You nodded, and she was beaming with joy.

"Well, i'm excited for Hope to have a little cousin, she needs someone to play with," Hayley smiled, her hand still resting on your belly.

You were both startled by a sudden sharp movement from the baby, and laughed.

"Well, this one will definitely keep her on her toes," you laughed.

The party was extravagant to say the least, it was more of a ball than a baby shower. Klaus had invited every faction of the supernatural world and there was an assortment of vampires, witches and wolves mingling together.

Klaus and Elijah decided to take an entirely different approach to your pregnancy and the impending birth than the one they had with Hayley.

They knew not to repeat the mistakes they made the first time and wanted to foster peace and harmony among the factions.

Elijah was on edge, his nightmares becoming increasingly worse, and he was struggling to find a way to ease his anxieties.

He would have preferred not to have this party, but he was overridden by the rest of his family.

He knew it was important, a sign of good faith and acceptance. But his mind was plagued with the past and the pain and suffering that came from that. He wanted to forget the horrors and the violence and the blood, and focus on the future and the new life that was coming.

He dove head first into the politics, spending the evening schmoozing and talking business with the representatives of each faction. It was the only way for him to feel calm and in control, and it kept his mind from drifting into darker corners.

"Are you okay?"

His thoughts were interrupted by you, and the sound of your voice calmed him. You had come over to him and was holding his hand, looking concerned.

You looked so beautiful, your hair in soft curls, your belly protruding from a flowy blue dress. You were round and glowing and a perfect picture of motherhood.

"Of course," he assured you, squeezing your hand and taking a sip of his drink.

You were worried about him, he seemed distant and preoccupied.

"It's too much isn't it? This party," you asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the crowds.

"No," he shook his head, "it's wonderful," he forced a smile, not wanting to worry you.

"If you want to leave, we can," you offered, feeling uncomfortable, and not wanting him to be either.

He kissed the side of your head, a gesture that made you blush. "This is for the baby, and I will not deny the baby anything,"

Elijah had always been a bit affectionate towards you, but he never overstepped his bounds and you were unsure of how to handle it. You enjoyed his presence, but it was getting a little confusing.

You were a bit flustered, and excused yourself, going to find some air outside. Elijah watched as you walked away and was tempted to follow, but he had his hands full, trying to talk the wolves out of challenging a vampire for a perceived slight.

You leaned against the balcony, letting the cool air calm your nerves.

"How's it going?" Said a party goer, you weren't sure what faction they were a part of, but they seemed a little drunk.

"Fine," you said, not wanting to be bothered.

"Pregnant with a Mikaelson, that's some shit luck," he snorted, clearly intoxicated.

"Excuse me?" You scoffed, wondering why this was a topic of discussion.

"I mean, there are three benefits to fucking vampires," he began, holding his hand up to count them, "one, no diseases, two, usually really good in bed and three, no pregnancies,"

He began to laugh, and you felt angry and defensive.

"I would appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut," you warned, not wanting to hear the drunken ramblings of an idiot.

"Was it worth one and maybe two to not have the third?" He laughed, clearly not getting the hint.

You were furious, and you went to walk away, but he grabbed your arm. "Lemme touch your belly, I wonder how strong a Mikaelson kicks," he laughed.

Before you could react Elijah appeared and had the drunk man by the throat. A crowd of party goers gathered to watch the scene.

Elijah was completely overcome by his rage, the fear in your eyes when the man grabbed you took him right back into his endless nightmares. A small part of him knew he should let the man go, but he couldn't, he was consumed by the thought that if he let go, he would lose you, and that was unacceptable.

He squeezed tighter and the man gagged, clawing at his hands and begging for mercy. The crowd gasped in horror as Elijah's eyes went black and veins crawled across his face.

"To anyone here who thinks it's okay to touch her, let this be an example of the fate you await," he snarled.

"Elijah!" You yelled, but it was too late.

The man was dead, and his head fell from his body.

You stood in shock, the entire party was silent, and Elijah dropped the body and turned towards you. He was shaking, and his eyes returned to their normal color, the veins disappearing from his face.

He turned to the crowd, projecting his voice loud and clear. "Do I make myself clear?" He growled, looking at the faces of everyone around him.

The room was full of fearful nods, and the crowd slowly dispersed.

Elijah took your hand, leading you out of the courtyard and towards his room.

You followed without a word, still in shock. He closed the door behind you and you sat down on his bed.

"Are you alright?" He asked, kneeling in front of you, his hands on your bump.

You nodded, and placed your hands over his.

"You have to understand," he began, and you could hear the strain in his voice, "when he touched you, when I saw his hands on you, I..."

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, "I can't- I won't. Lose you."

"It's okay," you soothed, placing a hand on his cheek.

Elijah could hardly control his emotions, the fear and anguish was too much, and he let out a sob, pulling you into his arms and holding you tight.

You cradled his head in your hands and held him close, whispering sweet words and letting him know it was okay.

He was the strongest person you had ever known, and seeing him like this made your heart break.

"Shhh," you soothed, kissing the top of his head, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere,"

You felt his grip loosen, and his breathing became more steady.

"It's okay," you repeated, placing soft kisses on his cheek and forehead, and moving to his lips.

You hadn't kissed in nearly 8 months, not since the night you had made love and conceived the baby. But you felt him return the kiss, and he wrapped his arms around you.

He was hesitant and unsure of how you would respond. You had been together once, but things had been complicated and stressful. But he wanted to show you just how much he loved you.

He pulled away, searching your eyes, and finding only compassion and acceptance.

"I'm hoping we can try again, to be together, if you will have me," he whispered, brushing a lock of hair out of your face.

You leaned into his touch, and he was hopeful that you would want the same.

"Of course," you agreed, pressing a soft kiss against his lips, and running your fingers through his hair.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other and enjoying the moment. It was peaceful and the first time Elijah had truly felt at ease in months.

The day of the birth was finally upon you, and you were nervous and in pain. Freya and Hayley were at your side, holding your hand and trying to keep you calm as they helped you through your labor.

Elijah was pacing in the hallway, anxious and on edge. He had been a wreck, barely able to eat or sleep, and it was obvious to the entire family.

He stopped, listening to you moan and groan and hiss in pain. He wished he could take it all away, and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

"Why don't you go be with her," Rebekah suggested, putting a hand on her brothers shoulder.

"She doesn't want me in there," he sighed, he had tried, and you had pushed him out, not wanting him to see you like this.

"She's in pain, she's probably not thinking clearly," Rebekah insisted, "trust me, she wants you in there,"

Elijah wasn't sure, but he couldn't handle not being near you any longer, so he went in, ready to be rejected.

You were in bed, sweating and panting and groaning. Hayley was holding your hand and Freya was using a spell to soothe your pain.

You opened your eyes, and saw him, and reached out for him, and he ran to your side, taking your other hand in his.

"You are doing so well," he said softly, his voice full of love.

"I can't," you groaned, feeling as though you couldn't go on.

"Yes, you can," he encouraged, kissing your knuckles.

You were in agony, but his touch and his voice were like a balm to your soul, and it gave you strength.

Rebekah was right, having him next to you was the best thing in the world, and it helped you through the hours of labor.

Finally, the moment came, and you screamed as you gave one final push. The room was filled with the sound of a crying infant and you collapsed back against the pillows.

"It's a boy!" Freya announced, cutting the umbilical cord and wrapping the baby up, passing him over to you.

"Oh my goodness," you cried, tears of joy running down your face as you looked down at the precious life in your arms.

"A boy," Elijah whispered, staring at his son in awe. He reached out and placed his hand on his sons head, feeling the soft downy hair.

"He's beautiful," Hayley commented, admiring the little bundle.

"Just like his father," you smiled, and Elijah kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you and your new baby.

You were exhausted, but ecstatic, and Elijah couldn't help but feel pride and joy. He had helped create such a perfect and precious creature. Out of all of his darkness came something pure and beautiful, and he would do anything to protect his son.

As the night went on the others left, leaving you and Elijah alone with the baby. The both of you couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"We need to decide on a name," you said softly, stroking the babies face with your finger.

"I think," Elijah began, watching the baby squirm and wriggle, "he should be named after his uncle Henrik,"

"That's perfect," you smiled, a tear running down your cheek, "Henry,"

"Henry," Elijah repeated, looking at his son, "I'm your father, and I promise to always love and protect you,"

"I will love you, until the end of time," you whispered, placing a soft kiss on Henry's tiny nose.

Henry let out a little squeak and yawned, and you and Elijah laughed. He was the most perfect thing you and Elijah had ever seen, and the two of you couldn't stop smiling.

Life at the compound was hectic, with Hope and Henry underfoot. Elijah was always watching the babies, making sure they were safe and happy. He was a wonderful father and uncle, and it made you fall in love with him even more.

The two of you were utterly exhausted new parents and Rebekah insisted that the two of you take a break and spend a little time together. She convinced you and Elijah to let her care for Henry for a weekend, while the two of you got away.

It was hard for both of you, you had never been apart from him for more than a few hours, but the two of you needed the time alone.

"Just go, have fun," Rebekah had encouraged, taking Henry from Elijah, "you both need a break,"

The drive was long, but Elijah's company made it go by faster, and you finally arrived at the cabin.

"I hope this is okay," Elijah said, helping you out of the car.

"It's perfect," you assured him, it was cozy and private, and the view was spectacular.

The two of you walked inside, and took in the surroundings. It was a large cabin, with a beautiful stone fireplace and a big open kitchen. Elijah started the fire as you cooked dinner, the two of you fully in sync.

It was easy having him as a partner, and you felt relaxed and at home. The only thing missing from your lives was sex. Once Henry arrived it was a constant state of exhaustion and there wasn't much room for romance.

You thought back to the night Henry was conceived, and how passionate and hot the experience was. But you were nervous to do it again, the pregnancy had changed your body, and you weren't sure how he would react.

After dinner you cuddled up with him on the couch, his arm around your shoulder and your head resting on his chest. He kissed the top of your head and smiled.

"I've missed this," he said softly, playing with a loose strand of your hair.

"Me too," you admitted, running your hand up and down his arm.

He took a deep breath, and you could tell he was nervous about something.

"Is everything okay?" You asked, turning to look at him.

"Yes," he nodded, his brown eyes meeting yours, "I just...want you to know that I am completely in love with you, and I will do anything to make you happy,"

You blushed, and looked away, not sure what to say.

"And I know our relationship has been a bit unconventional," he continued, his voice low, "but I would like to court you, if you will allow me,"

"Court me?" You chuckled, "darling, I think you are doing this all backwards,"

"Perhaps," he laughed, taking your hand in his, "I couldn't ask for a better mother for my child, and a more devoted companion,"

You smiled, and leaned in, kissing him, and the spark was still there. He kissed back, cupping your face with his hands and pulling you onto his lap. His hands roamed your body and your breath hitched when he ran them up your thighs.

"Is this okay?" He asked, stopping, and looking up at you.

You nodded, and pressed your lips against his, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against him. He groaned and gripped your hips, guiding them to move with his.

You could feel his growing erection, and the friction against your core made you moan. You had missed this, and could hardly believe you had waited so long.

He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom, laying you down and crawling on top of you, his lips never leaving yours.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and his hands traveled up your shirt, caressing your skin and cupping your breast.

You felt a bit self-conscious, your body was different now, and he hadn't seen it. You didn't want him to be disappointed, but you knew he wouldn't judge you.

"Darling, are you alright?" He asked, pulling away, "we can stop,"

"No," you shook your head, and sat up, "it's just, I'm a little nervous,"

"About?" He asked, furrowing his brows.

"My body," you admitted, "it's different now, and I know it's stupid, but I'm worried,"

He gave you a knowing look, and pulled your dress up over your head. You body was different, your breasts fuller, your hips wider, stretch marks across your belly and thighs.

"These scars are nothing to be ashamed of," he began, kissing the stretch marks across your stomach, "they show your strength and the fact that you brought a beautiful and healthy baby into the world,"

"Elijah," you blushed, not used to hearing him speak so openly about your body.

"These breasts, they have nourished our son. These hips, they carried and protected him," he continued, his hands on your body, caressing every inch.

"I have no words for how beautiful you are," he concluded, his eyes full of lust, "may I continue?"

You nodded, and he pulled his shirt off, exposing his chiseled torso. You ran your hands over his shoulders, tracing his muscles, and down his chest.

He trailed his lips up to your breasts, gently kissing them and sucking your nipples. He was gentle and slow, and it felt incredible. They were extra sensitive from breastfeeding, and his touch sent a shock straight to your core.

He slowly removed your underwear, his eyes raking over your naked body. He kissed every inch of your skin, loving every part of you.

His lips traveled down your belly, and settled between your legs. His tongue moved expertly against your clit, and you gasped, grabbing the sheets.

He hummed contently, missing the taste of you, and wanting to please you. His hands held your thighs, and his tongue teased and swirled.

You moaned and arched your back, it had been so long and you were so close already. He knew just how to get you there, and it only took a few minutes for him to bring you over the edge.

He didn't stop, and continued, sucking and licking, bringing you to orgasm again and again. Your head was spinning, and you could hardly breath, but it felt amazing.

Finally he stopped, and kissed his way up your body, until his lips met yours.

"You deserve a reward for being such a perfect mother," he smiled, his voice full of pride.

You smiled, and kissed him again, running your hands down his chest and stopping at his waistband.

"Now I think it's your turn," you whispered, unbuttoning his pants.

He smiled and watched your face as you underdressed him. His cock sprung free, and you stroked it, running your hand up and down the shaft. Looking into his eyes as he kneeled over you, his eyes heavy and filled with lust.

"It's been so long, I missed your touch," he growled, his voice husky.

"I've missed this too," you replied, stroking him and running your thumb over the tip.

He kissed you slowly and deeply, moaning as your hands worked him. His tongue explored your mouth, and you felt him twitch and throb in your hands.

"Hold on," he said softly, moving away from you.

He got up and rummaged around his bag, coming back with a condom.

"I've never used one of these before," he said sheepishly, and it was the most adorable thing.

You laughed and sat up, taking the foil packet and opening it, rolling it over his cock and kissing him.

"Now, where were we?" You smirked, laying back down.

He crawled back on top of you, lining his cock up with your entrance. He was still gentle, but you were ready for him, and the two of you were eager.

He pushed in, and it felt like the first time, hot and tight. He took his time, pushing in a bit at a time and allowing you to adjust.

Once he was fully inside, he waited a moment, kissing you, and savoring the feeling of being joined with you.

You moved your hips, signaling him to move, and he complied, thrusting slowly and deeply.

The two of you rocked back and forth, the soft sound of skin against skin filling the air. He moved with the perfect rhythm, hitting the right spot with every thrust.

His mouth was on your neck, leaving love bites, and his hands were on your hips, gripping tightly.

"I love you," he groaned, his voice strained.

"I love you too," you moaned, feeling yourself getting close.

You never wanted this to end, a part of you longing for even more than what you already had. You looked into his eyes, feeling the way his body connected with yours so perfectly.

Your orgasm rushed over you, and you squeezed him so hard he pulled out for moment, his cock resting on your stomach. He looked down at you, your pupils blown with love and lust.

"Do you want to make a sibling for Henry?" You said softly, toying gently with the tip of the condom, searching his eyes for an answer.

"Is that something you want?" He asked, looking down at you with pure love.

"Yes," you nodded, "I want another baby, I want a whole family with you,"

He kissed you in response, then smiled down at you, his eyes shining with happiness.

"I will give you anything you want," he whispered.

You pulled the condom off slowly, both of you panting heavily. He looked down, watching as your hands wrapped around his bare cock, pumping up and down, spreading the precum over the head.

You lined him back up, and he pushed back in, his breath catching as he eased his way into your warm and wet heat.

You could feel him throbbing inside of you, his length twitching and swelling as he got closer. He moaned, and rested his forehead against yours, his eyes shut tight.

"I want you to cum inside me," you whispered, knowing he was close.

You could feel yourself getting close, and his breath was labored, his hips grinding against yours, your wetness coating him.

His hips snapped, and his hands gripped the sheets, and with one final thrust he came, filling you up and pushing you over the edge.

He kissed you as he came down, his cock still pulsing as he softened inside of you. He hummed happily, keeping you connected as he rolled you on your side.

You curled up against him, and kissed him, and he pressed his hand gently against your stomach, imagining a tiny being forming inside.

"I always wanted a family of my own," he said softly, nuzzling into you, "thank you for giving me that,"

You squeezed him tighter, understanding the weight of his words. He had given you everything, love, devotion, a family. It was everything you ever wanted. He had helped you become the happiest and the best version of yourself and you did the same for him.

The two of you laid there, cuddled up against each other, safe and content. Tomorrow would bring a new adventure, but right now everything was perfect.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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blublublujk · 4 months

Text

bound 2 (falling in love)

oneshot

word count: 6.5k

genre: fwb to lovers

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary:

You and Yoongi were okay with being friends with benefits... until you weren't.

warnings: i tried to focus on fluff (did you catch it or did i fail), explicit sexual content; unprotected sex (they make love to each other), choking and breath play (hello it's yoongi), multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, crying (is it really my ff if there's no crying involved), creampie, very cute aftercare and i think that’s all, this is more sweet than anything lol

a.n: believe it or not this wasn't apart of my drafts i wrote this all one night because i couldn't sleep so thank my insomnia for this, it was about time i write about yoongi :D

also i noticed a lot of you are reading it was destiny and love always wins and i wish you guys wouldn't only because i plan to rewrite some of it and continue them at a further time (chaptered ffs are so hard for me rn since i don't have all the time in the world to dedicate myself to them but i promise to be back with those two series) thank you for everyone who takes time to read what i write it really means so much and your comments have been so motivating. thank you so fucking much for 2k notes on good girl, gone bad i havent seen numbers like that ever im so so grateful, thank you from the bottom of my heart. i'll try to be back one or two more times this month and happy late birthday to me hehe <3

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

—-

It happened again.

Another failed date to add to the sad list of people that simply will never workout for you.

The list was growing longer as months passed. When you started this list, it was barely the start of a very hot summer. Probably the hottest it’s been in years, one can only assume the winter will not be any easier.

And you were right. Winter was only beginning and it was brutally cold. The streets were moist from the previous night of harsh rainfall.

What better time to date and settle down than now. When the world gives you rain, settle for the warm arms of a lover.

Unfortunately, you made a grave mistake thinking this would come easy. Ten first dates later and you are still very single and loverless.

It is not easy to go out during a time like now, suffering at the sight of happy couples and their stupid happy lives. Really, it should disgust you. It used to. The whole concept of devoting your entire life to someone. The need to constantly feel the tender touch of another person. The desire to fall in love and do it all over again, you get it now. At least, you think you do.

“I don’t think this is gonna work.” The words fall from your mouth in a quiet rush. The man across you sits in silence before he smiles in his loss.

“Don’t worry, I figured. It seems your mind was elsewhere. I know you don’t want to pursue anything romantically, and that’s fine with me, but is everything okay?”

Is everything okay? Well currently, yeah you’re okay. As for your heart, it’s heavy and strangely, you feel there’s a hole in your chest and it needs to be filled. That would fix things, you think. You have been single for so long that you forgot what it was like to love and cherish someone. Not that you have ever truly loved or cherished anyone, but you’ve gotten close. If a silly relationship you had in your sophomore year of high school counts. Then yes, you’ve totally been in love.

“I’m okay. Thanks for asking. I didn’t mean to lead you on, if it ever felt like I did.” The apology seems bitter in your mouth. Another failed fucking attempt. How difficult can dating be? Have you really been this disconnected with the world around you?

“Don’t stress it! Things happen. I hope you can find what you’re looking for. See you… around?” The man’s understanding response makes you feel worse. Maybe you should consider deleting Tinder and finding love naturally, if that’s still a thing in the contemporary life.

“Yeah, totally!” And like that you’re off to the next. Giving yourself plenty of time to bathe in your disappointment and miserably cry about your failed attempts at finding what you’ve been missing. Who knew dating could be so difficult?

The walk back home is just as cold as the outcome of today’s date. Your date insisted he could drive you home and if not that then pay for a cab, but you didn’t live too far from the restaurant you both met at. Though he insisted, you figured this walk could refresh you after yet another failure. You were starting to regret it as the cold wind started roughly hitting your skin. Preserving the chilly weather, you genuinely couldn’t wait to get home and wrap yourself in a bundle of warm blankets and comfortable clothes.

Cold hands struggle to open your door, you blow on them with warm puffs of breaths, soon making your way in and getting comfortable in your humble apartment.

yoon: you up?

And that, that is what made this harder. The fact that you knew there was someone completely capable of loving and caring for you the way you desired. You have seen it with your own eyes. Every time you ended up in his bed, in his arms, you felt it. Deep down you know something is there and that something beats everything else. Maybe you’re just delusional, but you look for him in everyone else and you hate it. Hate because you will never be anything more than his personal little whore that comes at the sound of his call.

me: yeah

Normally, you aren’t dry over texts, especially not with him so he’ll see right through you. You’re hoping for once, he can ignore it.

He won't.

yoon: you ok?

me: been better

yoon: wanna talk about it?

me: no, i'm ok

yoon: ok, wanna come over?

Yes, because during a time like this all you want is the comfort and warmth of someone else’s touch and Yoongi has never failed at giving that to you. But he is not yours.

And you are not his.

me: not feeling well. sorry.

yoon: sick?

A white lie never hurt anyone.

me: yeah, throat hurts

yoon: im sorry

me: it's not your fault maybe another time.

Though you really shouldn’t say that. There should be no next time. That way you don’t suffer any longer and drag him down with you, considering everything you’ve been feeling and dealing with lately. It’s not fair to Yoongi, but especially yourself.

He doesn’t reply anymore and you can’t even hide your disappointment. You aren’t disappointed at him, okay maybe a little bit at him, but mainly yourself and your recently found complicated feelings.

You and Yoongi started this whole mess a year ago, before you even realized what you truly wanted. It started off with subtle flirting here and there. They say not to mess with coworkers, given that it can complicate things at work and one should never play with their main source of income, but you did it anyway. You are still young and he only made you feel younger, like a teenage girl crushing over her forbidden crush at church. It was silly, but Yoongi made it easy.

The flirting turned to one thing, then another.

“We shouldn’t, not here.” Yoongi had you pinned outside the club you both worked at, leaving trails of wet kisses down your throat.

“Five more minutes.” His words were muffled into your skin as his hands explored your body. Yoongi’s touch was always way too soft for his own good and you fell victim to his deadly warmth.

“If Mr. Kim finds out, he’ll kill us and fire us both.” That was a bit dramatic on your part and you swore you felt the taller smiling against your neck.

Yoongi drops one last kiss on your cheek as his hot breath hits your ear. “Not if I kill him first.”

You gasped, pushing him off you with a quick smack to his chest. “D-Don’t even joke like that.”

Yoongi just laughed.

“Okay, okay baby.” The term of endearment fell from his lips too easily and you melted into the dark night. “See you after work?”

You only nodded, not being able to deny his temporary warmth and sweet presence. Then he dropped a kiss on your lips, leaving you just as quick as when he first found you. You were fucked.

From there, it only got worse for your sake. Your heart could only take so much.

Really, you should blame things on him. It was his fault you fell in love with him and his stupidly soft hands. It was all his fault! He left you no choice but to love the feel of his lips against your skin, to easily melt under his soft gaze, and find comfort in his unnecessarily warm bed. Yoongi was perfect. Everything you could ever want.

That’s why it was so fucking hard. Dating was hard enough, but after feeling Yoongi’s intimate touch, you were a complete goner. Though he was far from it, Yoongi touched you like you were his and he would fuck you like a lover would. Kissing and making love to you as if you were the most beautiful woman on Earth. It was all too much.

Fuck, you really needed to get a grip.

The knock on your door makes you jump from your couch.

Ten minutes longer and you would have fallen asleep exactly where you were lying. In outside clothes and all. You didn’t even bother taking off the outfit you had carefully planned thinking that this lucky outfit would have finally taken you somewhere. It didn’t.

“Coming!” There’s not a single person that should be outside your door, especially at this hour. Your feet make their way to the door regardless and the blood from your face drains when you see the person standing behind the door.

Quickly, you unlock your front door, rushing the taller inside. “Hurry! It’s freezing! What are you doing out here?”

Yoongi’s cheeks are surely frozen, a pink dust decorates his cheeks and the tip of his nose. It almost makes him look cute. You were far more gone than you imagined.

He hustles inside, carrying a fairly large brown bag with him. He brought… groceries?

“Took you long enough.” The taller one makes himself at home, laying his bag on your coffee table.

“What are you even doing here?” You ask again.

He ignores you. “Thought you said you were sick. You don’t look very sick?”

Yoongi looks at you with a questioning look, his eyes wander your outfit and guilt starts eating your insides.

You cross your arms, an attempt to hide yourself in shame, but what’s done is done. “I- I had plans.”

“Yeah, I see that.” He simply says, standing awkwardly in your living area.

If this doesn’t convince you to delete that forsaken app for the sake of your dignity and shameful behavior, you don’t know what will.

“Anyways, w-what brings you here?”

“Brought you some stuff.” His hand waves over to the bag he carried inside.

“Stuff?” You question, a bit dumbfounded, planted still in your place.

“Tea, cough drops, some soup I made earlier this week. Oh and flowers.” Yoongi doesn’t seem at all embarrassed or fazed about the situation. Not that he should be, but he speaks with a puff to his chest, as if he wanted to ensure you understood his every word and action. Like any concerned lover would be. As if he was yours and you were his.

Oh.

This was so so bad. For you and your weak heart. Fuck.

“I-“

He cuts you off before you even get to speak. “I don’t know if you’ll like it. It’s just some plain seaweed soup. Usually helps me when I’m sick. I’m not sure what flowers you like, or if you even like flowers. Do you? Their tulips. I did a bit of research before. My mom likes tulips. I figured you might like them too.”

He did research? Double fuck!

Yoongi was nervously rambling, now he was slightly embarrassed. Pink flushes his cheeks and it wasn’t the weather’s doing this time.

“Yoongi…” You start breathlessly and in disbelief.

“What?” He nearly stutters, his hand is shaking. He’s nervous. Who would have thought?

“Why.” Is all you manage to ask.

“You were sick.” Is all he replies. As if things were really that simple. What next? Would he come rushing to the hospital if you suddenly fell ill? God forbid, but it was a valid question.

What was going on? For a second, you entertain the idea. Maybe he fell in love between the blurry lines of this complicated relationship. Were the shared intimate memories too special for him to forget too? You weren’t sure anymore, but what did this all mean? Maybe he loves you, as much as you love him.

Thoughts keep spinning and you wish there was an easier way to turn off your brain. Not now.

“I know, but why? Why all this? Why for me?” Your vulnerability is showing and it makes you feel weak. Maybe your hands are shaking too.

“I don't understand?” Yoongi searches for the answer in your glossy eyes, he’s tempted to reach out and comfort you. Have you in his hands, but he’s too coward. He doesn’t want you to feel the shiver of his touch right now. His vulnerability peaks through as well.

Why not you? It’s always going to be you.

“I-I’m nothing to you.” There’s a shiver again and then you break.

Yoongi doesn’t care anymore. He’ll consider the consequences later. Right now, none of it matters.

His hands hold your face, ready to wipe the tears that threaten to leak from your precious eyes. He hopes his hands aren't cold anymore from standing outside for so damn long, but he couldn’t stop himself, in his selfishness and all.

His hands shake slightly, trying to stay strong as he lays it all on the table. “Y/N, you’re everything to me.” He whispers, eyes never leaving yours.

You lay your own hands on his, you feel so delicate around him when you wrap warm hands around his cold wrists.

“I-I am?” You ask between sniffles. His hands are still pretty cold, but they’ll soon warm up against your soft skin. Nobody knows how desperately you need to be touched until you are and then it’s like little fireworks spark inside your body. It consumes you in the best way possible.

“Of course. I thought I made that obvious.” His eyes are soft, different to how he typically looks at you, but you’ve seen these same eyes before. They are no stranger. It’s similar to the look he gives you when you catch him staring at you while you are deep in work. He pretends to look away as if he wasn’t admiring you from afar and you pretend that you don’t notice his curious eyes. It’s the same look he has after you both end up in heated makeout sessions, behind the rusty club you both work at. And it’s definitely the same look he has while he settles on top of you, whispering sweet words of praise and promise.

Nothing should feel different but it just does, there’s something in the way he looks down at you that lets you know that everything you’ve been searching for has always been right here. Right where you’ve been all along.

The taller leans in and you freeze struggling to keep your eyes on his. Yoongi’s thumb brushes against your cheek with a soft touch. You were fragile between his hands and he’s willing to do anything to keep his precious flower safe. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.” You whisper back in a hurry, scared that this would be nothing but a dream. It wasn’t time for you to wake up yet.

His eyes zero-in on your lips and then he’s kissing you. It’s not much different from other times. After all, you guys have shared plenty of kisses, probably more than you should have considering you guys were friends with benefits, at most. But this time, the kiss isn’t just a careless lust-filled doing, no this time the kiss is a promise. The promise to never again allow you to question his feelings and intentions towards you.

If Yoongi has to spend his whole life making this up to you, he simply would because that’s how much you meant to him. He can’t believe he even let this go on for this long. He should have been more clear and careful, but he doesn’t regret a damn thing. Not when he has all the time in the world to repair the time lost. And especially not when his reckless actions led him to this. To you.

Yoongi’s lips are soft and bend with yours with ease. He takes his time, never in a rush. Especially not when he has you in-hand.

The taller doesn’t escalate the kiss. He keeps it sweet and gentle, like he always has been. “I’m so sorry baby.”

Kiss.

“For?”

Kiss.

Yoongi has the whole world in his hands right now as he looks down into the sparkles in your eyes and he’s never been so sure about anything in his life. “For being a fucking idiot.”

Kiss.

“It’s okay.” A kiss is shared again. “I was an idiot too. I was just scared that you wouldn’t want that with me.”

“Want what?” The taller questions, fingers trailing your face, admiring the imperfections and all.

“A relationship, I mean. You seemed content with how our relationship already was. I was afraid of losing that. Of losing you.” You admit, eyes fluttering at his touch.

“Of course, I want that. I want that and more. I-I’m not the best with relationships. I’m only saying this because I want to be open and honest with you. There’s not a second you aren’t on my mind. While at work, you are all I can see. In a crowd of a hundred, my eyes always find yours. I don’t know how to explain what you do to me. But I don’t mind. I think if I ever lost that, I would lose my mind. So I’m sorry if I ever made you feel the opposite. There’s so much more I want to say, but I just don’t know how. I want that. I want that so bad. A relationship and whatever more you give me. I might not be the best boyfriend but I’ll do whatever it takes. I- I love you.” Yoongi’s words are heartfelt and he’s so relieved. One because he’s been keeping this in for so long, any longer and he would have exploded, but second because he’s been dying to say those three words. He really does love you and Yoongi doesn’t love many people in life, but if he had to choose, it’s always gonna be you.

The tears that were creeping on your eye-lids fall prettily down your face, but Yoongi comes to your rescue. He’s quick to wipe them off your pretty face, tempted to kiss them away, but he keeps that in for now. “Y-Yoongi… I love you too. So much. I think I always have. You are so easy to love. The way you look at me, care for me, and always show up for me. That says more about you than anything else. I tried dating to get over what I felt for you, as you can probably tell, but nothing worked. It was so easy, Yoongi. So easy to fall in love with you. You’re perfect and I don’t doubt that you’ll be the best even after all this. I love you.”

“I love you too, I love you. Fuck, I love you.” Yoongi kisses you again and this time he isn’t as gentle. His lips are still soft as ever as they curl around yours. His tongue comes out and you immediately allow access, letting him explore your mouth. The taste is much better now that there isn’t anything you both are holding back. Everything down on the line and you couldn’t be happier. The hole in your heart was never empty, it was just waiting for this exact moment to remind you that you’ve always had it all.

“Yoongi.” In between breaths you call his name and Yoongi feels his knees lock. “Take me to bed.”

Yoongi just nods in a trance with the way your tone drips of arousal. A long strand of hair falls on his face when he picks you up with ease off your feet. He takes you to the place he’s had the honor to visit a hundred times before, but it’s different this time, much different.

In the process of it all, something falls and it causes you both to laugh until you run out of breath.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You laugh into his ear. “You owe me a new lamp. My mother bought me that, you know. House-warming gift.”

“Fuck, sorry.” Yoongi mumbles near a whisper as he grips you harder like he’s afraid he might drop you next and the idea makes you giggle because you know he would never purposely hurt you. “I’ll apologize to your mother directly. Buy you and her a new lamp, whatever it takes.”

“What makes you think you are meeting my mother?” You tease with a smile on your face, watching the blush rise on his cheeks.

“Well, I figured we could, you know, if you would like–” Yoongi doesn’t often get shy about many things but he can’t keep calm around you and that kills him softly.

“I’m just teasing you.” You say and he bites his lip. “Of course you’ll meet my mother and my father and my nosy ass family. I hope you like annoying, persistent grandma’s that stuff you full. My grandma’s the worst of her kind, but she’ll love you.”

“I would love to.” Yoongi simply replies, still whispering as if you guys had to keep quiet or else you’d be in deep trouble.

“Why are we still whispering?” You whisper back, roaming fingers through his long, gorgeous hair. He needs to remind you to thank his mother personally for insisting he keep his hair long because it made him look pretty and you could never disagree. Yoongi’s so pretty.

“I-I don’t know.”

You both smile at each other before sharing another kiss. It’s so sweet and if you weren’t already off your feet, you would be floating by now. He’s gentle when letting you drop into the sheets below, he finds space between your legs and you wrap them around his hips. Lips still in contact, never losing the plushy feel.

Everything starts to feel hot. Your hips start to slowly grind against his begging for any sort of friction. But the kissing doesn’t stop.

Not when you start whining against his lips.

Not even when Yoongi starts trailing his fingers down your waist and around your curves. He teases his fingertips against your waistline, soft to the touch.

It’s not until you mewl loudly into his mouth, skillful tongue playing with yours, as you feel him start unbuckling your pants, button-by-button.

Yoongi’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his gaze burning fire. “Gonna take care of you now, is that okay?”

You furiously nod, coming up to kiss him once more, both your lips are raw and sensitive, but it gives you more of a reason to fix it with even more kisses.

He drops one quick kiss onto your mouth before he trails down your jaw. Yoongi breathes in the sweet scent on your skin, wishing he could feel you even closer. “Smell so damn good.”

His voice is raspy against your ear and it makes you blush, while you feel his hand finally touch you where you had been aching with need. “Wanna hear you.”

Breathing lightly, you whisper. “Make me.”

And of course, Yoongi makes you regret how fast you said the words because he delves his fingers forward with little resistance. Two fingers stretch you at the same time, gasping at the sudden sensation.

By now, you were molded to fit Yoongi’s fingers. On days where you were really in need, you would take four, all at once. Yoongi was best at reading every expression, every crease and scrunch to your face, especially emotions. He knew exactly how to curve his fingers, the way to build you up, and bring you back down. Yoongi knew it all and he was so lucky too.

He never anticipated it would have gone this far. It was just sex to begin with. But who were you both kidding, it was always much, much more.

Yoongi curves his fingers in the way he’s used to and watches your mouth drop, sweet noises soon leaving your lips. “Feels good?”

There’s no need to ask because he can tell. Your expression tells him everything he needs to know. That and the fact that you are dripping around his fingers but it’s sexier hearing it from you.

“Yeah… f-feels so good.” With his other hand he tugs your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. Remembering the first few times is a bit embarrassing, but Yoongi always made sure to take his time and make you feel comfortable. It was special and memorable in its own way, and Yoongi felt it too.

This is unlike any first time, but it was technically the first time you could officially make love to each other until you fall lovesick and that had to be impossible around someone like Yoongi.

“Hold your legs open for me, flower.” You try to ignore the warm feeling that buzzes in your chest, but you are sure your face says it all. Without another word, you spread your legs open, tucking both hands behind your thighs.

“Flower?” You breathe out with a bit of a struggle as his two fingers continue to pump deep inside you, brushing repeatedly against your g-spot.

“Do you not like it?” Yoongi smiles slightly, biting his bottom lip while he watches you start to tremble, making the prettiest sounds.

“I do. Why the new name?” Voice a bit unsteady but it does the job. Yoongi thinks of all the times he thought you were as pretty as a flower, which really was all the time. Especially, in the way he has you right now. Pretty, pretty as a flower.

“I’ve always wanted to call you that. You’re pretty, sweet, delicate. Just like a flower.” He justifies his reasoning and you melt into puddles.

“Yoongi.” Voice sweet as honey.

“Yes baby.” He replies with ease.

“Make love to me, Yoongi.”

There was a time in his life where Yoongi believed he could live without love. How foolish of him to think so. When he met you, it was a complete three-sixty. Suddenly, Yoongi started to look forward to his shit job. He looked forward to that time between breaks where he could admire you from the back like a pinning loser. Yoongi even started to like the walks he had to take to get to work because he knew that the path would eventually lead to you. He started looking forward to tomorrow's and to the bright future that led ahead. His mom would often complain that he was wasting his life away waiting for it to start, but Yoongi thinks life truly started the day he met you.

It was a bit awkward because you couldn’t even look him in the eyes, intimated by the staff and new environment. You had previously worked in different bars so you assumed it would be no different and it wasn’t, but the intimidation of a new job was there nonetheless. Yoongi was there every step of the way. He had a crush on the new employee and you needed help on fitting in. Either way, your friendship was very platonic until it wasn’t.

Yoongi knows he should have said something along the lines “hey, maybe we shouldn't be doing this anymore. I’m in love with you and I have been since you started working here” but the stupid words never made it out. He felt it would be too much to hear and it would only make him look like a complete loser.

And you felt the same. It was silly really, because everyone around you knew it and there was no reason to fear someone as easy going and non-judgemental as Yoongi, nonetheless it brought you both here. After many failed dating attempts, you were finally happy and in the arms of someone who you truly love and want to be loved by.

There was a time in his life where Yoongi believed he could live without love, now Yoongi believes your precious, sweet love brought him back to life and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Clothes now discarded on the floor, heavy breathing filling the room, and Yoongi could get wasted on the smell of your intoxicating perfume. “Breathe flower.”

Yoongi felt you shiver at the sound of his words, throwing your head back as he thrusts you full of cock. He pushes inside you with gentle movements, struggling to keep himself up while feeling the tug of your warm velvet-like walls.

You gasp feeling him hit your cervix in a calm, slow pace. It was breathtaking regardless of the gentle rhythm. “You’re so deep...”

“I know flower, breathe baby, breathe.” He is struggling to keep from coming inside you, overwhelmed by his own emotions as your eyes roll back, feeling the pressure rise in your belly. Without a condom, everything feels so different from other times, feeling every ridge and crease fold inside your drenching heat. You take him so nicely, like you always have. Like you’ve always belonged to him.

You don’t even notice you stopped breathing until you start feeling lightheaded and desperate for fresh air. Breathing just as much as necessary so you don’t faint, you shake your head against his hold, his eyes watch yours, observing with curiosity.

“No?”

“Mm, n-no.” You shake your head again, whimpering when you feel him kiss your cervix with his swollen tip, over and over and over. “Can– can you…”

“Can I what, pretty flower?” Yoongi rolls his hips a bit faster, feeling his orgasm build too quickly. He wishes he could have days with you like this always. Days to love and worship you from head to toe.

“Choke me.” You manage to say. “Don— don’t wanna breathe.”

Yoongi growls deep, increasing his speed even more, desperate to fill the deepest part of your glistening folds. He feels you tense underneath, the sounds coming from your mouth are loud enough for your neighbors to hear, but Yoongi stopped giving a fuck about everything around him.

He places a hand on your throat and squeezes gently, not blocking off your airways completely, but leaving you just enough air to work with. It drives you insane. The more you breathe, his rough thrusts take the air out from your lungs and the process repeats. It feels so good.

“M-more. Harder.” You barely hear your own words, but Yoongi seems to understand because his dick is moving rapidly inside you, nearly splitting you in two. You wrap both hands around his wrist, loving the heavy weight against your chest. It’ll end too soon and it disappoints you in a way, but you have all the time in the world to make this up. “G-Gonna come.”

Yoongi nods, concentrating on the way your face scrunches with pleasure. With love. The way your eyes tell him a story. God, Yoongi’s madly in love. “Come, my precious flower.”

With those final words, you come on his bare slick cock, blossoming in the blissful afterglow. Yoongi doesn’t stop thrusting inside you, but he takes his hand off your throat, kissing your face gently when he sees tears start leaking down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, you’re okay baby. Breathe for me. Slowly.” Yoongi’s words bring you back down and you throw your arms around him, crying against his shoulder. You don’t even know what invoked this strong emotion to sob your eyes out, but Yoongi allows it, caressing the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t judge, he only holds you until you settle down. “It’s okay baby, let it out. Breathe, pretty flower.”

“C-Come inside muh-me, please.” Even after all that, you still beg for him and Yoongi wants to laugh but for your sake and the fact that it’s endearing to him, he delivers accordingly without further questions.

Right as he’s going to paint your walls white, he pushes himself up with one hand, still holding you with the other. “You sure?”

You’re confused about the sudden question, the tears still decorate your face but then you understand. “Birth control. Just come in me Yoongi, fuck me, fu-fuck.”

Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to regain his brutal pace, fucking you with purpose. Not that he doesn’t want kids in the near future, but he sure as hell doesn’t want any right now. He’s glad you are on the same page but maybe one day the conversation would spark and he wouldn’t want the mother of his kids to be anyone else but you. You were perfect for him.

“Gonna come.” That’s the only warning you get, then he’s emptying himself inside your tight walls. He doesn’t stop rolling his hips, his slit leaking puddles, until he’s pumped himself dry. With one last thrust, he groans and carefully pulls out.

He brings you with him, head falling against his chest as he continues to play with your hair, leaving kisses into your bare shoulders. “You okay baby?”

“Perfect. Feel so good.” You mumble into his skin, feeling around his waist. “I’m leaking your come into the sheets though.”

“I’ll take care of it, pretty flower.” You nod sleepily into his chest with a quiet ‘thank you’, feeling completely sated and satisfied, aching with exhaustion. “Sleep baby, I got you.”

With that, you fall deep into the shackles of sleep. Yoongi rubs your back until you completely fall asleep in his arms. He struggles to unwrap himself from your hold, but when he finally succeeds, he tucks you in and kisses your cheek a few times before getting up to clean up after the mess you both created.

He’s light on his feet, bringing a warm towel to your slick folds and wipes as best he can, being gentle so you could continue to enjoy your sleep. Even like this, you look so beautiful and Yoongi is an extremely lucky man.

Yoongi makes sure to also pick up the lamp he dropped from earlier as well. He blows out a breath of relief when he notices that the damage is nothing big and nothing that can’t be fixed. He’ll make sure to fix that as soon as he can.

While he’s out there, Yoongi places the tulips into a vase and fills it with water, placing it near a window where it could grow and blossom beautifully near the sunlight. He even cuts the tips into slants because he had heard somewhere online they last longer that way, making sure to get rid of any dead leaves and petals. Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

After he’s done with the light cleaning, he washes his hands and feels the exhaustion hit him tenfold. He’s careful when placing himself back in bed, lifting your arm and placing himself underneath you. The man smiles when he feels you curl yourself around him, sleeping soundlessly.

“I love you.” He whispers and even though you don’t say it back Yoongi feels it with the way you melt into his arms. Yoongi falls asleep easily that night.

…

“Baby.” Yoongi hears someone call him and he ignores it. Sleep calls his name louder and he doesn’t feel like waking up right now so he groans and cuddles deeper into the bedsheets below him, unaware of the life around him.

“Baby wake up.” You keep calling sweetly and it’s tempting but he persists.

“No. Don’t wanna.” Yoongi grumbles like an old man and you can’t help but to laugh. “Just ten more minutes.”

When you woke up the next morning, you were so thankful Yoongi had kept his promise. Your apartment was flawless and you were as clean as you could be. The tulips looked prettier today as the sun shined on the delicate petals. You even had time to warm the seaweed soup he brought from home and you couldn’t wait to get a taste. The smell alone is delicious and it warmed your home up nicely, you truly couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that this was no longer a dream but your reality. You could definitely get used to this.

You drop kisses onto his warm cheeks until his eyes flutter open, almost similar to a cat. “There you are.”

Yoongi pulls you into his arms again with quiet noncoherent grumbles and closes his eyes once more. “Give me ten minutes.”

“It’s already been ten.” You whisper lightly laughing.

“Oh. Ten more then.” You get comfortable on his chest and cuddle for a bit longer because you can’t say no to his cute sleepy self.

Yoongi starts to sniff the air with curiosity. “Is that the seaweed soup I brought you?”

“Mhm.” You hum. “Better get up soon before it burns.”

That manages to be convincing enough and Yoongi forces himself up, with you in his embrace.

“Wanna wake up like that forever.” He says, voice filled with sleep.

“You can.”

Yoongi snaps his heavy eyes towards you. “Are you–”

“Move in with me, Yoongi.” Yes, you skipped every step to this, but nothing was ever to code between you and Yoongi. One thing you were so sure of and that was spending the rest of your life with him. “Please.”

“I- yes, of course.” Yoongi wraps his arms around you for a tight hug, kissing your temple. “I love you. I love you and I’ll prove it to you every single day.”

“I know, I love you too. I love you.” Those three words come out from your mouths so easily and it’s nice that you no longer have to ever hold back. The man of your dreams is in the palms of your humble home and he’s in love with you. This was better than any dream.

“Let’s eat?” He says after some time of hugging and kisses being interchanged.

You nod, letting him take you there. Your kitchen is filled with the cruel aroma of food and your tummy rumbles as you sit comfortably while you wait for him to serve you a bowl of the warm tasty soup.

“I should be doing that. I’m a terrible host.” Yoongi shakes his head while smiling, the fluff of hair moving with him, then your phone dings. “Hold on, give me a second.”

Your heart drops when you see it is a Tinder notification from a man you promised to get back to. You look over to find Yoongi serving your bowl, making his way to the table. He leans in puckering slightly and you immediately lean into the sweet sudden kiss while he places your meal in front of you. This Yoongi is new because it wasn’t often you could act domestically towards one another, however this was perfect and just what you needed.

“Everything okay baby?” Yoongi asks while caressing your soft cheek and you immediately nod in his palm.

“Yes, everything’s perfect.” You reply in awe. “Thank you Yoongi, for everything.”

For letting me love you and for loving me back.

The older man just smiles and joins you for the meal.

It turns out you didn’t need Tinder after all.

You quickly delete the app off your phone and start to eat with the love of your life, conversation flows while you enjoy each other’s presence and fall deeper in love.

Alike Yoongi, you couldn’t imagine it happening any other way. You were bound to fall in love, one way or another, but that man was meant to be yours as you were meant to be his.

#yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts fluff #bts x y/n #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts smut

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iaure · 1 year

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𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁; 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟthe dearest collection - part one/beloved 𓆩♡𓆪 part two/prized 𓆩♡𓆪 part three/devoted 𓆩♡𓆪 part four/desperate 𓆩♡𓆪 part five/blind 𓆩♡𓆪 part six/watcher 𓆩♡𓆪 part seven/ardor 𓆩♡𓆪 part eight/fervor this is very heavily inspired by @//clusterfuck-yandere's yandere leon headcanons; please check out their works. this is something of a love letter to their puppy obsession series.

yandere leon s. kennedy headcanons; reader is a survivor of raccoon city. tw: general yandere/obsessive behaviour, ptsd, survivor's guilt, cyberstalking, mentions of suicide (though not the actual act of it)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i intend for this to be multiple parts, as it's already become quite long before there was any real yandere behaviour. updating may be scattered due to work.

you met him in the aftermath.

♡ there was an online support group for survivors, and after you barely escaped with your life, you needed all the help you could get.

♡ most of the members were nice enough. there was a lot of comforting, a lot of 'it's not your fault' and a lot of just trying to cheer each other up.

♡ there was one member in particular that always, always responded to your posts and comments.

♡ the user didn't have an account; you always simply chalked it up to them being technologically illiterate, or maybe they were simply forgetful.

♡ perhaps that was a bit naïve; if they could always remember your posts, who were they to forget having an account?

♡ but that didn't matter. they always signed off the same way-with a single initial, K.

♡ maybe it was a bit sappy. but having someone in your corner felt nice, after everything.

♡ ultimately, they were harmless and sweet, so having them around in your little slice of the internet was fine. ♡ they always worked double-time to cheer you up.

maybe K was a bit jealous. ♡ when you would speak with other group members, K would like your responses.

♡ sometimes, though, they'd pitch in; ignoring the other user entirely and simply talking with you as though you were the one who started the conversation.

♡ you tried to ignore it. other members on the forum didn't say anything, so you assumed it wasn't too strange.

but then they started to become more intimate. ♡ they would bring up small things that felt too strange to be a coincidence.

♡ they'd recommend you relax by watching that show you just started, or snacking on some of your favourite food, or taking a nap because it 'seemed' you were working to hard.

♡ they were personal enough to make your stomach churn, but it was not enough that you weren't able to reason it away.

♡ they were still so sugary sweet as well, and despite the unnerving nature of their kindness, the support meant everything.

♡ in a forum where everyone is upset and needing help at once, having someone that focused on you was nice.

♡ because at the end of the day, when you went into your bed, there always felt like something was wrong.

♡ the room was too small. you thought of what you did in the city, what you didn't, who you didn't save and who you damned.

♡ the sheets were too warm. your window had a shadow over it. the closet, was it cracked open? did something move around when you weren't looking?

♡ part of you knew in your heart of hearts that it was simply Raccoon City scaring you like a ghost. because if it wasn't, then what was haunting you?

you needed to get out. so, you got a job.

♡ at first, it was hell on earth. just leaving your home was hard enough; but going outside for upwards of eight hours was horrifying.

♡ your manager and coworker, however, were kind. they knew what you had gone through, and didn't rush you. the regulars were sweet, giving short words of encouragement.

♡ maybe this wasn't so bad.

♡ courtesy of the little bakery you worked at now, you were fed. you were getting paid. you began getting more sunshine, cleaning up more, feeling more accomplished.

♡ you started to stop posting.

♡ you had other things to focus on, now. you were considering getting a pet; so you had to save up money.

♡ but after a week and a half of not going on the forum at all, you decide to make an update.

K had made an account.

♡ oh, they had made one; they had made it to send hundreds upon hundreds of pleas into your messages.

♡ 'please, you mean so much', they begged. 'talk to me!', they wept.

♡ maybe they assumed you had offed yourself. it was possible.

♡ you took a second to look through all of them, feeling warm at first. K was sweet and kind and so soft, apparently.

♡ but with every message, they seemed to take one inch closer to strange, to creepy, to outright alarming.

♡ "please don't do anything rash!"

♡ "you don't know how much you mean to me!"

♡ "i know it's hard, but hang on for me!"

♡ "i need to know you're okay!"

♡ "whatever it is, i can help, please just let me in"

♡ "is it that job? it's the job, right? they're working you to death"

♡ "please just respond!"

♡ the horror seemed to grow with every message, up until one from just an hour or two ago;

"i just love you too much, i think" ♡ something isn't right.

♡ ...

♡ maybe it's time that you blocked K.

♡ you blocked their account, knowing it probably wouldn't do much. if they knew about your job, then what else did they know about?

♡ but you didn't hear much after that. there was a day or two where you were scared to even go to work, but that's alright.

you have a new regular.

♡ he's very sweet, almost achingly so; whenever he came into the bakery, he seemed equal parts nervous and bashful. he always tipped exceedingly well, and his order usually was some sort of new health option the owner was trying out.

♡ he wasn't just nice, though; he was pretty as well. he had a cute chin and his hair seemed always soft, and he spoke offhand about how he liked to work out because of his job.

♡ He was always happy to talk, but knew to leave if there was a line and didn't stay any longer than he was wanted.

♡ you didn't even know his name for a good month; but he often took liberty dropping yours.

♡ when you asked how he knew, he had a bright flush on his face before admitting that he had asked your coworker.

♡ how sweet!

♡ you found his name was Leon S. Kennedy, who was self-dubbed as "rookie cop extraordinaire".

♡ he began to clearly go out of his way to come into the bakery, sometimes coming in after clear workouts with a gym bag over his shoulder and a tank top on. was visiting a bakery after a workout counterintuitive?

♡ absolutely.

♡ but you don't mind. it's nice, seeing a cute face coming into work. and it always feels like he's doing it just for you. quite the special creature you are!

♡ he held a constant enthusiasm to talk to you, and it's enough to make your heart ache.

♡ the kicker comes when, offhand, he mentions Raccoon City; how he had gone to the police department for his first day and ended up saving a woman and a young girl from the apocalypse.

♡ instantly, your heartstrings are pulled because oh god. someone who understands. someone who did more than you could, has done more.

♡ you finally begin to get closer to him of your own accord. once or twice, you've even hinted at being single.

♡ each time you did, Leon would freeze; big blue eyes staring right at you with a pink flush that would anyone crumble. he even shook a little, like a small dog, and each time you'd have to laugh.

♡ it snaps him back to reality, and the conversation carries on.

but things are quiet on the eastern front.

♡ you haven't heard much from K since you blocked them. it's only natural, considering the steps taking. but sometimes, you wonder if K is still watching, what K really knew.

♡ maybe they were just an excellent guesser.

♡ but they've since gone silent. account or no, they're not saying anything anymore, and there's some semblance of peace.

♡ but you're still uneasy. something is still wrong.

♡ ...

♡ was your bed always this warm when you wake up?

#yandere leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere resident evil #yandere x reader #yandere resident evil x reader #˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ palabras muertas #divagaciones (per)

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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cleolinda · 7 months

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The Scariest Movie I Ever Saw in a Theater: The Ring

I'll tell you up front that the story I'm going to tell you is about "The Ring (2002)," in the sense that it is about The Ring in the year 2002.

See, I don't know what The Scariest Movie Ever is. A quick google says that the consensus is The Exorcist (I haven't seen it, because I never felt like scheduling a day to freak myself the entire fuck out). But horror is specific, and not just to a person, but to a time and place, even. When I saw The Shining as a teenager in a well-lit living room with other people, I didn't even really flinch, but I bet it would play very differently to me now. I don’t think The Ring is at the top of anyone’s list, but twenty years ago, I had a personal interest in it—at the time, I was running a dinky little Geocities site devoted to movie news. Links curated and compiled from all the other, bigger sites I followed—basically, it was the linkspam format I have used on multiple platforms, including here on Sundays. And so, as someone who followed theatrical releases pretty closely for two or three years, I saw the trailer for The Ring, and I immediately knew it was going to be huge.

To locate you in time, this was just after three self-satirizing Scream movies and the Overcomplicated Serial Killer films of the '90s. The Ring was something completely different: chill aqua-blue color grading a good 5-6 years before Twilight; a mournful Hans Zimmer score; no jokes, no quips; and a slow, inexorable sense of doom. Grief, even, given that the movie begins with the death of the main character's niece. What immediately struck me about the first trailer was 1) the melancholy of it, and 2) how much it doesn't explain. Onscreen, you get the title cards,

THERE IS A VIDEOTAPE IF YOU WATCH IT SEVEN DAYS LATER YOU DIE

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Concise! Understandable! A woman (Naomi Watts) is freaking out upon discovering that her young son has just watched it! Admirable job setting up the premise and the stakes of this entire movie in thirty seconds flat, without even any dialogue. That's all you need to know, and thus, the remaining minute of the trailer can do whatever it wants, and what it wants to do is be fucking weird. Echoing voices, TV static, a closeup of a horse's eye, ladders, a girl with dark hair, people reacting to things we don't see, drippy doorknobs, rain. Characters don't give us the whole plot in convenient soundbites of dialogue (like they do in a later trailer); we just hear lines, overlapping, murmured out of context—

did you see it in your head? she talks to you... leading you somewhere... showing you the horses... you saw it. did you see it in your head? she shows me things. Everyone suffers.

That you saw it has lived in my head ever since, and not once have I charged it rent. But the "best" part is Naomi Watts screaming at the end, because you don't hear her voice; you only hear this heartless telephonic beeeeeeep. It's 2002 and I'm watching this trailer, thinking, I have no idea what the fuck I just saw. This is going to be huge.

And it was, to the tune of $249 million on a $48M budget.

At risk of recapping what you might already know, Ringu, aka Ring, is a media franchise that spiraled out from a trio of Koji Suzuki novels into Hideo Nakata's film Ringu (1998), a landmark of Japanese horror, plus several other movies, some TV series, many comics, and even a couple of video games. The overarching story is about a murdered girl/vengeful ghost named Sadako Yamamura whose rage and pain have created a cursed video tape, you watch it and you die unless you pass the tape around like a virus, seven daaaaays, etc.

The "ring" in question is the rim of a well. Keep that well in mind.

The movie I saw is the U.S. remake, which itself had two sequels. (The iconic Sadako is now named Samara Morgan. Keep her in mind, too.) Director Gore Verbinski moved from The Ring to Pirates of the the Caribbean (!), and so Hideo Nakata himself would direct The Ring Two. I... honestly have only seen the first one. And I was right, it was huge, and it kicked off the American J-Horror Remake genre, for better or worse. But what gets forgotten about The Ring is its marketing campaign, which I followed pretty closely for my doofy little news site.

It was inspired.

The story of The Ring is partly the story of the sea change in the media landscape—how we watch movies. And the story of its marketing is a picture of the very last years before social media changed the wilderness of the internet into something that feels so big, like a billion people could see anything we say, and yet so small—only a tame handful of places to say it, owned by three or four companies, and corraled by algorithms.

Back around 1997-1998 or so, I worked at a video store (Movie Gallery, where the hits were there then, guaranteed) for about a year and a half. By the time I left, we had started adding DVDs to the VHS tapes on the shelves, but we hadn't replaced the entire stock. Video stores might have transitioned fully to DVD by 2002, I'm not sure, but people still commonly had both VCRs and DVD players in their homes. And I remember that The Ring was sold in both formats when it eventually hit home video. Which is to say—you know the analog horror genre today? Marble Hornets, Local 58, The Mandela Catalogue?

Analog horror is commonly characterized by low-fidelity graphics, cryptic messages, and visual styles reminiscent of late 20th-century television and analog recordings. This is done to match the setting, as analog horror works are typically set between the 1960s and 1990s. The name "analog horror" comes from the genre's aesthetic incorporation of elements related to analog electronics, such as analog television and VHS, the latter being an analog method of recording video.

Okay, but this is just what home media was like, and 2002 was at the very tail end of that—boxy black VHS tapes that degraded with time and reuse were just how we lived. At the same time, I'd been using CDs for music since about 1991, and all our software installs came on CD-ROM discs; a "mixtape" by that time had shifted to mean a rewriteable CD rather than a cassette tape. In college, I—well, I'll plead the Fifth as to whether I downloaded mp3s via Napster, but I was also taping Mystery Science Theater 3000 on VHS over the weekends. It was Every Format Everywhere, All At Once, and we kept half a dozen kinds of players around for them. Here in 2023, we stream and download everything invisibly, unless we choose to engage in format nostalgia. (I've already run into the problem of Apple Music deleting songs I really liked, due to this or that licensing issue, because I was really only renting them.) The year The Ring hit theaters was the edge of a last shimmering gasp of physical media where iTunes had only come into being the year before, and iridescent discs were still mostly what we used, but cassettes, both video and audio, were still viable. And so, people did not think it was terribly weird when they started finding unlabeled VHS tapes on their windshields.

Movieweb, quoting TikTok user astro_nina:

"Their marketing strategy was essentially 'let's get this tape viewed by as many people as possible without these people being aware of what this is, sort of raising intrigue," she says. One way they achieved this was by airing the tape, which allegedly marks its viewers for death within seven days, as a commercial with no context. The video would air between late-night programming "with no words, no mention of a movie, for like a month...so people would run into it and it would just go on to the next thing, and people would be like, 'what the f--k is this?'"

I remember seeing the Cursed Video as an unexplained ad at least twice, by the way. That TikTok also indicates that DreamWorks straight-up sent copies of the tape to Hot Topic stores, as well as planting them under actual movie theater seats. While running my movie site, I heard at least one story of someone finding a tape on the sink counter of a restroom at a club. Did the marketing department actually plant tapes in bathrooms—or did a freaked-out recipient leave it there, hoping to dodge the "curse"?

(I haven't embedded the Cursed Video here, by the way—but I could have. If you'd like to see the American take on it, you can watch both the full version and the shorter variant that appeared in the movie itself. A text description of what the fuck you're even looking at is here [content note for both: blood, insects, animal death, body horror, and suicide by falling]. The original version from the Japanese film is shorter, and it's eerie rather than gruesome.)

BUT WAIT, THERE WAS MORE: DreamWorks had something of an alternate-reality campaign going with a handful of in-character websites. This was only a year after Warner Bros. ran the groundbreaking "The Beast" ARG for A.I.: Artificial Intelligence: "Ultimately, fifty websites with a total of about one thousand pages were created for the [A.I.] game." (I lurked in the Cloudmakers Yahoo group.) Marketing for The Ring did not go anywhere that in depth, nor did it need to; it was both a smaller film and a smaller story. I saw at least two “personal” websites (seemingly amateur and a little tacky, like my own), but the one I particularly remember was about someone who owned/trained horses? I'm not sure if it was meant to be the actual Anna Morgan character—Samara's mother—or maybe someone who had noticed that the Morgans' horses were disturbed? I'm not even sure anyone even remembers this but me. Reddit users dug up a few other archived websites, but they're about Sadako, the curse and/or videotape; they aren't as subtle or character-oriented as the site I remember. (Honestly, I wonder if weird shit like "What Scares Me" or "SEVEN DAYS TO LIVE" were made by fans rather than a marketing department, but who knows.)

[The “About” page from Seven Days to Live on the Internet Archive.]

[The entirety of An Open Letter on the Internet Archive. “UPDATE” is a now-blank pop-up. I would bet $5 that it was originally a pop-up of the cursed video.]

I need to point out here that Facebook did not exist in 2002. It would not exist for another two years, and Twitter wouldn't exist until 2006. Even MySpace was not a thing until the next year. I didn't start my Livejournal until October of 2003. What we had, for the most part, were independent forums and blogs. We also had Creepy Internet Fiction like "The Dionaea House" and "Ted the Caver"; their use of the blog format, of people out there seemingly living their lives until something fucked up went down, gave the stories the shape of reality. And it helped that these blogs had comment sections, sure—sometimes more story unfolded there—but for the most part, an author could "abandon" a blog, and you'd just find the story there via word of mouth. Like the Ring blogs I remember, it wouldn't seem strange if no one replied to you, whereas today, you'd have to hire a writer to sit on Twitter, or Reddit, or even Tumblr, and interact with people in character. Could you do something like The Ring's mysterious, weird-ass blogs today? Would anyone even notice?

So: It's 2002, my head is full of Alternate Reality and eerie images and you saw it, and I'm hype as hell to go out and see The Ring. I'm perfectly happy to go see movies by myself, so I went in the early afternoon (best time to get a good seat). The movie ended up being a sleeper hit, and the first weekend, the public was still sleeping on it, so there were only 7-8 other people in that theater, grouped in maybe two clusters. I was off in my own little pool of darkness in the upper right quadrant. Functionally, once the lights went down, I was alone.

Despite some middling reviews at the time, The Ring is something of a horror classic nowadays. If you want a scary movie this Spooky Season, check out The Ring. Or don't, because it nearly killed me.

We're at the last, I don't know, third of the movie? And Our Heroine has tracked down the origin of the Cursed Videotape to some creepy mountain motel or whatever. SPOILER, it turns out that it was built over the Cursed Well (everything in this movie is cursed) that Our Villain was thrown into—that's why Sadako/Samara is a vengeful wet murder ghost crawling out of TVs now. While investigating this decrepit hotel room, intrepid journalist Rachel and her, who is it, her ex-husband? her kid's dad, idk, discover the well under the creaky old floorboards. And then, wouldn't you know it,

NAOMI WATTS FALLS INTO THE WELL

NAOMI WATTS FALLS INTO THE FUCKING WELL

THAT'S WHERE SAMARA'S BODY IS

youtube

[The rather slapstick moment when Rachel falls into the well. Does not include what actually happens next.]

I go absolutely rigid in my seat. Naomi Watts is splashing around this dark-ass death swamp of a well and I know, with as much certainty as I have ever known anything in my life, that Samara is about to pop up in all her pasty, waterlogged glory. All the sad creepy dread, all the desperation to figure out what the fuck all that shit on the tape was and stop Samara from killing Rachel's son, all the horrible contorted victim faces, all the alternate reality I’ve been soaking in, it has all come to this. I have to leave the theater. I cannot be having with this. I have to be gone from this place. My legs do not work. I cannot feel them. I am frozen. I want nothing more in this life or any other to get up and leave this cavernous pitch-black room, and I cannot. I start praying for death. I want you to understand that I am not trying to be flippant or humorous. This is genuinely what went through my head. I was too scared to even think, "You know, you could just pray to pass out or for motion to return to your limbs or something." No, I sat there in The Ring thinking, Please for the love of all mercy just let me cease being.

You know that scene in Mulholland Drive (also starring Naomi Watts)? Winkie's diner and the EXCRUCIATING tension? It was a little like that, except I wasn't watching it, I was experiencing it, and Samara was my dirt monster out behind the diner.

Except that the jump scare didn't actually happen. I mean, yes, Rachel finds Samara's body down there, but—I don't remember exactly, please don't make me go watch it again to tell you what actually happens. It's played more sympathetically on Rachel's part, as I recall, and she and her ex get Samara's body out so that she (Samara) can have a proper burial.

And then it turns out that this is not the end of the movie. It turns out that Rachel has Fucked Up.

I think I was relatively okay through the rest of it, although the climax is Samara emerging from a TV in her full glitching swampy glory to scare [SPOILER] to death. I don't recall praying for death twice. There's a point when you're so exhausted from fear chemicals that you're like, yeah, this might as well happen. Bring it, Soggy. I did have a hard time prying myself out of that seat afterwards, though, and my mom says that when I got home, I had the classic thousand-yard stare. How was the movie?

"It was great," I said, and I meant it.

I've seen things that were objectively scarier (I watched much of The Haunting of Hill House from behind a pillow, to be honest), and it's not like I've never experienced fear in real life. But I respect when a movie that can make me feel so intensely, and there's something weirdly precious about the way horror is a safe roller coaster, as it's often been said. So I love telling the story about The Time The Ring Nearly Killed Me—a movie that actually made my body stop working—and I love thinking of how embedded in a specific time and place that movie was for me. The last gasp of VHS when the Cursed Videotape still seemed plausible; the way the internet was still wild and weird and free; where I was in my life, keeping up so avidly with all the movie news, and finding myself in such a little pool of darkness early one afternoon. It's the scariest movie I saw in a theater; that's the alchemy of circumstance.

#the ring #ringu #horror #first look on patreon #movies #long post #spooky season #halloween everyday #long post is long #gifs

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yoisami · 8 months

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˚₊‧୨୧ CLASSIC ROMANCEヾ— [pt. 2]

[૮₍ ˃ࡇ˂ ₎ა]: you and your favourite bllk character in a shoujo animanga, part 2 ! thank you all so so much for the love i’ve received for “classic romance pt. 1” — it’s been so fun to write for this mini series or whatever it is !

tags. nagi, kaiser x gn!reader (separately), 810 wc, fluff, somewhat proofread, was rushing to finish this lol, drabbles based on established shoujo animangas (meaning i do not own any of the following characters, plot, etc., they belong to their rightful owners), use of profanities (like once)

— nagi seishiro x you in... YAMADA-KUN TO LV999 MO KOI WO SURU ! (alternative title: my love story with yamada-kun at lv999)

you would have never thought that you would grow to be so close to nagi seishiro, let alone become acquainted with him. he was an awkward high school student who devoted his entire existence to video games (plus a real looker!), and you were a college student who, most unfortunately, lost your battle to your ex-boyfriend's heart to some girl on a computer game. even to this day, you still wonder—how exactly did your paths align?

perhaps fate had plans of its own and rearranged the threads to make sure that the two of you would eventually meet—because he needed you, and you needed him.

well, more like the latter. even now, you were intoxicated from seven cups of sake, and it was nagi who was taking you home with his hands holding yours because you had zero capability to walk home by yourself in this drunken state (he was also worried about the number of drunk men that were roaming around the streets).

nagi’s hands were soft, and somehow, it felt right for yours to be in his. the fact that he was walking you home at ten in the evening with your hand in his made your face feel warm, or was it the effects of the alcohol?

as you pulled out your keys to open the door to your apartment, nagi let go of your hand. “well, then, i’ll be going now. good night.”

“thanks. get home safely, all right?”

your hand paused. there was still something you wanted to know—whether this curiosity was generated by you and your impulsivity when drunk, your heart craved to know if your feelings for nagi that have accumulated to this day were reciprocated; you craved to know.

with your heart sitting on your sleeve, you chased after nagi, grabbing him by his coat. it was only when he turned around that regret began marinating inside you.

“umm... n-nagi, do you like me?”

nagi’s face shows no expression when he fully turns around, and it only urges you to dig a hole in these cement walls and hide yourself away from him. your neck is beginning to feel warmer, and your mouth is emptied of any words that could formulate a “nevermind”.

seconds later, a small, mildly flustered grin appears on the white-haired boy’s lips.

“i’m busted, huh?”

— michael kaiser x you in... KAMISAMA HAJIMEMASHITA ! (alternative title: kamisama kiss)

sometimes you despise your kind-hearted demeanour—particularly in moments where you’re gripping onto some tree branch for dear life from a demonic old woman who’s crawling up the tree trunk like some predacious spider, ready to devour your human flesh.

it’s thanks to the miracles spawned by adrenalin that you’re still able to hang by the branch because you were seconds away from slipping off, and the fright that you feel is boiling within you like water at a hundred degrees celsius.

but with the demonic grandma grasping you by your ankle and tugging you down to her, you’re almost ready to bid your life goodbye.

“you seem to be having a tough time there, [name].”

immediately your eyes landed on the familiar figure of kaiser, who was standing atop a tree branch near you, with the wind elegantly caressing his hair as he stood like a hero who was about to enter his most iconic moment by rescuing his damsel-in-distress.

“i heard that you were in a tight spot, so i rushed right over here for you...”

was he finally here to save you?

if he was, then you’re absolutely willing to forgive him for all the impudent remarks he’s made about you because, quite literally, you were on the verge of death, and you needed help. with tears glistening in your eyes, kaiser’s name rolled off your tongue like a sacred prayer.

“kaiser...”

“...to sit back and enjoy the show.”

this bitch—

looking down upon you like some pompous noble to a peasant as he indulged in your misery, kaiser was sure that you would soon beg him for help because, like a regular human, he is certain that you will regard him as “oh great kaiser” for the sake of your life. to his surprise, your obstinacy and pride was holding out just as long. even with the will-o-the-wisps (your servants) pleading you to say it just once, you continued to refuse as you gathered your strength.

“like hell i’m going to say it! if i’m going to have to bow and scrape to this bastard, i’d rather—”

with one heave, you seized kaiser down as the two of you began falling, and the screams of the will-o-the-wisps were starting to blur into the distance.

“do you mean to die for the sake of your stupid pride?!”

confidently pulling him in by grabbing a fistful of his robes, you sealed kaiser’s lips shut with a kiss that would entwine your fates together—you as a land god, and him as your faithful servant.

“kaiser... help me!”

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noxturnalpascal · 3 months

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Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 1)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

I. Stronger Together

CH 1 (5.4k) You can hear it behind you, wheezing breath, strangled grunts. You’re pretty sure it’s getting closer but you don’t dare to look backwards. It’s been following you halfway down this mountain, dragging itself along, waiting for the inevitable. You plod on, one foot in front of the other, letting gravity help you fall forward, knees threatening to buckle with each slap of your foot down on the dirt.

It’s been hours of this now, you must be miles away. Away from the little snow-topped cabin where you were ambushed by a single infected behind a closed bathroom door. Away from where the rest of your party was bitten, first by the clicker and then by each other. Away from where you had to shoot each of them, one by one, until you ran out of bullets and escaped out a window.

You wish you could silence your cumbersome steps. You wish you could quiet your labored breaths. You wish you could stop the drip, drip, drip of your blood from smattering onto the dried leaves underneath your feet. Maybe then this one-legged, blind, croaking monster behind you would cease its pursuit. Then you could stop moving and just close your eyes for a moment. You just need a moment, just one moment.

You think you do close your eyes for just a second, and it’s then that you trip over a buried tree root. Your eyes open as your face meets the ground, wet and hard, knocking the wind out of you. Everything immediately hurts. You can barely think. One arm remains wrapped tight around you while you attempt to pull yourself forward on your other elbow, away from the scratchy breathing.

You feel a hand clawing at your shoe. Kicking the shoe off, you roll away, further down the hill as best you can. Reaching one hand out, you grab at sticks and stones, anything you can grasp, throwing them backwards in an attempt to slow down the inescapable. You hear nothing but your own muffled heartbeat pounding in your ears. It's so loud it sounds like hoofbeats.

You finally roll onto your back to face it, watching it slowly closing the small gap between you, bony fingers outstretched towards you. You close your eyes again. You’re so tired.

A gunshot rings out.

Tiny specks of blood spatter outward, covering both you and a circular pattern on the ground around you in a fine red mist. The infected falls backwards, unmoving. Your eyes are open now, ears ringing. You hear muffled shouting and then there’s a gun barrel in your face. You’re too tired for this. You close your eyes again.

Another gunshot rings out.

“What the fuck you think you’re doin’?” Joel shouts, having grabbed the barrel of the gun just in time.

“He’s infected!” the man previously holding the gun says, pointing at your blood-soaked torso.

“You think that–,” Joel points to the deformed clicker lying next to you, “woulda followed him halfway down the mountain if he was already infected?”

Joel leans down at your side, gently opening your jacket to assess the damage. He sees several layers of cloth wrapped around your torso, all soaked in blood beneath your ribcage, where your bloodied hand still clutches right over a large shard of glass sunk into your middle.

“Bring my horse, now,” Joel yells at the rest of his party.

He’s sure about three things. One, unlike the fungus-covered body lying beside you, you are not infected. No one infected fights this hard to stay alive. Two, you are most definitely bleeding to death. The tight bindings around your middle likely serve as the only thing keeping your slowly-draining body alive. Three, despite your short-cut hair and boyish appearance due to the many layers enveloping your chest, you are – in fact – a woman.

Days later someone comes bursting through his office door. Come quick, Joel. It’s all he needed to hear to follow the messenger to the clinic, worried that when he arrived he’d see your cold and lifeless body lying on the bed. When he bursts in the door to your room, ignoring the shouted protests of the medical staff, he is shocked to find you alive. Not just alive but standing up against the far wall, brandishing a pair of scissors, clutching at the pulled stitches on your side. He hears the doctor beside him muttering the words fuckin crazy.

“Who the fuck are you?” you point the scissors at him.

“I saved you,” Joel whispers, not surprised you don’t recognize him as you were basically unconscious when he rode with you into town. He points to the red drops accumulating on the floor, “that’s my blood you’re drippin’ all over the place.” He briefly recalls the argument from the doctor when he brought you in two days ago and insisted you be given his Type O blood.

He watches you look down at the blood spilling over your hand and uses the distraction to close the gap between you. Ignoring the scissors in your hand he quickly grabs some gauze and presses it against your side, hearing you gasp in surprise.

“I want to leave,” you say through clenched teeth, raising the scissors up to his eyeline, as if he forgot they were there. You make no further move to try and hurt him, somehow confident that your feeble threat is enough. He meets your eyes, wide and wild. You’re terrified. You don’t trust him. You’re threatening him in front of four other people while you bleed onto the floor. You’re fucking fantastic.

“Let’s get you better and then you can go wherever you want to,” he says, as he nods to the doctor to come fix you up. The doctor shakes her head, motioning towards the scissors. With no fanfare Joel grabs the scissors easily from your grip and pockets them. He ignores the hey he hears come out of your mouth and guides you back to the bed, nodding once again for the doctor to come over.

You allow the doctor to fix you up with no more threats, Joel standing close guard. About halfway through the re-stitching you wince, internally chiding yourself for showing weakness to these strangers. Joel takes your hand in his, not even making eye contact, holding it for the remainder of the procedure. Once the doctor steps away Joel squeezes your hand and looks you in the eye, telling you to get some rest before following the doctor out of your room.

“When you brought that ‘wounded little animal’ in here the other day, you didn’t warn me she bites,” the doctor mocks as she walks Joel out of the clinic.

“I told you she came down that mountain half-dead with a clicker on her heels. I guess we shoulda known she was a fighter.”

“You really gonna try and keep this one too?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joel answers immediately.

Joel thinks of the look in your eye; feral, distrustful, combative. When was the last time he saw that look on the face of anyone here? He has a community of people who love and adore him, who hang on to his every word. But none of them look at him like that. You have awoken something deep inside of him, something he thought long dead: burning desire.

“If you wanna keep your little pet, Joel, I think you should be the one to take care of her. I don’t want to see any of my staff get hurt and she seemed to take to you.” The doctor knows. She knows Joel brings her wounded birds all the time and she fixes them up. A broken wing here and there, sometimes scrapes and bruises, sometimes wounds that run deeper.

However, none of them have threatened her with a weapon – until today. But she knows they all “take to” Joel. That’s the kind of person he is. Everyone in this town is drawn to him that way, even her. She knows he’ll gladly take on this responsibility and bring stability to the situation. She knows she won’t have to worry about a repeat of today.

He nods in response and promises to stop by later as he retreats back to his house.

—

He follows through on his promise, showing up later that night and bringing a bowl of hot stew for you to eat. He sits in a chair in the corner of your room, watching you sip at it while you try to avoid awkward eye contact with him. His eyes on you make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t look at you like men usually do, with malintent. He looks at you with interest and curiosity. It makes you feel like a zoo animal. No one looks at you like that. No one ever has.

This goes on for days. He brings you three meals a day, he hands you medication, he fills your water cup, he sits in the corner of your room and watches you. The doctor comes in to check on your wound and adjust the fluid dripping into the IV in your arm twice a day, but they are the only two who enter your room. You hear the doctor call him Joel.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye but you don’t ever make full eye contact, you don’t ever make conversation. You aren’t looking to strike up a friendship. He said you could leave after you get better, so that’s your plan. Get better, and get the fuck out of here. Finally, on the third day he speaks to you. You drop your spoon back into your bowl because it startles you so much.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks, unphased by the clatter of your silverware.

You’re unsure if you heard him right, but you don’t ask him to repeat himself. Instead you say the first thing that comes to mind. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say. A lie. You’ve never read that book in your life. You don’t owe this guy the truth. You don’t even know him, you don’t owe him a goddamn thing. He says nothing further, not acknowledging your response, so you spend the rest of your meal in silence, as usual.

You’re all but certain he didn’t hear you until he shows back up with your dinner, hours later, with a book in his hands. To Kill a Mockingbird. He brought the goddamn book? As you uncover the plate of food, he takes his usual seat in the corner, but this time he clears his throat and starts reading from the book he brought. You stop fiddling with your plate to look up at him.

You stare at him for a while, you’re not sure how long. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look at him, to really look at him. He has a strong jaw, a prominent nose, and dark eyes. His trimmed facial hair is flecked with grays along his cheeks, showing his age along with the lines creasing his face. He’s probably in his forties but you can appreciate he’s still got a damn good hairline.

He’s sitting down, of course, but when he was standing you remember thinking he was decently tall, towering over everyone else you’d seen in the building. His shoulders measured about a mile wide and his clothes seemed to strain against the bulk underneath them. You’d tried to ignore the way he wore his jeans but it hadn’t completely slipped your attention. He certainly wasn’t ugly.

As he continues to read aloud, your eyes drift to his lips. His top lip is obscured by his mustache but you’re pretty sure there is a near-perfect cupid’s bow hidden underneath. His bottom lip, by contrast, is plump and pouty, although you doubt anyone has ever described it that way, at least to his face. His gruff voice continues to scuffle along in the background as you watch his lips curve around the words.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you realize how silent it is. He’s stopped talking. Your eyes move to his, meeting his direct gaze. Why did he stop? Did he catch you staring at him?

“You gonna let your dinner get cold?”

You turn your attention back to your meal, slowly finishing it while he reads on. He continues reading long after your plate is empty, his voice lulling you into a relaxing state in your hospital bed. When he eventually closes the book and rises to leave, you let a goodnight slip from your lips. You’ve spoken maybe five words to this guy and now you’re wishing him a goodnight? Jesus, what’s next, sweet dreams?

The next morning is a repeat of the past three days; he comes in as the doctor heads out from checking on you, speaks with her at the door, then brings your breakfast in a wrapped up parcel, still warm. He takes his usual seat but picks the book up off the floor that he’d left there the previous night. He opens it up, clears his throat, and resumes reading you the story.

He’s about an hour into reading during his afternoon visit. Your lunch is long since finished and you’re trying to make sense of it in your head.

“I don’t understand why they call him ‘Boo’ Radley,” you interrupt. Slowly his eyes raise to meet yours over the pages. A line forms between them.

“I thought this was your favorite book.”

“It is,” you blurt out, poorly reinforcing your deception. “I just– I guess it seems like a strange nickname.”

He shrugs his shoulders then, leaning back in the chair and lowering the book.

“Well, I suppose they call him ‘Boo’ because he’s so reclusive, almost invisible.”

You nod your head, electing not to ask any more questions about the story since you’re pretty sure he’s caught on to your lie. After a minute he lifts the books and continues reading.

The next day shortly after you finish your lunch, he finishes the book. You try your hardest not to react. You’ve been trying your best to listen to him speaking as though you’ve heard his words before, as though everything he says is familiar, as though this tale is not new to you. You’re pretty sure you’re a shit actor.

He gets up and goes to leave the room, hours before he usually would.

“You’re leaving?” you spit out before you can stop yourself.

“That’s the end of the book,” he holds up the book and flips it over, as if to show you it’s empty.

“Y– you don’t have any other books?” you mutter, looking down at your hands.

He crosses the room and sits on the end of your bed, holding out his hand towards you. Your eyes dart between his face and his outstretched fingers.

“I’m Joel,” he says, by way of an extremely late introduction. You gently take his hand in yours, feeling his rough, warm palms grip yours and move your arm up and down. I know, you whisper, not even sure he can hear you. You don’t bother introducing yourself in return. You don’t think it matters what your name is.

“You ever even read this book?”

You look up and he’s wiggling the book in his hands again, as if it wasn’t obvious which book he meant. You don’t answer again, you just look back down. You’re not ashamed of lying. You’re not embarrassed you got caught lying. You don’t even know this guy, Joel. He’s just some guy who keeps you in this room all day because he apparently doesn’t want you to bleed all over everything.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks for the second time. You open your mouth to let another lie fall out, but before you can, he follows up with, “And let’s try the truth this time.” You meet his eyes.

He should be offended by the way you look at him. You are so distrustful of him. You lied about what your favorite book was, as if it was some state secret, and here you are about to do it again. And don’t think he didn’t notice you side-stepping telling him your name. This is the fifth day he’s spent by your side and you won’t give him an inch. He’s got to find a way to crack you open. He wants you to let him in so badly.

C’mon, he urges, reaching his hand forward to touch your leg comfortingly. You pull your leg back quickly, recoiling from his touch. His eyes go to your face again, finding it full of fear, your eyes blazing. He pulls his hands back into his own space and lifts them slightly, to show that he has no intention of putting them on you again. He mutters I’m sorry as he slowly rises and heads towards the door, certain he’s just set himself back by miles. This is turning into a real shit day.

—

When he comes back with dinner, passing by the doctor at the door, you look surprised to see him. Clearly the moment between you earlier scared you, but you don’t look scared to see him, just surprised. He’s determined to gain your trust, he’s not going to be driven away by a setback here or there. He hands you your dinner plate and then lays three books down next to you on the bed.

“Pick what you want next,” he says softly.

Ignoring your dinner you look down at the selection he’s brought. Pride and Prejudice. Little Women. Jane Eyre. You can’t help the disappointment that flies across your face. He brought you girl books. He thinks you’re just a girl who likes traditional girl books. You’ve never read any of these books and you don’t want to. You don’t care if they’re ‘classics’. You don’t care if they’re read to you in a scratchy, southern drawl.

You shake your head and eat your meal in silence while he sits in his chair with knitted brows, rubbing his hand over his beard. After you’re done he immediately rises, takes your dirty plate and all three books into his arms, and leaves the room. You don’t try to stop him this time.

To your surprise he returns twenty minutes later. Wordlessly he places a small bowl in front of you filled with some kind of baked apple treat. He’s never brought you dessert before. Then next to you he places three new books. You look at the three very different titles. The Chronicles of Narnia. The Count of Monte Cristo. The Hobbit. You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face and you bite your cheek to stop the stinging behind your eyes from turning into any embarrassing tears.

You reach out and grab The Hobbit, holding it out to him. You don’t tell him it’s the book your dad used to read to you as a kid. You don’t tell him anything and he doesn’t ask, either. He just takes the book and sits back in his chair as he opens the cover, reading it from the beginning. He notices the smile you try to hide and the wetness in your eyes but knows better than to react. He’s gained some distance back. It’s a good day after all.

—

The next few days go by much the same, with Joel spending several hours surrounding each meal reading to you. The only difference is that he’s started asking you questions. They start off about the book. You tell him you’ve read it, and this time, it’s not a lie. You’re pretty sure he believes you. He asks if you’ve traveled as far as Bilbo has, nodding to your healing side, making reference to your ill-fated trek down the mountain.

The questions slowly become more personal; did you have any siblings, how old are you, where did you grow up. Unsure of his motives you ask him back every question he asks you, making him answer first. He says he has a younger brother, he says he just turned forty five, he says he’s from Texas. If he’s making up lies then he’s quicker and better at it then you are. You’re finding him easy to talk to, which is why you almost let it slip out when he tries to get your name again. But you hold it back.

He sees you practically bite your tongue to stop it from rolling off. He thinks you’re starting to trust him but you still look at him warily whenever he stops to ask you a question. You don't even trust him enough to tell him your damn name yet. You seem confused why he’d want to know about you, why he’d be interested in stories that don’t involve him, why he’d want answers that don’t benefit him. It’s like no one has ever tried to get to know you before.

He’s been building this community for nearly two years now and he knew the QZ’s were getting bad. He wonders where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through; these are the questions he doesn’t dare to ask you. You are frightful and distrustful for a reason. Whatever you’ve experienced it hasn’t been kindness, not for a long while. No one has been nursing you back to health, feeding you home cooked meals while they read classic novels to you.

It’s been just over a week and the doctor finally gives you clearance to start moving around and regaining some strength, albeit slowly. Joel brings you some warm clothes and guides you out the back of the clinic, which leads to a large square park in the center of town. Despite the chill of fall, you’re eager to get better, and you revel in the opportunity to feel like your old self again. You get tired easily but Joel is always a few steps away to help you back to bed if you overexert yourself.

He leaves the book in the room but he continues on with your conversations, which have become more lengthy. Despite your reluctance to trust and his seemingly gruff nature, you find your time together has become easy, maybe even friendly. He still asks most of the questions and you still make him answer them all first. But you wonder things about him that he isn’t asking.

You know he’s in his mid-forties, but you don’t know if he’s married or if he has kids. It makes sense though, most people don’t talk about their family because people aren’t exactly living white-picket-fence lives anymore. You know he’s from Texas but you don’t know how he ended up here, in the mountains of Vermont. You don’t know why he comes to see you three times a day, why he reads to you, where he goes when he’s not with you. You don’t know what his favorite book is. You don’t know why you care.

You jokingly call yourself a Plain Jane and he perks up, chuckling while he tells you that’s your name now. Well you still haven’t told him your real name so it might as well be. When he calls you that name an hour later – Plain Jane – you feel your cheeks burn. It’s not exactly a complimentary name but the smile on his face when he calls you by it makes you look away from him. What is he doing to you?

Why does he look at you like that? You have been half-invisible most of your life and when anyone does actually give you attention it’s never been a good thing. You prefer it when they don’t look at you, when they don’t see you. But Joel has been sitting in that chair and watching you, looking at you, seeing you. He’s been asking you questions, reading to you, and bringing you meals. Yet you still don’t trust it. You don’t trust him and you don’t trust the feelings he stirs inside of you.

Joel is walking by your side during one of your afternoon walks and he tells a bad joke. He wasn’t expecting you to laugh, he’s never made you laugh. Until today. You’re not just laughing, you’re giggling, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. It makes him feel as light as air. You grab his arm as you double over, losing yourself in the laughter.

This is the first time you’ve ever touched him aside from your hands grazing when he hands you your meals. Not that those count, he doesn’t even count those. He shouldn’t even notice when it happens, yet he does. It’s like you have his insides twisted up and his head all fuzzy but somehow he feels like himself for the first time in nearly a decade.

He has been ignoring responsibilities for over a week now, sneaking away three times a day to spend hours with you. He rushes out of the house with breakfast in his hands, opting to eat it with you instead. His afternoon and evening meetings all get pushed back, until he’s left your side and can make time. No one questions him but he knows Tess is starting to get annoyed with him. She doesn’t approve of his behavior, his attention so focused on one person. She hasn’t said anything yet but she has that look.

It’s easy to be with you. It was easy in your room, even when you weren’t talking to him yet. He could sit there in the corner in silence and just be, without anyone asking him anything. Then when you finally spoke to him he couldn’t wait to hear more. He asks stupid, pointless questions all day just to hear you answer them. He has to be more guarded when you’re outside together, everyone is watching.

They’re all watching him, watching you, wondering why he’s spending all of his time with you when he used to spread himself around to the whole community. But the answer is easy. You don’t look at him the way they do. You don’t have their expectations of him. You don’t think he’s got all the answers. You don’t stand around waiting for him to save you.

–

When it’s been almost two weeks since you came under the doctor’s care she tells you that she thinks you’re well enough to leave the clinic. “Where do I go?” you ask her before you can stop yourself. She lets a huff escape her lips, but before she can reply, you both notice Joel standing in the doorway. You see a look of panic cross her face and you don’t miss the way she dodges his hand grabbing for her arm as she slips out the door past him.

He turns back to you and you notice he has three new books tucked under his arm. He’d finished The Hobbit, The Count of Monte Cristo, and The Chronicles of Narnia this past week. Part of you wonders what selection he’s brought for you this time. You still haven’t told him your favorite. Now you’re not sure you ever will. The doctor said you’re well enough to leave, and that’s what you wanted to do. Leave. Right?

You look up at Joel and just as he opens his mouth to speak you hear the main door open behind him and a commotion of conversation coming through the door. You hear someone say, “fell off a ladder” and Joel’s attention is diverted down the hallway behind him. Suddenly a woman is at his side. She’s tall, with long chestnut hair and freckles that dot her cheeks and nose. She’s gorgeous.

You instantly feel like you’re one foot tall. You feel inferior. You feel like you’re staring at a marble sculpture. This woman is beautiful and she’s standing so close to Joel. He’s listening to her talk and nodding and he’s not even looking at you anymore. He probably forgot you were even there; look at this goddess in front of him. She stops talking and looks at you, pinning you with her stare. You freeze.

“Hi, I’m Tess,” she reaches out her hand to you, closing the distance between you since you’re stuck to your spot. “You must be the reason I never see this guy anymore,” she teases. You think she’s teasing.

“I was just about to invite PJ to come stay with us,” Joel clears his throat behind her, using his newest version of your nickname – Plain Jane. You look at him, eyes bulging out of your head. He was going to what? Stay with him? Who is us?

“Oh, you were?” she says, as if reading your mind. She’s still gently shaking your hand, regarding you with a curious eye.

“Yeah, we’ve got the room,” he says casually, flashing you a smile. Tess says nothing. You look back and forth between them. They’re both looking at you, waiting for you to speak.

“S– stay?” you manage to squeak at him. Does that even begin to cover the questions you have?

“Just until you’re feeling a hundred percent,” he says, gesturing to your nearly-healed side.

Now Tess drops your hand and turns back to look at Joel. You can’t quite read her expression. He doesn’t meet her eyes, he keeps them locked on you. He walks over to you and hands you the three books, placing your small breakfast plate on the top of the stack.

“Pick which one we should read next and Tess’ll come by after lunchtime to bring you home.” Without waiting for a response he grabs Tess by the shoulders and leads her out of the room.

“Since when do we ‘have the room’, Joel?” she questions as soon as they spill out onto the front sidewalk of the clinic.

“You can put her in the room next to mine,” he replies, taking strides so long that she has to hustle to keep up.

“My room is the room next to yours,” she mutters. He stops dead in his tracks, causing her boots to scuffle on the sidewalk to stop from crashing into him.

“Well obviously I didn’t fuckin’ mean your room. She can have Bianca’s room,” Joel huffs as he walks on.

“So, across the hall from your room?” He stops again and this time she does crash into him. He grabs her shoulders, pulling her even tighter to him and brings his head down to her ear.

“You’re supposed to be the one who worries about all this shit for me, so just figure it out, okay Tess?”

She stays standing in place while he resumes his walk back home. She doesn’t bother answering him since she knows his question was rhetorical. Tess did agree to manage his house. However, that was before she realized that he was going to be bringing little lost pets in and out of it all the time. She always knew their relationship was transactional. It served a purpose, it fulfilled their needs, but it was never loving.

When they agreed to start this community, she thought they’d do it together. He convinced her that he needed her help, and he did – he still does – there’s no way he could do this without her. He never wanted to manage the details. But she thought she’d be his partner, in the community even if not in life. Instead she finds herself at his mercy. She also finds herself not disliking it as much as she should. She lets herself get lost in him, lost in what they’ve created here in this valley.

She plays the role of his partner, but only behind the scenes. She plays his girlfriend, but only when he’s not otherwise occupied. She’s his friend, but only if he’s feeling in need of comfort. She’s mother to his children, but only the broken little birds he brings home to their doorstep. She does all of the work, but reaps none of the rewards. And yet, she lives a safe, comfortable life. She can’t help but feel grateful to him. In a lot of ways she still feels like he saved her. She was once a broken little bird herself.

After lunch she comes back to the clinic and finds you sitting on the edge of your bed, as if you’ve been waiting there all morning. You probably were. She fights the urge to ask if you have everything, reminding herself that you had no possessions save for the bloody clothes they found you in. Let’s go, is all she says, and you follow her out of the clinic in silence, nodding a goodbye to the doctor as you exit.

“Are you Joel’s wife?” you ask as you walk side-by-side, mustering up courage from god-knows-where.

“Joel doesn’t have a wife.”

🖤

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much. Thank you to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @strang3lov3 for your support and help creating this world. 🫶

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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novemberevenings · 3 months

Text

somewhere between the stars | chapter 1

Azriel is your best friend. The best, most brilliant, and dearest friend you have ever known. It gets harder and harder to separate your platonic and romantic feelings for him.

A/N: first chapter of this series!!! honestly wanted to write my own rendition of an angsty, mutual pining fic w my azzy <3 anyways this first part isn’t the longest but i’m posting it to motivate myself to write the next part!! (btw italics indicate a flash back!)

The night sky seems peaceful tonight, almost as if it were at ease. A chill night breeze brushes past, swirling in the soft grass in greeting. The branches of a nearby tree sway, the only sound being the soft caress of leaves. Lying with your head laid back against the grass, eyes closed in a mix of exhaustion and ecstasy.

At the feel of a soft, scarred hand brushing against your own, you open your eyes and tilt your head to the side. You’re greeted with a familiar and comforting sight. Your best friend's questioning gaze and furrowed brows make you quietly ask, “What's going on in that head of yours?”

It’s a phrase that you both have claimed as yours. When either of you needs to be dragged out of your thoughts, the other won’t hesitate to ask to ground you back to the present.

He’s quiet for a moment, trying to find the words that are jumbled up in his head. He turns to look at the sky once again before asking, “Do you think they’re watching us?”

“Who?” His question puzzles you, not quite understanding where it's coming from.

“The stars, the moon. I dunno, maybe the entire sky.” You’re used to his weird questions. It’s become a thing that you’ve got going on between the two of you. “If they are, I hope they don’t snitch on us.”

This earns you a light chuckle, his head slightly shaking from laughter. Realistically, the sight of two younglings watching the stars at night shouldn’t be a problem. But for a boy who has to wake up for training early in the morning and a girl who has to continue with her apprenticeship, they could get punished for being out this late at night.

“I like to think that they are. Watching over us, I mean.”

“Az, that’s kinda really creepy.”

He laughs indignantly, lightly shoving at your shoulder. It’s silent again, but you can tell he wants to say more, so you wait. “There’s just… so much out there, you know? It’s so big, and there’s so much we don’t know. I like thinking that, somewhere out there, someone’s looking out for us.”

You take a second to just marvel at the way he thinks. A sudden feeling of gratitude and pride washes over you at being one of the few people who gets to see this side of him. The side of him that’s bright and curious, hopeful.

You turn your head back towards the sky, looking at the stars and the empty spaces between them. Your best friend’s words are still in your head, trying to form an answer.

When you look back at him, you find his gaze already on you. He looks at you just like how he looks at the night sky, with reverence and utter devotion. It compels you to reply, “Well, regardless of who’s out there, I’ll always look out for you.”

He gives you a soft smile, the one that you’ve come to treasure and look forward to. “I’ll always look out for you, too.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tucked into a corner in the library at the House of Wind, your eyes roam over the page you’re reading. You were catching up on some old texts, brushing up on your knowledge of some spells. As the sorceress of the Inner Court, you always wanted to ensure you could protect your family.

A clock nearby chimes, and you poke your head out to check the time. It was almost time for dinner, but you still wanted to finish the chapter you were reading. Going back to your book, it wasn’t long until the doors to the library slammed open, surprising a couple of priestesses nearby, an arrogant General waltzing in looking to find you.

“You know, Cass, they expect silence in a library.” Closing the book with a resounding snap, you stand up from the cozy armchair you’d been sitting in, returning the book to its rightful place on a nearby shelf. “Lovely to see you too, my dearest Y/N.”

You half-heartedly roll your eyes at him but take the arm he’s offering as he leads you out of the library. The two of you exchange stories of the day, Cassian recounting training with the Valkyries that morning. You listen to him intently, but you stop in your tracks when he says, “Az is coming home tonight.”

“He is?” Your eyes widen as relief washes over you, not realizing how worried and tense you have been throughout the past week since Azriel was gone on a mission.

“Yeah, sent Rhys a message ‘bout an hour ago.”

At your look of shock and surprise, Cassian follows up with, “He didn’t tell you?”

You softly shake your head, dismissing him. “I’m sure he was just really busy with work. It’s fine, Cass. Nothing to worry about.”

Your soft, encouraging smile did nothing to ease Cassian’s worry, but he didn’t push on the subject.

There had been this rift growing between you and Az. Both of you had been quite busy with your duties, Az especially. But you can’t help but feel there’s something else that’s causing this, and you hate it. Your friendship with him is one of the best things in your life, and the idea of losing him was… devastating. You don’t think you would be able to survive it.

But you plan on fixing it as soon as he gets back. A simple conversation will fix this, you’re sure.

“Alright, come on then.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was a calm night in the House of Wind. Everyone had gathered for weekly family dinner, and all was well. Everyone except for Azriel, that is.

To say you were tense and anxious would be an understatement. Even a blind man could see just how worried you were. While everyone else was lounging in their seats and sipping their glasses of wine, you sat with your back straight, hands fiddling with each other nervously.

“Loosen up a little, Y/N! Cauldron, you look like someone just killed your puppy.” You roll your eyes at Cassian’s teasing. Sometimes, you worry your eyes would be stuck at the back of your head whenever you’re with him.

“Oh, give her a break, Cass. We all know why she’s acting this way.” Mor says, trying to lighten your mood.

And it’s true. Everyone gathered around you knows exactly why you were so tense and worried. Despite Azriel sending you a message that he would be back tonight, your worry would not disappear until you saw him with your own two eyes, safe and unharmed.

It was no secret to anyone how close the two of you were. Best friends ever since you met each other in Windhaven. Your friendship was one of the constants in your life, forever a source of comfort. He was your closest confidant, the shoulder you could always lean on, the first person you celebrate the good news with, and the first person to wipe your tears away when you cry.

He wasn’t just your best friend. He was… your best everything.

You tried your best to enjoy the night, joking with your family and catching up on each other’s day. Although your worry wasn’t completely gone, the presence of your family always put you at ease, love pouring through every interaction.

“As I was saying, wing-warmers should totally be a thing. You don’t know just how much the cold affects our wings. I feel like an oversized icicle flying around the–”

Cassian stops mid-rant as a figure appears in the doorway. Everyone follows his line of sight at his silence, your head quickly snapping towards the doorway.

And just like that, a week’s worth of worry and anxiety melts from your body. The sight of Azriel in his leathers, all seven siphons gleaming, is one you’ve longed for.

“Az,” you sigh softly in relief.

“Hi,” he replies. That soft smile you think is reserved just for you spreads across his face, eyes crinkling a little at the edges.

That one word was all it took for you to fly out of your seat, running towards him at full speed. He catches you, bringing you into his warm embrace immediately. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms as tight as you can around his neck. In response, Azriel buries his nose into your hair, tightening his grip around your waist.

You pull back slightly, your arms holding his shoulders so you can better scan his body for any injuries.

At the worry in your face, Azriel asks, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You notice his attempt to lighten your mood and snark right back at him. “Nothing, just thinking about how much you stink.”

He lets out a chuckle, and you can feel his chest vibrate from your proximity. “And here I thought you missed me.”

You stay in his embrace for a little longer, feeling grateful that he’s returned unharmed, and take a moment to just look at him, reminding yourself that he’s back. A cough sounds from somewhere behind you. “Hello? Care to share him with the rest of us?”

Rhys’ impatient yet teasing tone makes you and Azriel laugh, pulling apart to let the other members of your family greet him.

You stand back, watching him embrace everyone else. Finally, you feel settled, like a part of you was missing, and now you’re whole again. You try your best not to think too much about what that might mean, wanting just to enjoy the fact that your best friend is back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#azriel/reader #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #azriel x you #azriel #azriel shadowsinger x reader

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swordsmans · 11 months

Note

do you have any zolu fic recs? 🤔

oh boy do i.

my deepest apologies to others who have asked and only gotten "i promise i'll make a post!!" in response. now... here is my list! 36+ fics, including a few series i'm counting as "single" recs, (+3 not counted).

Spin a Yarn by SrirachaBunny

technically a series, this is a time travel fix-it that has expanded outward from its original premise over the years but is still very much THE zolu fix-it of all time.

Of First Mates and Duty by Whatev3rs

“First mates… we devote our lives to our captains. Our entire beings. We live for them, breathe for them. And they expect us not to fall in love?”

Devotion by BasicallyACat

two part canon compliant series that lives rent-free in my mind. this is my go-to "must read for new zolu fans" fic

without guilt by Augment

Luffy hungers, Zoro thirsts. (+ bonus honorable mention to "But Patience Boasts", which is the sanji-pov portion of this fic and is one of my faves of all time)

got all my attention fixed on you (and you're just where you said you'd be) by nevermordor

Luffy looks again at the bitemarks that he left on Zoro’s wrist. Zoro’s usually hurt, one way or another. Sometimes it’s definitely been Luffy’s fault too, but the bitemarks feel different. (honestly, just read all of nevermordor's fics; they are a fave of all time)

to cut your teeth on love by freckledshoulderblades

Zoro meets Luffy and gives himself over wholeheartedly the instant Wadō is placed between his teeth again. Luffy meets Zoro and decides in a heartbeat that Zoro is his.

tidings of war, tidings of joy by queerweather

Zoro is drenched in sweat already, but at least with his haki holding Luffy’s at bay he isn’t suffocating. And Luffy, damn him, looks completely unruffled.

Don't Go Where I Can't Follow by Leoporidae_Lagomorpha

Because before the Pirate King and the World's Greatest Swordsman there were two lost boys in East Blue. How people grow and promises change. (Zoro finds the color of his devotion.)

Fate and death are made in pairs by demonsLOver

"It's not because of his power or skill. He makes enemies and allies fight for his side. Among all the men of the sea, he has the most frightening ability." Mihawk stated to his pupil. (+ honorable mention to "Forged By Fire" as well)

our shores of starlight (come sailing in) by kurgaya

At Shells Town, Luffy does not meet Roronoa Zoro. Instead, he acquires a sword.

let me carry your scars by arkhamsjason

What Zoro didn't expect, as he made himself comfortable, as so many night before, to keep watch along with Luffy, was that he'd finally have the chance to know what his captain's ruined chest would feel like beneath his calloused hand and guilt filled heart.

and i will learn for you by blueacorn

Zoro will begin to realise that there are other ways to protect.

ship to wreck. by thychesters

Nami is the first one to notice something is amiss, but then given her current competition is Luffy and Zoro, it isn’t surprising. (+ honorable mention to "the salt & the sea.", a reincarnation AU!)

unspeakable love by gadgetronic

A character study with a focus on Zoro that explores promises, sacrifices, beginnings, and devotion.

Precipice of a Change by xpiester333x

Zoro stood there. He was on the precipice of something. One wrong move would send him over the edge into an unknown. He needed to step back, but his feet were locked and frozen on spot. (one of the few AUs to make this list! the characterization here is SPOT ON!)

First Mate, Soulmate by kkuroshii

Fighting with Luffy comes as easy as breathing to Zoro, and he can’t help but wonder what accomplishing his dream with this boy would be like

Robin Knows by leopardgeckoz

In which Nico Robin has always known how her captain and first mate feel for one another, and the scenario's in which the rest of the crew discover it.

with this heart of mine that's guilty; (not remorseful) by phosphenical

It had been two weeks, four days, and twenty-something odd hours since Zoro died. (WARNING FOR PERMA-MCD/HEAVY ANGST)

thank you. / goodbye. by Kenshi

WARNING FOR PERMA-MCD; short and... not "sweet", exactly; the style of this one does nice things to my brain

Blood Song by blue_wonderer

There's nothing to scream about because nothing happened.

blood-spitting loyalty by guiltylights

One day, you’re going to find something worth more to you than your own pride.

axiomatic by grainjew

Reflections on Zoro's devotion.

Providence by taizi

"You know, Zoro," he says, "I broke my end of that deal." 'If you ever come between me and my dream—' Ah, but then, "So did I."

Mutiny by VIKAN

Zoro disobeys a Captain's Order and it's all Sanji's fault. (not strictly ZoLu in the romantic sense, but this fic is a masterclass in both tension-building and how to write an in-character ZoLu argument)

something happened by torkz

Things are changing fast, and Zoro doesn't want to walk into the future with any secrets from his Captain.

Recognition by VickyVicarious

Zoro on titles, dreams, and Luffy. (old-school)

In the Blink of an Eye by InsaneMelon/Acewithapaintbrush

honorable mention to another old-school oneshot from FFnet UPDATE!! this has been re-written and the link has been updated.

Coming Home by thricepiercedpirate

What begins as a happy reunion, because everyone is accounted for and more-or-less in one piece, unexpectedly turns awkward as hell… (the only explicit entry on this list, but i'd be remiss if i did not include the fic that introduced/converted me to ZoLu for life back at the dawn of time... thanks from past-gyro, we wouldn't be here without you, dude.)

Stakes by CaptainJojo

Zoro has a good grasp of what fights are- and are not- worth his time. Or: Zoro gets lost and gets in one (1) fight about it.

Like a Dawning by WhirlyBird70

I am the man who will be King of the Pirates, Luffy said, says, and it’s not a promise but a will, and Zoro knows – knows that of anyone Zoro has ever seen, Luffy is the one to have the Haki of the Conquering King.

invisible threads that bind us by Pure_Night_Fury

Yin and Yang some people would say. Soulmates, others would mention. Or: Nami meets two idiots.

greed by species_baby

Something about his self-assuredness, his conviction makes Zoro dizzy. Although, that could also be the starvation.

Smile, Darn Ya, Smile by sciencemyfiction

Wouldn’t it be fucked up if Zoro was made to eat a smile fruit? And what would Luffy and the other Straw Hats do to help him?

Also, I'm including a shameless and horribly self-indulgent plug for my own stuff, because this is a ZoLu rec list and hey! I write that! lol

poly philtatos (the most loved by far) by swordsmans

25k; Zoro protects the crew and his Captain, and does not realize they will go to the ends of the earth to protect him, too.

ocean theology by swordsmans

40k; canon-compliant enma-asura/nika reincarnation. kinda.

the sea makes bones of bodies by swordsmans

88k; Only one is a monster, but both are a little monstrous. mafia hitman/underground fight club champion/reincarnated moon god x merman/legendary sea monster/reincarnated sun god AU. my magnum opus, probably.

#one piece #zolu #fic recs!#answers #srry this took like. one million hours #days even

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mcyt-trios · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA:

Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss:

Listen to me closely. There is no other alliance on the whole Traffic series as based as them. They did EXACTLY what they set out to do. Did they Gaslight? Oh fuck yeah. Did they Gatekeep? You better believe it. Did they Girlboss??? By the good grace of god they did!!!!!!! They are simultaneously the blueprint for every trio of mean girls in a 2000s high school movie and the most genuinely devoted alliance on the whole server. They trust and respect and love each other in ways beyond mortal comprehension. Vote them please I'm begging you.

They were an absolute powerhouse! Also also, Cleo finding herself a group of people who were properly loyal to her after being betrayed for the healing arc. Scott telling them he was the boogieman and refusing to kill even if it meant going red. They're just so hhhhhh

cleo is gaslight (setting things on fire), scott is gatekeep (protecting the base), and pearl is girlboss (girlbossing).

Quite possibly the most ride or die alliance of Last Life. Consistently sharing lives, helping each other get boogey kills, refusing to hurt each other… they were just such a feel good team up for the entire series :] and then they kicked Pearl out in double life :]

Listen they are the EPITOME of ride or die. They love each other so much during that time. Do you hear me. Dear God they are the most precious

Best faction on Last Life. Set the template for pretty much everything Scott and Cleo do together, and set us up for 5AM Pearl.

Boreal Trio:

look. look okay so youve got two battle hardened at least mildly immortal warrior brothers-in-arms slash best friends slash partners for life, and then youve got this anxious, queer wet cat of an enderman who lives in their shed. oooh my god this is gonna be so incoherent im so sorry. ranboo was doing soooo awful when doomsday happened and both techno and phil immediately went him. that one. he needs to be safe and supported and away from all of this he should come with us. only if he wants to. and he did want to!! he was soo anxious but he got more confident!! none of them are great at expressing their feelings verbally (techno is but he also does other things) so they do it in other ways! phil rushing over as soon as he hears ranboo CLOSE to water because he knows it hurts him! techno moving the prison break up from 'some time soon i guess' to 'now now we are leaving now we are doing this RIGHT NOW' as SOON as ranboo gets detained!! avenging his ghost, throwing any and all hesitation about tubbo away to work with him because that was what ranboo wanted, that was what he asked. always checking in and making sure he was okay. all three of them are soooo dysfunctional but i love them so much. think of the mansion raid streams!! techno and ranboo off adventuring, phil taking care of the animals and getting up at 3am real time to trigger their stasis chambers!! they care about each other all so fucking much and they are a family! please vote for them i will be very sad otherwise :(

#mcyt-trios #mcytblr trio bracket #polls #round 3 #mcyt

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one-flower-one-sword · 5 months

Text

"Feng Xin, however, cut straight to the point. "You don't need to pretend anymore! We know this is your old lair. We've already seen what those divine statues are, and the murals too - we've seen everything!" Hua Cheng wasn't directly facing them; he stood at an angle. The hands tugged behind his back seemed to jerk at Feng Xin's words, and two of the fingers curled stiffly inward.

"His Highness... saw it too?" he asked softly, inclining his head. His voice was very, very quiet. While he still sounded unfazed, his voice was slightly cracked and obviously strange."

TGCF Volume 6, page 62

This, to me, is one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the entire series, because of how violating it is what both Hua Cheng and Xie Lian go through. But there have already been many posts about how Mu Qing and Feng Xin take away Xie Lian's agency and autonomy and belittle his intelligence by kidnapping him away from Hua Cheng, trying to take the red string from him, and slapping the command talisman on him that rendered him mute and paralyzed. So what I want to focus on is Hua Cheng's side of it because what he goes through is also violating, just in different ways.

Given that this is Mount Tonglu, it makes absolute sense that Hua Cheng assumed that Xie Lian would never see any of the statues or murals, nor would anyone else connected to him, since gods and heavenly officials usually never go there. It also needs to be kept in mind that the statues were covered by veils and the murals covered by butterfly silk - whether this was done to hide them or to protect them from decay is beside the point, which is that they were covered and that Feng Xin and Mu Qing tear all of those covers down and then get offended by what they find under them - which are Hua Cheng's most private and intimate thoughts and feelings and memories. They might as well have torn open Hua Cheng's heart and soul and dissected the contents only to spit on them in disgust.

So now, not only have two of the people Hua Cheng hates the most uncovered Hua Cheng's most private feelings regarding Xie Lian, they also revealed them to Xie Lian without Hua Cheng's consent. And judging by the above description, Hua Cheng is terrified of Xie Lian's reaction. Usually, he has to be pushed pretty far to ever lose his composure - he evidently has very strong emotions, but most of the time he's suppressing them beneath his laid-back, unshakable attitude. Xie Lian himself remarks at some point on how Hua Cheng smiling doesn't necessarily relate to what he's actually feeling at all since it's just this condescending fake smile he aims at others (well, anyone other than Xie Lian). But here, now, Hua Cheng's hands jerk in shock. His usually confident voice is quiet and actually cracks with how afraid and distressed he is.

Also, though this is more in the realm of speculation because the text isn't clear on it - it's mentioned that he's not facing them directly but standing at an angle, and the look in his eye is actually not described at all - this could be taken to mean that he's deliberately standing in a way that has his blind side facing them more than his seeing side, since very often it's the look in his eye that's giving his emotions away the most. It would make sense that he's deliberately standing like this to try and conceal how hard he's struggling to keep it together.

Aside from losing Xie Lian again or not being able to protect him from harm, this has to be one of Hua Cheng's worst fears - for Xie Lian to be scared of and disgusted by him, to reject Hua Cheng's devotion. Back when Guoshi divined his fate and called him toxic and dangerous and demanded Xie Lian to send him away and not even touch him at all, when everyone was treating him like "poisonous vermin" (volume 2, page 380) and trying to separate him from Xie Lian by force, Xie Lian was the only one to not be scared of and disgusted by him, the one who instead held him and soothed him, who kept insisting that it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't misfortune and disaster. But now with the command talisman making it look like Xie Lian "was afraid to face Hua Cheng and refused to speak to him", this one of Hua Cheng's worst fears seems to have become reality, and it's breaking him apart to a point where he seems to actually be close to tears.

#tgcf #rereading tgcf #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #actually teared up reading this scene again because my god the poor guy he really goes through the wringer here

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fettuccinealfred0 · 3 months

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 8

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 10k

(CW: allusions to previous sexual encounters)

Summary:

“A letter for you,” Gale interrupts Astarion’s thoughts, placing the crisp white paper on his desk.

Perfect timing. Shadowheart was supposed to send him a letter when the two of you arrived safely at the cottage and he had just been starting to worry about the delay.

Astarion rips into the letter greedily.

The air around him suddenly reeks of sulfur and Astarion’s stomach drops when he is not greeted by Shadowheart’s neat print.

The letter is brief:

“Dearest Astarion,

I formally request your presence at the House of Hope to renegotiate the terms of our contract. I’ve even gone to the trouble of ensuring that your lovely new bride is able to join us.

Remember, boy. I made you. I can break you just as easily.

-Raphael”

Read on ao3 here.

You had only been gone for a day and Astarion was already miserable.

This wasn’t what he planned for when he arrived home. He had missed you- the warmth of your skin, your little smiles that felt like sunshine, your sharp wit. In the best case scenario, he hoped you would already be naked and waiting for him so he wouldn’t have to waste time on removing all those damned layers of your clothing. You would fall to your knees for him again and he would get to watch the lovely tears gather on your lashes and run down your face as you choked on his cock like the night before he left.

He had replayed that memory many times in his head while he was gone. More often than he would have liked to admit since his attention should have been focused on finding the final gem.

More realistically, you would have ordered him to take a bath the moment you saw how dirty he was after days of traveling. He would have pulled you in with him, content to watch you move atop his cock as you straddled him in the bathtub.

Astarion was intimately familiar with sex and fucking and depraved, carnal lust. He knew bodies and taught himself how to perform and pleasure others so that the act could be over as quickly as possible. He had grown weary and disinterested- it had been so long since he had thought of intimacy as anything other than a manipulation tactic used to exploit people.

But you had reignited that spark in him, had fanned his desire into a flame that consumed him whole. You had awoken something primal, some inner beast which needed to be nurtured and fed by your touch. It all felt different with you. It felt like a disservice that the acts of worship the two of you performed should even be described using the same word as all those times before. With you it felt like love, it felt like devotion, it felt like coming home.

And he found himself enjoying the little moments after just as much as the pleasure itself- the way you would wrap around one another and talk or rest or read.

So after Astarion’s appetite for you was relatively sated (he doubted he would ever truly get enough of you), he would have given you the silly new romance book he had brought back for you as a present. While romance was not his favorite genre, he had started sneaking peeks at the covers of all the books you read very soon after the two of you were first married. At the time, it felt like an easy way to learn about you. And he had found that you loved a romance.

He was perfectly content to let you read the new book aloud to him. He would get to rest his head on your soft stomach and poke fun at the dark, mysterious love interest who was likely entirely too melodramatic and brooding. He would relish in the way that you would narrow your pretty eyes as you looked down at him from over the spine of the book. You would probably have some jab about him needing to take a look in the mirror before calling people melodramatic and brooding. He would get to wink at you and remind you that alas, he was so beautiful that mirrors could not capture his reflection.

Not that he had spent the entire ride home fantasizing or anything…

But in his wildest nightmares, he never imagined that his return would have ended in a fight.

He had hardly even gotten a good look at you before he saw that gods damned diary in your hands and everything was shredded to pieces. He should have expected something like this would happen soon. Everything had been going too well and the fates seemingly loved nothing more than reminding Astarion of his place at every opportunity.

But how could you- his perfect, flawless wife- have betrayed him like this?

Astarion is used to being mad. For centuries, little more kept him alive than the spark of rage which burned deep inside his chest where his heart should have been beating. But Astarion was not used to being angry at you. He had times where he got frustrated or upset, but most of the time that was because you were pointing out some fact about himself that he would rather stay hidden.

Even your last fight had not been your fault- he had been the one pushing you away, he was the one who believed himself to be using you, he was the one who was unequipped to handle the swirl of emotions inside himself.

And even now, Astarion does not know if he is more mad at you for prying into his personal affairs or if he is more upset with the fact that your opinion of him has certainly changed. Now that you truly know him, there is no reason why you would continue to love him.

He still shouldn’t have yelled at you and ordered you away but he just needed the fighting to stop. He needed to get out of there, needed to think. And he wasn’t able to do that with you staring up at him with big, tearful eyes.

Of course, in the end, he had only served to make it worse. That is all Astarion knows how to do.

And right now, he should be preparing himself for the worst case scenario, but he still can’t help but hope that the two of you would somehow manage to overcome this. That you would somehow manage to grow stronger now that everything was out in the open.

In time, he is certain that he will forgive you. But he does not know if you will ever forgive him. Your anger burns brighter and hotter than his ever could.

“A letter for you,” Gale interrupts Astarion’s thoughts, placing the crisp white paper on his desk.

Perfect timing. Shadowheart was supposed to send him a letter when the two of you arrived safely at the cottage and he had just been starting to worry about the delay.

Astarion rips into the letter greedily.

The air around him suddenly reeks of sulfur and Astarion’s stomach drops when he is not greeted by Shadowheart’s neat print.

The letter is brief:

“Dearest Astarion,

I formally request your presence at the House of Hope to renegotiate the terms of our contract. I’ve even gone to the trouble of ensuring that your lovely new bride is able to join us.

Remember, boy. I made you. I can break you just as easily.

-Raphael”

A phantom chill runs up Astarion’s spine and reverberates deep in Astarion’s bones. If he didn’t know better, he would think Cazador was the one who wrote this letter. How many times had Astarion had the same degrading, patronizing sentiments hurled at him by Cazador?

But at least Astarion had known Cazador- knew how he thought and how he would react. Raphael is a new beast entirely. Something far more terrifying, far more unpredictable.

Astarion had lived in a state of constant fear for centuries but he had never felt a panic like the icy hands that gripped his heart now.

Raphael had you.

—----------

They had gagged you almost immediately. Bastards.

To be fair, you had been screaming and biting fairly violently at your captors, but you still don’t think that warranted a dirty, old rag being shoved in your mouth.

Astarion would probably have a crude joke if he saw you like this.

Or, well- he probably would immediately kill these bastards and then make a comment about how he ‘had much better ways of keeping you quiet.’ The idea would almost make you laugh if your circumstances weren’t so dire.

After you had been subdued, your kidnappers had checked both you and Shadowheart for weapons. You, of course, did not have any and were biting and kicking whenever any of their hands threatened to slip beneath your skirt and check for hidden blades, which is what led to the subsequent gagging and binding of your hands and legs.

Shadowheart, however, seemed to have a variety of weapons hidden on her person. How did she even manage that? Did she just… carry weapons around all the time? And how did she even know how to use them?

It was as if everyone is determined to keep their backstories a secret from you.

The two of you are unceremoniously shoved into the back of the carriage after you are bound and deemed free of weapons. Two of the kidnappers sit in the back beside you and Shadowheart, sure to keep their knives in hand in case you get any ideas about escaping. Unfortunately, said knives are just barely out of your reach so you’re unable to steal one away. It’s not like you could anyway, with your hands bound.

You try to sort through some sort of an escape plot in your mind, attempting in vain to communicate with Shadowheart with just your eyes free. Whenever you look at her, she just shakes her head in warning, like she knows what you are thinking so you give up on that after a while.

The curtains to the carriage have been drawn to prevent prying eyes, but there’s a slight gap in the fabric that allows you just a glimpse out of the carriage. You focus on attempting to recognize any surroundings.

There’s… a wall? No. A gate!

Of course. You’re being taken to the city, Baldur’s Gate. You had always hoped to visit one day and explore that place where your mother had grown up. Admittedly, you had hoped your first visit would be under better circumstances.

When the carriage finally stops, rather than untying your hands or your legs, you are instead lifted over one of the men’s shoulders and carried like a sack of potatoes. You try your best to wriggle and kick and generally be difficult. Eventually, you do manage to get a good kick to the groin of the man who is carrying you over his shoulder and he groans and buckles at the knees.

Your little act of revenge immediately backfires when you are dropped harshly on the ground by the man who was carrying you as he cries out in pain from your kick. Your own hip collides roughly with the hard rock of the floor and it sends a sharp, bruising pain radiating through your bones. Since the man who was originally holding you is whining and cupping his groin, another man simply reaches down to yank you up over his own shoulder and resumes carrying you to wherever these kidnappers were planning to take you.

It’s extra annoying because you see that they’re letting Shadowheart walk behind you. Stupid model prisoner.

After being led down what seems like a maze of corridors, you are finally deposited in a filthy cell. The gag is roughly ripped out of your and you take deep swallows of fresh air for the first time in hours. The sides of your mouth are burning from where the rough material of the rag had been rubbing against your skin.

“Drink,” one of the captors commands.

“I most certainly will not,” you shoot back at him, voice hoarse and your throat on fire. Drinking unknown substances from kidnappers seems like an obvious way to get poisoned.

The man grabs your hair roughly, forcing your head back. When your mouth involuntarily opens in surprise, he pours the vial of liquid down your throat.

You try to yell at him and tell him off for horribly you have been treated, but your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth. The corners of your vision are starting to blacken and it feels like your head is swirling.

Is this how you were going to die?

—-----------

Your eyes feel so heavy.

Someone is brushing back the hair from your face and you hear a soothing, lulling voice urging you to wake up.

“A-Astarion?” You try to slur out but your tongue is barely cooperating with your brain.

Because surely, he will be there when you awake. Surely, the events of the past few days have all been some horrible nightmare and you will have woken up never having read Astarion’s journal. He will have just arrived home while you were sleeping and he will be kneeling at your bedside like he had before he left, greeting you with kisses and showering you with love.

“No, my lady,” you hear the twinkly, distinctly feminine voice say. You keep trying to blink your eyes open but you’re hardly able to see past your own lashes before they’re falling shut again.

You’re so tired.

It feels like an eternity before you’re finally able to hold your eyes open for a few seconds at a time. Shadowheart’s blurry, worried face is looking down at you.

“My lady, are you alright?” She asks, fretting nervously around you. You feel something cool being pressed to your forehead. It helps you focus a bit on reconnecting your mind to your body, but your head still feels so fuzzy.

“Wha- what happened?” you try to ask, but it comes out sounding garbled due to your lack of control over your tongue.

“They gave us sleeping draughts,” Shadowheart explains. “Easier to keep watch over prisoners if they’re unconscious.”

All your muscles still feel too heavy- like one of those dreams where you’re stuck in sand and can’t move. Yet, Shadowheart looks like she’s completely normal.

“Why are you awake?” you try to ask but hearing your own voice, it sounds more like gibberish. Shadowheart looks confused for a moment before she deciphers what you were trying to say.

“I had a… strange upbringing,” she says. “I know how to deal with situations like this. My body learned how to react to sleeping draughts. I would guess you’ve never taken something this strong before?”

You just hum out a yes, still too tired to try to speak. Like anyone, you had taken light sleeping elixirs and drank sleeping teas when you were sick but whatever the kidnappers had given you must have been hundred of times more potent. You can’t even tell how long you were asleep. One minute your eyes were closing, and the next they were struggling to open again.

What kind of upbringing would possibly lead Shadowheart to have been trained for any sort of situation like this? What- was she in some kind of cult?

“Drink water, it will help flush the rest of the draught out of your system,” she instructs, guiding a cup to your mouth. It seems impossible to try to lift your own arms so you let Shadowheart hold your head up and give you little sips of water.

“They gave us water,” you point out, finding it a bit easier to speak coherently.

“I thought the same thing,” Shadowheart says. “They want us alive. They’ve had ample opportunity to kill us by now.”

“Who-” you start to ask but you already know who. The answer is so obvious it’s almost funny. “Raphael?”

Shadowheart nods. “I assume. He’s the only one with the resources and motivations to pull off a kidnapping like this. The Gu-” Shadowheart cuts herself off, looking a bit worried that she has said too much.

“The Gur?” You finish her though. “I did read his diary, I know most of his past now.”

“I haven’t read his diary,” Shadowheart says with a sense of moral superiority that makes you want to slap that look off her pretty face. If only you were able to move your arms. “I don’t know what he writes about in there. But yes, the Gur would likely have simply killed us and sent your head back to Astarion.”

“Well, let’s be glad it wasn’t them who ambushed us. I’m rather fond of my head,” you tease. Astarion would have smiled or chuckled at that but Shadowheart just stares at you, solemnly, like you are an idiot who doesn’t understand the perilous nature of your current situation.

“I don’t think that Raphael is the better alternative. Sometimes death can be a mercy. At least with the Gur, we could have counted on it to be quick and relatively painless. But Raphael…” There’s an almost imperceptible shiver that runs down Shadowheart’s spine.

“So, why are we awake now?” You question, though you are sure Shadowheart is wondering the same thing.

The water has helped, your mind feels less clouded and you’re able to think again. You stretch out your arms and legs, trying to wake them up a bit before you push yourself up to sit, leaning against the wall of the damp prison cell.

“I don’t know.” Shadowheart’s brow furrows in concentration, like she’s trying to call upon a memory that doesn’t exist. “I have no idea how long we were even asleep. I only woke up a couple hours before you. But I’m sure this is all planned.” She gives you a look. “Raphael is a powerful man. You read about him, right? In the diary. I can only assume Astarion would have written about him.”

“Astarion’s got some sort of contract with him. Raphael’s some sort of devil or something,” you say, closing your eyes so you can focus on recalling what you had read about Raphael. It’s exponentially harder than normal to remember any details with the remains of the sleeping draught still running through your veins.

“You know about the gods, right?” Shadowheart asks and because your brain is still foggy, you’re having a hard time following her line of thought. You nod, anyway. Everyone knew about the gods. “Well the gods rule over the heavens. And because the universe needs balance, the devils rule over the hells. Raphael is the son of a very powerful archdevil, Mephistopheles.”

That sounds familiar to you. Astarion had written something similar.

Shadowheart continues, her voice a bit wary, “Due to his parentage, Raphael isn’t as powerful as gods or devils themselves, but he holds significantly more power than most mortals. He’s a… dangerous man.”

“And he wants the gems of Karsus to rule over the hells, right?”

“The gems from the Crown of Karsus were split up a long time ago so that no one person could rebuild the Crown.” Shadowheart explains. “But if Raphael can find the third gem, he has a chance of taking down the current ruler of the hells and seizing control of that realm.”

“Is that… a bad thing?” You ask hesitantly, unsure of the politics surrounding the heavens and the hells and how they relate to the mortal world.

“It really won’t affect us at all.” Shadowheart shrugs. “But Astarion is still looking for the final gem and I fear Raphael is growing impatient.”

And from personal experience, you knew it was never a good thing when power-hungry men felt impatient. It almost always led to death and destruction.

Shadowheart’s voice is grave. “And more than that, I fear that the more powerful Raphael grows, the more he will try to use Astarion to do his dirty work. Part of why so many people have fallen for Raphael’s charms is because he comes to them in their darkest hours and offers kindness and hope. It’s all a farce, of course, but it’s beneficial to him to maintain the idea that he is respectable. I worry he’ll ruin Astarion’s reputation and use him as the front for the unsavory bits of business he needs to conduct. And Astarion doesn’t deserve that, he’s already suffered more than enough.”

“So why does Astarion have to look for these gems? Why can’t Raphael?” You ask the question that has been bugging you since reading Astarion’s diary. Other than the fact that this is some sort of powerplay, you genuinely can’t figure out Raphael’s motivations.

“Raphael can’t move very far away from his hellmouth, which is where I assume we are right now. He becomes too weak in the real world,” Shadowheart answers. “And powerful men always have enemies. If he were to leave the source of his power, he’d be much easier to kill.”

Ah, yes- good old self-preservation. It’s a bit comforting to know that beneath it all, Raphael fears death just as much as anyone else.

“How do you know all this?”

Shadowheart is amazing at explaining everything to you, now that she is no longer sworn to silence by Astarion.

A little smile dances on Shadowheart’s lips and you can tell she’s amused at your disbelief. “I’ve worked for Astarion for many years. And before that, I used to belong to a group of devout worshippers of the goddess Shar. I learned a lot more about the true darkness in the world than most people do.”

Oh, so she was in a cult. That explains a lot, actually.

“Well, thank you for finally explaining everything to me,” you say sincerely. For once, you feel you finally have a grasp over the situation you had found yourself in. “You have no idea how frustrating it was to never know what was true and what was simply my imagination. I felt as if I was losing my mind.”

“Believe me, I wanted to tell you,” she assures you, grasping one of your hands in her own. “But Astarion begged us not to say anything. And I owe him my life, so I respect him enough to listen when he asks me to do something.”

“You owe him your life?” You ask, a bit shocked. Astarion was not the type to play savior.

“He rescued me and several followers of Shar when he came to us looking for information on the gems. I helped him find the second one and after, Astarion helped me escape Shar’s cult by offering me a position on his staff.” Her voice turns angry. “I had been… taken from my family by the followers when I was a young girl and groomed by their ideology. I never knew any different until Astarion and Gale came along.”

“And Gale?” You’re more than surprised that Gale is entangled in this, as well. He didn’t seem like someone who sought out danger.

Shadowheart looks a bit wary, “It’d probably be better if you asked him to share his own story with you.”

“Yes, but it will take less time if you tell me,” you joke and Shadowheart laughs.

“True. The abridged version is that he was a scholar at a very prominent university in Baldur’s Gate until he grew too ambitious and started doing research which involved godly and demonic artifacts. They said he was a risk to the students and forced him out. He lost everything and was completely disowned by society. Because of his research, one of the first things Astarion did when he began looking for the gems was to track Gale down and offer him a position on his staff. With access to the libraries at the Szarr palace and the Ancunin manor, Gale happily accepted.”

“I never thought Astarion would be so willing to help people.”

“He’s willing to help people if they’re able to further his own cause,” Shadowheart says with a wry smile. “But I think deep down he does like picking up strays. He married you, after all. None of us saw that coming.”

It’s strange. Another piece in the puzzle that is Astarion. The more you learn, the more you realize that you perhaps did not know him at all. You had studied him so carefully, but perhaps you still weren’t fully able to see the man beneath the mask. Where did Astarion end and the performance begin?

It’s too much to think about with your mind still clouded by the after-affects of the draught. You rub at your eyes as if that will help clear away your doubt and confusion.

But it doesn’t help at all to sit around and dwell on Astarion. You need to do something, need to find some way out of here before Raphael can finish whatever he’s planning to do with you. You’re lucky that a couple pins managed to survive the fray and are still hanging limply in your hair. You start to pull them out and move toward the door.

“We need to get out of here,” you say, bending one of the pins so you can shimmy it into the lock on the door.

Shadowheart stills your hands. “No. We wouldn’t get anywhere. It’s smarter to wait. Don’t play your hand before it’s time.”

Why does she always have to be right about everything?

Shadowheart pulls the pins from your hands and slides them on the cuff of your dress, by your wrist.

“There,” she says. “Easy access. And any man would be too stupid to notice them.”

You give her hand a gentle squeeze in thanks.

“You know,” she starts to say and her lips turn up in a mischievous smile. It’s a look that’s so uncharacteristically Shadowheart that you have no idea what she is going to say next. “Astarion bragged about you for days after you broke into his study. It was disgusting.”

As always, that part of you that feeds on Astarion’s praise preens.

“I thought he was upset about that.” You’re shocked. That day had been one of the many times that the two of you had pinned each other to walls and traded heated words in the early days of your marriage. It still makes you a bit flustered to think back upon, even now.

“He was upset that you saw something you weren’t supposed to, maybe.” Shadowheart chuckles. “But he was all pleased that you knew how to pick locks.”

“Why would he care?”

Shadowheart inspects you curiously. “You didn’t know? He’s the best lock picker I’ve ever met. Fast, too.”

You should have guessed that based on his beautiful, dexterous hands.

“Astarion’s good at picking locks?” You ask and you hear your own voice crack a bit at the end. A simple fact like that shouldn’t rattle you to your very core but it serves as yet another reminder of how little Astarion seemingly trusted you if he was withholding even trivial pieces of information about himself.

How were you supposed to love someone who was so resistant to being known? It’s so unfair of him to expect you to have the resilience to continue poking and prodding at him until his defenses were finally worn down.

Your conversation is rudely interrupted by the guards returning and clanking their keys loudly as they attempt to find the correct key to unlock the door. You and Shadowheart side-eye each other as you watch them fumble with the key ring. These thugs were idiots.

When the door is finally open and they shove inside, one roughly grabs your wrists so he can secure them in heavy metal shackles. You hold your breath, trying to turn your wrist in a way so he won’t see the hair pins on the sleeve of your dress. As Shadowheart predicted, he doesn’t notice them at all. Like you thought- idiots.

They let you walk this time, at least. The guard’s hand digs into your shoulder as he steers you down a long hallway. The prison seems like an endless maze. You’re fairly certain that you’re underground based on the damp, musty smell that permeates the air.

And then, you turn a corner and the damp air is replaced by the horrific smell of death and rotting flesh. You try to bring a hand up to cover your nose and mouth and one of the guards uses the chains to yank it back down.

There’s so many cells- they continue down seemingly forever and they’re all filled to the brim with hundreds and thousands of people. It’s atrocious. Their mangled, bloody hands reach out to you as you pass, mouths open wide with desperate, soundless cries.

“Oh gods,” you whisper in horror when you get a good look at one person’s black, empty eye sockets. Is this what happened to all those people who promised their souls to Raphael?

“Don’t look at them.” The guard’s gruff voice calls out and he uses his grip on your shoulder to force you to look straight ahead again. You’re still working through the after-effects of the sleeping draught and the sudden motion causes your head to spin and your stomach to turn.

Just when you think these cages of people are never going to end, you thankfully turn the corner and are led through a beautifully ornate set of doors and up a staircase. The instant dichotomy of the new, fancy decor makes you acutely aware that the guards led you through that hallway of prisoners for a reason. It was a threat from Raphael- a reminder of what Astarion’s future holds after death.

You’re finally deposited in a large drawing room. The walls are filled with paintings and weird trinkets and artifacts that don’t look like they were made by humans. There’s a man standing with his back turned to you as he stares up at a painting on the wall.

“You’ve got quite the set of teeth on you, from what I hear,” the man says. “And here I was expecting your husband to be the only one that bites.”

So this must be Raphael.

He finally turns around to face you and he looks too human. He’s handsome. Not like Astarion, whose seductive, alluring beauty is meant to knock you off-guard and make you willing to offer up your throat to him in sacrifice. No, this man is handsome like a father might be- like he deserves your trust and knows what is best for you.

You snarl at him, baring your teeth. You had learned a lot about biting in your time married to Astarion and you were certainly willing to use that knowledge now.

“Very scary,” Raphael condescends with an amused grin. He waves his hand and the guards start pushing you forward again to the head of the room. “Now, come along. I do believe your husband has finally made it to the city, which means it’s almost time for the show.”

The show. That doesn’t sound good. You don’t like how planned out this all is.

Your arms are raised into shackles hanging down from the ceiling and it’s all so very blase. You would think a devil would at least be a bit original in his tortures.

Perhaps you had been spending too much time with Astarion… You were starting to grow appreciative of a bit of melodrama.

And they let Shadowheart stand in the corner of the room, surrounded by two men in shiny silver armor. Of course, she isn’t the bait- she isn’t the one forced to be put on display for a devil’s amusement.

Raphael levels you with a stern gaze that reminds you entirely too much of your father. It has you shrinking in on yourself in a way that you hate. In your life, your father had been the only person who made you feel so small and unwilling to fight back.

“I do believe your husband will be arriving at any moment. Do your best for me, will you?” Raphael asks, reaching forward to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear. It feels like a warning, as if he somehow knows about the pins on your wrist. You try to maintain his gaze even though your instinct is to look up and ensure the pins are still snugly tucked on the cuff of your dress. Raphael’s eyes are cold and lifeless and make you want to wilt away into nothingness. “If I don’t think you look scared enough, I’ll have to inspire some true fear in you. And neither of us really want that.”

The lightly veiled threat makes the blood drain from your face. You hate to imagine what actions a devil might employ to inspire true fear in someone.

And it seems as if Raphael has planned everything down to the second because he turns away from you and over his shoulder, you can see Astarion sauntering into the room almost immediately. He has daggers in both hands and blood speckling his face and he’s never looked more beautiful.

This is what Astarion was built for- gore and blood and revenge.

Karlach, Wyll, Lae’zel, and even Gale and Halsin, to your surprise, follow after him. All of them are armed to the teeth with weapons and covered in armor. You certainly wouldn’t want to cross them in a fight.

“I believe you happened to find my missing wife, Raphael. Give her back and we can call this a misunderstanding,” Astarion commands.

He’s radiant in his anger- eyes aflame with pure, unadulterated rage. They dart over to you momentarily and he seems to let out an almost imperceptible breath of relief when he sees you are mostly unharmed. You’d run to him if your arms weren’t in these damned chains.

“I don’t think my intentions have been misunderstood at all,” Raphael says, with an air of unrefined haughtiness. Astarion bares his teeth in response and his fangs glint dangerously- a silent reminder. Raphael simply ignores him, as if Astarion doesn’t even register as a threat.

“I’ve been a fairly… hands off boss. But in return, I expect reasonable progress. And you’ve been distracted lately, I think.” Raphael comes to stand behind you, using your body as a shield in case anyone decides to release an arrow or throw a dagger at him.

He grabs your chin roughly, turning you so he can inspect your profile. The way his fingers dig into your skin, you are sure you will be left with bruises along your jaw.

“I can understand why, she’s very pretty.” He leers down at you and you hate the way his eyes burn into you- like he owns you.

You spit in his eyes and use that distraction to stomp all your weight down on his foot. His grip on your chin loosens enough that you’re able to tear yourself free from his grasp, but your arms are still chaining you to the ceiling, restricting your ability to run away.

When you glance over to Astarion, he’s got a smug little look on his face like he’s all proud of you- like he counted on Raphael underestimating your will to fight back. And for just a second, as you’re staring into Astarion’s eyes, everything going on around you feels like background noise. For just a second, it’s you and Astarion and everything is going to be okay.

And then Raphael shatters that illusion by talking again.

“And such a fighter.” This time Raphael’s voice doesn’t sound quite so impressed as he wipes the spit out of his eyes. He turns to Astarion, completely ignoring you now that you have proven difficult and uncooperative. “I think Harleep will enjoy breaking her in, don’t you?”

You don’t completely understand the threat but based on Raphael’s voice, Harleep is not someone you want to meet. The warning seems completely directed at Astarion and his pale face drains and his eyes go wide in response. Okay, yeah, based on his reaction, Harleep’s not a nice guy.

“I can work quicker,” Astarion says, struggling to keep his voice calm in an attempt to diffuse the rapidly escalating situation. “We have a lot of good leads. I’ll find the last gem, I promise. Just let her go.”

Raphael laughs. “You’re in no position to be adding amendments to our contract, Lord Ancunin,” He says the title like Astarion is so far beneath him. “I much prefer to see you being obedient like the good little lap dog I know you are. No wonder Cazador took such special interest in you. You’re so delightfully pathetic.”

It enrages you to hear him talking about Astarion like that. It has you nearly ripping your arms out of these chains to wrap your hands around Raphael’s throat. And Raphael is just a bit too far away for you to stomp on his foot again. Evidently, he was smart enough to learn his lesson the first time.

“Your love for the girl will be your noose. The final nail in your coffin,” Raphael says, chuckling sinisterly at his own wordplay.

How very creative to mention coffins to a vampire, you think sarcastically.

Raphael steps closer to you again, petting your hair like you’re a pet. “And I think I’ll keep her. For now, at least. She’s lovely collateral. You can have her back when you bring me the final gem. Perhaps this will motivate you to work a bit quicker.”

Raphael moves away from you and you feel like you’re finally able to take a deep breath again. He strolls over to an imposing wooden chest at the head of the room, where a mechanism begins to hiss. With the release of steam, the chest opens, three identical pedestals emerging from within. Two pedestals showcase shiny gems, but the third remains empty.

“Look how lonely they are,” Raphael says, gesturing dramatically to the two gems with his arm. “They’re missing the final piece. I don’t know how much longer I can be patient.”

You finally get a good look at the two gems. They look so familiar- the intricate gold metal work encasing the shining green gemstones.

Oh shit.

Oh… shit…

You recognize those gems because you own their missing sister, carefully tucked away in a hollowed out book on your bookshelf.

Your mother’s necklace. How did she even get that gem?

Your panic and surprise bleed through on your face for a moment before you can carefully school your features. Out of the corner of your eye, you feel Astarion noticing you- and you can’t possibly hide your reactions from him. He knows you too well.

This whole time. The thing that Astarion had been looking for had been quite literally under his nose.

You don’t offer up this information. In no world were you going to let this Raphael guy get what he wants, not after he had kidnapped you and tormented Astarion. And he seems like the type of person that will keep using Astarion forever- continuing to find new, convoluted ways to keep Astarion trapped under his thumb.

And besides, if you keep this gem a secret, you might be able to turn this around in your favor. When people want something, they get desperate and they stop thinking. It was how Raphael had managed to trick Astarion into this contract to begin with and it was how Raphael was able to use you to lure Astarion into a rather obvious trap.

No, now you might be able to use your gem to get Astarion out of his contract.

“I’m not leaving here without her,” Astarion says, through gritted teeth.

“Then stay. You can join my other eternal debtors. I’ve got a lovely cell here just waiting for you.” Raphael adopts an air that suggests he’s growing bored with the conversation now that his threats have landed. “The way I see it, you have two choices- you can give your soul to me now or you can leave and pretend to be ‘free’ until your death. You’ll get your pretty wife back when you find me my gem.”

Raphael levels Astarion with a smarmy grin. He’s dropped all pretenses of being charming at this point. “And I’ll be nice. I’ll let you come visit her from time to time. Though, I can promise you that with each visit, she’s going to look less and less lovely until I get my gem. And as a sign of good faith, I’ll even let you decide whether you want your servant back or whether you’d like her to stay and look after your wife in your absence.”

What a nasty, vile man.

The idea of staying here forever seems miserable, for either you or Astarion. And poor Shadowheart- you know that if it comes down to it, Astarion will happily sacrifice her safety if it means you’re offered slightly more protection.

While Raphael continues talking, waxing poetic in an ostentatious villain monologue that serves no purpose other than to remind Astarion that Raphael owns him, you work on releasing your hair pins from where they were tucked into your sleeve. The angle is awkward and the chains are digging painfully into your wrists, cutting and rubbing against your skin. You feel your skin tear, the wet blood lubricating your movements as you try to work the pins into the lock over your head.

Astarion’s eyes dart over to you- the red tinged with fear and beneath that, hunger. He could smell your blood from where your wrists were rubbing the chains. You shake your head subtly at him to signify that he shouldn’t draw attention to you and he dutifully looks back to Raphael. Even now, it was as if the two of you still had your own hidden language.

It’s hard- your hands don’t have much movement and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingers after so long of having your arms raised above your head, but you eventually manage to snake the pin into the lock on the chains.

You don’t let the chains clatter open immediately and give away your new advantage. Instead, you take a moment to survey the room and plan how you are going to move. There’s a stupid set of decorative crossed daggers on the wall to your left. It’s ridiculous- this whole room is filled with stupid artifacts but at least these you can use to your advantage. If you move fast enough, you can reach the daggers before the guards are able to descend on you.

You move. There’s chaos.

The guards try to catch you and everybody swings into action. There’s arrows flying and the clink of metal as swords hit against one another and you don’t look back. You just continue moving forward toward the daggers.

When you manage to yank one off the wall, you whirl around to survey the scene. Everyone is fighting. Astarion’s plunging his daggers into bodies left and right struggling to move closer to you.

And Raphael is right in front of you.

The good thing about your back being against a wall is that no one can sneak up on you. The bad thing is that you’re cornered.

“Drop the knife,” he says, his hand reaching out to take it from you. “We both know you don’t know how to use it.”

Condescending asshole.

It is probably a safe assumption on his part. Women weren’t trained in combat or swords. But you, for better or for worse, had been too curious as a child. You had snuck in to watch your brother’s sword fighting lessons. You had practiced with the wooden swords when no one was watching.

And besides, it was not in your nature to go down without a fight.

“Wrong,” you snarl. You fake a step that catches Raphael off guard and you’re able to plunge the knife into his side.

He grunts, doubling over in pain and clutching at where the knife sticks out of his stomach. You use the opportunity to knee him in the groin and push him to the ground. You aren’t sure how long it takes a devil to heal, but based on how quickly Astarion’s wounds heal, you’re assuming you have limited time before Raphael is coming back to his senses.

You need to move. And fast.

“You look so stunning covered in blood. I’ve never been so aroused in my life.” Astarion’s voice surprises you from where he’s standing right next to you. It was almost supernatural, the speed with which he was able to make his way over to you. He was far more adept at fighting than you would have ever expected.

“Not the time, Astarion,” you snap back at him, even though his voice sinks into your bones, soothing you.

“I was expecting a bit more appreciation at my rescuing you, darling,” he mocks with a little pout.

Apparently, he was content to ignore the perilous nature of your surroundings in favor of poorly timed teasing. Typical. Your heart nearly bursts with how much you love him.

Still, you roll your eyes at him. “I had it handled!”

Which, okay, is maybe a lie. But you did have at least some ideas on your escape plot. And a part of you, deep down, is still angry at Astarion, even if that anger is currently eclipsed by your relief at seeing him.

You’re pulled out of your moment with Astarion and acutely reminded of all the fighting surrounding you when a sword slices by you, barely missing your head. Astarion growls and reacts almost immediately, pushing you behind him. Astarion’s getting ready to attack the man with his daggers when an arrow lodges itself in the man’s throat and you think you hear Wyll let out a delighted cry that his shot landed so perfectly.

Despite all this chaos, you still needed to find a way to talk to Astarion. Somehow, you need to let him know that you have the final gem and that the two of you can use this as a bargaining chip.

“And I have something else, too. At home. Something you need.” You pull Astarion’s attention back to you by nudging him. You try to communicate with your eyes because you still don’t want to yell out ‘I have the final gem of Karsus.’

Astarion, the beautiful dolt that he is, doesn’t catch your meaning. He simply tilts his head a bit to the side and lets a wicked grin spread across his face, “Is now really the time to try out new lines on me, pet? I’m still a bit mad at you.”

“I’m still mad at you, too,” you shoot back defensively. Even in the midst of battle, the reminder that you have hurt Astarion makes you feel horrible.

“Good. Glad we have that settled.”

In the time that you and Astarion have been distracted by your bickering, you have wasted your precious time to escape. Raphael is standing again and you watch as he pulls the knife out of his abdomen, his face barely moving despite what you’re sure is tremendous pain.

Astarion adjusts his grip on the daggers he holds in each hand and you reach out, grabbing another knife from his belt for yourself.

“Newlyweds.” Raphael laughs- a deep, sinister thing that makes your skin crawl. “How sweet.” He spits out that last word in a way that makes you acutely aware that he means the exact opposite of what he is saying. “I have been more than fair, Astarion. I believe it’s time you paid for your insolence.”

You catch how Astarion’s spine stiffens at his words.

And then, quicker than you can blink, Astarion is darting forward to slice at Raphael.

It’s stunning to watch Astarion fight. If you couldn’t see the daggers in his hands, you would think he was dancing.

You would try to help, but you’d probably just get in Astarion’s way more than anything. Instead, you watch his back, carefully scanning the room. Over Raphael’s shoulder, you catch Lae’zel taking down the final guard near Shadowheart and working to free her from the shackles around her own wrists.

When Shadowheart is freed, the two of them loom behind Raphael. Good- you can use this to your advantage. Lae’zel gets a good swing at him with her heavy broadsword that causes Raphael to let out a grunt of pain.

He bends in on himself and you’re starting to think that Lae’zel may have injured him more than you thought when Raphael’s skin turns an eerie, unnatural shade of red. Giant bat-like wings unfurl from his back and he lets them spread out. You just stand watching, stunned, as his wings move and he lifts himself into the vaulted ceilings above you so he can retreat to a less occupied section of the room.

“Fucking wings?” you ask Astarion with disbelief.

“He’s a devil. What did you expect? Kittens and fluffy puppies?” Astarion shoots back.

“Don’t condescend to me,” you hiss. “I’m not stupid, I’ve just never seen a devil before.”

You stick behind Astarion and Lae’zel, letting them cut and carve through the foot soldiers as you struggle to regroup with everyone else. Astarion slits the throat of another guard, the blood spraying wildly. It speckles Astarion’s lovely white curls and a few drops even manage to land on your cheek. You catch the way Astarion’s eyes hungrily follow your movements as you swipe the blood away. In a less dire situation, you’d reach out and let him taste the blood on your fingers. He shakes his head as if to refocus himself.

“Never called you stupid, pet,” he says. “Naive, certainly. Reckless, definitely. Foolish… perhaps.”

You laugh. “You’re calling me foolish? Really, what was your plan here, Astarion?”

“Well, I figured we’d come here, and we’d rescue you.” Astarion narrows his eyes at you. “Not sure I needed many more details than-”

“Focus,” Lae’zel interrupts, her voice sharp and commanding. “This is a battle. This is not the time for your strange mating rituals.”

You feel your face heat up. You had not realized that you and Astarion were so obvious about the fact that both of you grew rather flustered and aroused by prodding each other. And while your verbal sparring still feels loving (everything involving Astarion had an undercurrent of love that would never go away), there was still a whisper of anger in both your words. Even after all this, neither of you would be so easy to forgive.

Close by, the rest of the group is holding strong. You think you hear Karlach shouting with glee. You’re not entirely sure what Gale is doing, but it seems to be working? One of the guards looks like they’re on fire.

You think you might be able to win this, that the tides might be turning in your favor. And then Raphael starts speaking in some foreign, chanting language and moving his hands in a strange way and more men in metal armor appear seemingly out of thin air.

Is this… all those people in the cells? Those who had sold their souls to Rapahel were then forced to bend to his will and obey for eternity? Astarion had escaped Cazador and now he was doomed to this fate when he died. There would be no freedom for him, not really. Not unless you killed Raphael.

All plans for escape are banished from your mind. You were getting Astarion out of here and in charge of his own fate for once even if it was the last thing you’d ever do.

There’s more fighting. More clashing of swords. A lot more blood.

Raphael seems perfectly content to watch the action unfold from his heavily fortified position at the front of the room.

“Chk,” Lae’zel makes strange, displeased noise. “We must get to the source and kill him. Otherwise, this will never end.”

Astarion, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and you start working on moving closer toward Raphael while Karlach, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin remain cornered by the pillars at the entrance of the room. You aren’t entirely sure how much you’re actually helping, other than occasionally managing to slice out at guards who had entered another’s blind spots. Lae’zel does most of the heavy lifting and Astarion is sneaky and nimble, able to deftly take out guards twice his size.

The closer you get to Raphael, the more distracted he is, making him unable to summon more large quantities of more guards.

You can do this, you think. You can kill him.

And then, when you’re nearly in front of him, Raphael does that strange whispering chant again. You’re trying to decipher what he might be saying, staring intently at his mouth when-

Bang.

Some sort of wave of energy knocks into you and makes you sink to your knees. Your ears are ringing, and your head feels like it’s spinning and are you… crying? You reach your hand up to wipe away the tears and through your blurry vision, you see the red staining your hands. You were crying blood. And you feel warm liquid spilling from your ears and nose, too.

Through the ringing in your ears, you think you hear Shadowheart and Lae’zel fall down as well, impaired by the blast. You try to turn your head to look at Astarion, but it sends a wave of nausea through you that has you holding tight to the ground as the room spins around you.

Astarion looks disoriented, but he’s still standing. Good.

You hear heavy footsteps next to you.

“I guess she didn’t inspire the motivation in you that I had hoped.” You hear Raphael say, but he still sounds distant in your stunned state. “Let’s see how this works instead.”

Rough hands pull your hair at the roots and you let out a pained cry before your head is bashed into the wall.

Holy fuck, that hurts.

There are stars dancing across the edge of your vision. Your head feels like your heart is beating directly inside your skull, squeezing painfully against your brain.

You think you hear Raphael laughing and Astarion screaming in rage.

That’s not good. You don’t like when Astarion is mad. You want to make him happy forever.

Your head is bashed into the wall again.

—---------

The crack your head makes against the wall is sickening. And when you crumple to the ground, Astarion is sure that the blood rapidly pooling around your head isn’t just a trick of the light.

That’s… No… This is all wrong.

Astarion wasn’t supposed to watch you die right in front of him. He was supposed to rescue you and take you home and then you would finally apologize and mean this time and he would forgive you and the two of you would go back to your little world of bliss.

He’s in a blind panic, on a mission to get to you. Maybe there was still time? Maybe Shadowheart could still heal you? She should be an expert on working with blood loss by now.

Astarion fights like a man possessed.

On the ride to the city, he had imagined how he’d kill Raphael. Slowly, deliberately. He’d start with his fingers- cut them off one by one for ever daring to touch you. He’d pry out his eyes next, then his tongue. And then, just when Raphael lost consciousness, Astarion would finally slit his throat and kill him.

It all sounded so wonderful and bloody.

But whatever energy wave Raphael had unleashed had crippled you, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart. Astarion was disoriented, but he was the only one left standing. He was the only left that could fight. But even he is feeling the effects of the blast. He’s slow and sloppy. Astarion tries to attack with his daggers, but he misses completely.

“Come on, boy, you can do better than that,” Cazador taunts.

No, wait… that’s not right. Cazador is dead. This was Raphael- but for a second, he sounded so remarkably similar to Cazador. How many times had Astarion heard those exact words fall out of Cazador’s mouth?

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are both fighting to return to their feet and Astarion thinks he catches Shadowheart folding over to retch. They can’t fight like this. And your eyes are blearily attempting to blink open, but you look bad. Astarion is running out of time.

Raphael conjures a stake in his hand and takes slow steps forward, advancing. Astarion stumbles backward, still struggling to stay balanced on his feet after the combined shocks of Raphael’s energy surge and watching your head be bashed into the wall.

“A pity it had to come to this but you really were as much of a burden to me as you were to Cazador,” Raphael says, continuing to move toward Astarion. “He always hated you the most- that’s part of why I picked you. That and you always seemed the easiest to manipulate. You’re so scared. It makes you weak.”

Astarion’s back hits a wall. Dread settles in the pit of his stomach and Raphael’s entire face contorts with a ugly, devilish smile as he readies the stake to be plunged into Astarion’s heart.

“And now, you’ll die,” Raphael says menacingly. “Just another one of Cazador’s whores to be forgotten.” Raphael laughs. “Did you really believe that she loved you? I always knew you were stupid, but I never imagined you would be that naive.”

So, this was how Astarion was going to die… And no one would be able to save him.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, you appear. A streak of silver flashes across Astarion’s vision and blood is spurting into Astarion’s face from where you had used the last of your strength to jam the knife into the side of Raphael’s neck. Had both Astarion and Raphael truly been so caught up in their confrontation that they had failed to notice you stumbling over toward them?

You look completely ethereal- his guardian angel, his savior. Astarion’s prayers were finally answered the day the universe gave you to him.

And you also look very unsteady on your feet as your eyes flutter shut again. You crumple, Astarion shocks himself with how quickly he’s able to move and catch you in his arms. Raphael makes a horrible gurgling noise as one of his hands comes up to claw desperately at his throat, but he can wait.

Astarion lowers you gently back to the floor before grabbing his daggers again. He slices Raphael’s throat open and plunges the other directly into his heart. He’d tell Lae’zel to behead Raphael later, just so to be sure he is dead, but right now Astarion’s main priority is you.

Astarion rushes back to you, falling to the floor as he pulls your head into his lap, attempting to coax you awake again. He hears himself screaming for anybody to help. Shadowheart is there, inspecting you with a critical eye.

“I’m sorry, Astarion- there’s not… Her head. I can’t do anything about that,” Shadowheart says.

And in that moment, Astarion doesn’t even think. You were dying and there was only one thing left that he could do to ensure that he didn’t lose you. He had to turn you into a vampire. He cradles your arm, biting into your wrist and draining the remaining blood from your body. There’s not much left, but hopefully it’s enough for the transformation to work.

Your heart stops beating.

The fleeting thought crosses his mind that he could stop here. He could find some patch of dirt to bury you and he could wait until you claw your way back out of the earth. You would be his spawn and he could make sure that you would never leave him.

But that feels all wrong. You were someone who resisted control and you would resent him forever if he did that. He would always be left doubting whether you truly loved him or if it was only because he left you with no other choice. Astarion tears his teeth into his own wrist and cups his hand gently around the back of your head, careful to avoid the spot where your head had been smashed into the wall, as he guides your mouth up to drink his own blood.

The greatest threat to a vampire is another vampire. Especially someone like you, who was already naturally drawn to suspicion and scheming.

Astarion doesn’t care.

If your first action when you awoke was to rip the heart from his chest and sink your teeth into the long-dead muscle, he would simply be grateful that his body could be your sustenance.

Astarion watches and waits. Your lashes flutter and your mouth latches around his wrist, suckling. He’s able to breathe again as a wave of relief washes over him. You would be all right, he had made it to you in time.

You look up at him through red, hooded eyes, teeth stained by his blood and Astarion knows that this is what you were meant to be. You always were a bit too wild to be human.

No, you were meant for this- for the carnal desires of flesh and blood.

It’s mesmerizing to watch you finally come alive.

-------------------

Notes:

That's right, we are now entering the vampire power couple era! But hey, good job Astarion for thinking about others and recognizing that leaving the reader as a spawn would have been a bad idea. I'm playing kind of fast and loose with vampire lore and rules (not like dnd or any other media is that consistent with the rules either lol), so in my mind you can circumnavigate the whole burying the person part if they immediately drink the blood of the vampire who turned them.

For not even being the longest chapter in this story, this one sure covered a lot! Hopefully, everyone remembered the mother's necklace from chapter 3. I try to be really intentional with the details I include, even if they seem a bit insignificant at first.

Next week, we get to deal with the fun repercussions of everyone's actions. How will the reader feel about being turned into a vampire? What will happen with the Crown of Karsus? Hehe everything will be answered in time, I promise.

As always, a huge thank you to my beta-writer, AliensNSuch on ao3. And a huge thank you to everyone reading- I hope you are all continuing to have as much fun with this story as I am!

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary @divineknightmare @fandomarchiveilyd

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fancition #x reader #astarion bg3 #til death do us part

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unicorncornflakes · 1 year

Text

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 1

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at it. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5.1K

"I don't want to go" You told your mother again at the gates of the Starfall’s airport. Holding the bandolier strap across your chest, it tightly, nervously. You looked at your mother with a sad look. The Dornish woman gave you a sweet look and tried to comfort you before going inside. There you would catch a flight to King's Landing, where you would spend the entire summer vacation with your father's family, Aegon Targaryen. "I can't, please..."

“(Y/N), you'll end up having a good time. Your father told me last night that he really wanted you to go with him” she smiled sweetly at you. Your mother only wanted you to spend the holidays with Aegon. She wanted a bond or relationship to exist where it didn't. All you had of your father were the purple eyes and his family name. There ended all the coincidences between the two. You imagined spending a summer like the previous one. Mainly keeping your grandmother Alicent company, while your father claimed to be too busy.

"Last year he forgot to pick me up" you sighed exhausted, looking elsewhere, trying to suppress the tears that welled up in your eyes. “Please…” you said to your mother again, but she just tried to brush it off.

“I have also warned your grandmother that you were taking the flight, and your aunt, so I don't think there is a way for them to forget about you this year. If one does not go, another will go to look for you” she smiled at you, caressing your shoulder in a reassuring way. You sighed again, this time with more force. You knew that your mother also had little say in that situation. When she'd divorced your father, long before you even had consciousness to remember, your Uncle Daeron, a devoted advocate for his family's cause, had struck that deal, whereby you spent your summer vacation in King's Landing, with your father, and the rest of the year in Starfall with your mother. You were a Targaryen first and foremost, and whether you liked it or not, you had to carry the family name and spend time with them, though you'd never seen your father overly enthusiastic about the idea. You were his only daughter, but that didn't mean much to him either. You would end the summer like the previous one, counting the volumes in the library of that mansion where your grandmother lived. 3,758 volumes of the history of ancient Valyria. That´s the amount you remembered counting last summer.

"Mom..." you sighed again, hugging her and breathing in her scent. You had just come of age, but you didn't care, you would always need it. She was about to get married again and you were about to go off to college. You felt as if you were both about to start separate lives.

“It will be the best summer of your life. The summer before you go to university is always the best” she replied full of emotion. However, she had no idea how much you were going to change that summer, or what it would mean the presence of a certain dragon.

"Aegon," Alicent yelled at him as he continued to sleep off his drunkenness in his bed. With his mouth open and the pillow full of drool, he continued to doze against his mattress as if nothing was happening. He had spent the whole Friday night partying, and what he now needed was to rest. He had spent the entire week being a functional adult. That was his reward. "Aegon!" Alicent yelled at him again, shaking one of his bare shoulders. She narrowed her eyes desperately, as if she couldn't take it anymore with her son. Really, she couldn't take it anymore with the eldest of her offspring.

"It's very early," Aegon muttered, rolling over on the bed and settling back to sleep. “Please, I need to sleep…” he spoke with a thick mouth.

“(Y/N) arrives today. You have to go to the airport for her” ordered her mother. Yes, he remembered getting a text from his ex-wife telling it last night, and he sending a simple ‘OK’. "Get up," she commanded again, but Aegon continued to sleep, or pretend that he was sleeping. The truth about your presence made him uncomfortable, so he preferred to silence his mind with alcohol. It was the best.

“Send Cole, with the black Mercedes. Surely (Y/N) loves it” Aegon replied, knowing that this would make his mother even more angry, but he couldn't think of anything better. He was in no shape to drive, and sometimes looking at you, he could only feel failure. You were the reflection of your mother if it were not for those eyes that showed your Valyrian ancestry. That was all he had left you, and he couldn't feel more of a failure. He was a loser whenever the subject of his daughter across the country and his brief marriage to that Dornish woman had been brought up in public.

"I think your daughter would be excited if you go after her" Alicent snapped. Aegon said nothing more. He couldn't, nor did he want to. He heard his mother leave the room with a tremendous slam. He snuggled back into her bed. He needed to sleep. He needed to rest so he could face you later.

'The dragon has three heads' was the headline you were able to read in the business magazine. It was being read by the man you had to sit next to on that flight. The cover featured your father and his two brothers, Daeron and… Aemond. You saw the photo carefully. The three of them seemed what they were: big businessmen, attractive, powerful, successful and… arrogant. Above all arrogant. Kings of the arms market. The power of war was the key to their fortune. You sighed as you saw Aemond standing in the middle of his brothers, the tallest of them…and also the most handsome. You blushed, quickly looking away from the cover. Aemond was your uncle. Your uncle. You repeated slowly in your mind. If you had little relation to your father, Aemond had tried to fill in gracefully until last year. Last summer he hadn't appeared once during your stay. Only during your birthday party and he had appeared there with stupid Alys. You had become jealous as soon as you saw her. But since you had repeated yourself over and over again, it was because she was stealing Aemond from you as a father figure... and nothing more. Nothing else. To think of anything else would be to admit your own folly. It wasn't right. Although you hadn't realized it, your gaze had once again been fixed on the image of Aemond on that cover. His eye riveted on the camera. His smirk. The patch always well placed. His hair loose but well combed. It almost looked like he wanted to fuck the camera, if he hadn't yet. He was so… so… you would have let him do anything if he asked you to…

“Do you want to read the magazine?” the man, who must have been your father's age, offered it to you. He was quite attractive. Medium brown hair, powerful beard and sincere eyes. He must have been from the north, but a businessman like the rest of the men in your family. Thanks to the seven, he had awakened you from that vivid imagination that you had those days and that you did not share with anyone.

"Oh, no, no" you said nervously and blushing, waving your hand as if it were crazy. "I was looking at the photo" you replied and the northerner laughed charmingly and looked you up and down funny.

"Yes, women usually find these three attractive" he laughed loudly "My first wife was head over heels for them" he laughed loudly and you blushed even more, as if you didn't expect that answer.

"No, no" you shook your head again, blushing if possible. "He's my father" You quickly pointed to Aegon on the cover, wishing that it would stay in one more anecdote. As if you felt proud of him, or you felt him like something more than the one who had impregnated your mother.

"So you are Aegon's daughter?" the northerner looked you up and down, still with an aura of sincere amusement and without malice. “You're the little (Y/N), by the old gods,” he chuckled sweetly. You looked at him confused and he smiled at you again. "I'm Cregan Stark, when you were born I was the head of consultants at Targaryen Industries" he offered you his hand to shake, and you played along and gave it to him. He smiled genuinely and without any malice. "I was already saying that those beautiful eyes were familiar to me" he smiled at you again.

"Well... I don't know who you are" you answered embarrassed as you continued to shake his hand. Once again the fame and the name of your family predicted you. You had thought about changing it to your mother's, but you had not told anyone. You wanted to be anonymous. Not being a Targaryen.

“I'd be surprised if you remembered. You were a baby in your mother's arms the last time I saw you” Cregan laughed kindly and you gave a half smile. At least this man was nice. “Are you going to visit your father?” he asked you leaving the magazine on his lap, trying to be kind to you.

"Yes, I spend every summer with him since I was five years old" you smiled politely. You knew that everyone expected you to speak well of your paternal family. It was what was expected, although it was far from it. You berated yourself in your thoughts for being so open with someone you had just met. But it was the charm of the northerners, seeming good people.

“Tell your Uncle Daeron to call me, when you see him. Tell him that this old wolf has business to discuss with him” He ask you, again with a charming smile and you blushed, as if you had realized at that moment that he was quite an attractive man.

"I'll tell him" you said with a smile, as if you could really talk to your little uncle as much as Cregan must have thought "But, I don't think you're old" you smirked and realized that you were flirting with him, with a man who could be your father and he seemed to notice. He just smiled and looked down at his hands. You had changed. Since last summer you had, since the summer Aemond had abandoned you… you were no longer a little girl. You were a woman, quite attractive, with eyes that many would envy. Your body had taken more curvaceous shapes and you found yourself on many occasions filtering with men older than you. It was… it was just subconsciously, but… but you felt that you were destined to be quite an attractive and powerful woman. Your father's eyes allowed you to achieve it. Only at that moment, did you realize that you weren't a girl anymore.

"Well... I have a son about your age, you know?" He smiled back at you, this time more shy, as if you had some kind of effect on him that you were unaware of until that moment. The truth is that Cregan didn't interest you in the slightest, but you felt powerful seeing him like this... you sighed, turning your gaze to the front, turning your eyelashes in an interesting way, with a flirtatious smile on your lips... If only, he would had been the one in who you were interested... you laughed quietly. In that of conquering, you were a total Targaryen…

"Do you want me to join you tonight? To the dinner, I mean" Alys smoothed her skirt as she looked around the office for her panties. As a form of relief, they just had a quick shag. He was always stressed before you came to spend the summer in the capital.

"Of course not" Aemond buckled up. He plopped down on his office chair. “If you come with me today, things will only get worse. I assure". He picked up a cigarette and used his Zippo to light it. Finally, Alys found her panties and put them on as if nothing had happened. She approached his desk table, swaggering. Alys might be ten years older than him, but she knew how to move. No one could deny that. She leaned against the table, her cleavage meeting Aemond's gaze.

"Yeah… She was so… upset on her last birthday when she saw me with you" she laughed flirtatiously "She's so cute when she's jealous" she smiled sensually. Aemond only snorted at her words.

"She's a girl and she's my niece" he answered, disturbed. He took another puff and blew the smoke out his nose. He didn't look away as he leaned into his chair. He challenged her to keep talking. But, Alys had no way of stopping when an idea was inside her head. Perhaps, that was the reason why they were just friends with benefits. She didn't know when to stop her mouth.

“When she looks at you, her eyes light up. Didn't you notice that? Maybe, she may just be a little innocent girl. She may be your beloved niece" she pouted trying to imitate a young girl "But she really wants to sleep with you, Aemond. And sometimes I think you want the same thing,” Alys snorted. Aemond just smiled at his secretary.

"I think the only jealous one here is you, Alys" he responded to her provocations. She laughed mischievously.

“Aemond, on her last birthday you gave her a red lipstick. It was one of your gifts. A good one, very expensive ” she smiled like the devil again“ And the following week you asked me to paint my lips the same color to suck your cock, exactly the same color ”

"Pure coincidence," he continued, stoically. Her big mouth spoiled the fun and relief that her pussy gave him. His phone began to vibrate. He glanced quickly at the screen and his good eye narrowed in annoyance. He had said that he had to work that Saturday morning, and not to be disturbed. He needed to get away from you. It was the best because what he had felt in his pants when he saw you last year again... it wasn't ethical... nor moral...

"Who is now?" Alys replied, crossing her arms in front of him, also annoyed by the interruption. She liked to tease Aemond. It really was one of the games that excited her the most. Aemond did not answer her. He just picked up the phone and spoke in a firm voice after taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Mother" Aemond greeted her on the other end of the line and smiled silently as he watched Alys turn with feigned annoyance and leave his office, closing the door behind her. "How are you?" he asked as if he hadn't heard from her in months, and he had just seen her that morning, but it was pure courtesy. He knew that if his mother called him, it was to send him some task that the rest of his brothers did not want to do.

"You have to go to the airport to pick up (Y/N)" Alicent told him, without hesitation, as if it were an order. It really was. But, if there was one thing Aemond hated, it was being ordered around. So, he just took another drag on his cigarette and he tried to sound persuasive.

"Can't her father go?" he answered her. After all, Aegon was your father, and Aemond had been responsible for you for a long time. He tried to convince himself that this change in attitude was due to being fed up with taking over the responsibilities of his older brother, but it really wasn't like that. Something much darker was happening to him with you than he refused to admit.

"Aemond" he heard his mother blurt out desperately, as if he was the last one she had asked. It was. Aemond was the last one she had turned to, and she was scolding him for something the others had also refused to do.

“Send Cole, with the black Mercedes. Surely (Y/N) loves it” he answered, knowing that you wouldn't be excited, but he couldn't seem to be able to spend some time alone with you like before... he preferred you to be treated as someone from outside the family. Maybe that's how he could manage to hide what he felt...

"I need that girl to feel like one of the family." After a moment in silence, Alicent spoke. Aegon and Aemond were so alike to her at times, she didn't know what to do. That proposition was proof of that. They had both suggested the same thing, and Alicent kept wondering why.

“I think you're late, mother. (Y/N) is a Dayne, like her mother” he leaned back in his chair in a cocky attitude. He didn't want to argue with his mother, he didn't want to threaten her, but your presence made him feel too many things that weren't right for a man as strict and upright as him. "If she were a Targaryen, she'd be completely different," he said, but then a thought crossed his mind: If you were a Dayne, why did his blood boil every time he saw you with that dark desire of his house? He sighed, you were out of his reach and he couldn't seem to control himself to show you…your place…on a simple car trip alone…he shook his head. He had to be himself again. Not a character from his house from 500 years ago.

"Whether you like it or not, that girl is a Targaryen... one of us..." Alicent replied tiredly. Aemond knew from the tone his mother was using, the conversation was ending, and he was not going to miss the opportunity to feel powerful.

“Send Cole. If she's one of us, she'll love it” he tried to smile and sound arrogant, a sneer on his lips. What was happening to him with you? He needed to be like that so he wouldn't let himself be consumed by what he felt. It had already happened to him last summer when he went looking for you after Aegon forgot. When he saw you... when he saw you, he would have shown you why they called you dragons... he was still thinking about that top that showed too much and those shorts that were too short for a girl who wasn't looking for provoking him... you had looked for him... Yes, you were a damn Dornishwoman... a girl of Starfall... and now, when he saw you, he was feeling like a dragon ready to destroy everything for... a simple moment between your legs... he took another puff and expelled the smoke through his nose... he felt like a monster because of you, and he hated himself even more for blaming you for what happened to him every time he saw you. He collected himself. He was Aemond Targaryen. The CEO of Targaryen Industries. He could spend a summer ignoring you. He had already done it in the past. It wasn't hard. “For tonight's all-family dinner, I'll be late. I have a lot of work,” he lied and Alicent didn't even speak. She just sighed tiredly, without wanting to say much more to her son.

"As you wish" Alicent replied reluctantly. Then it would be Cole coming after you. Alicent closed her eyes wearily. From the day you were born, you had become yet another headache for that highly functional family.

You took your suitcase from the belt that carried it. You took the House of Dayne bracelet that you always put on the handle to drag it and that allowed you to differentiate it from the others. You could wear another cloth bracelet, one with dragons on it, but by the age of 10 you had begun to realize that you were a Dornish girl, with all that that entailed. You were not a dragon. No one in your father's house had treated you like one of the others, except your Aunt Helaena and your Uncle Aemond. And the last one had completely ignored you last year and you didn't even want to understand why. Your grandmother Alicent had tried to make you feel like one of them in every way, but she, like you, wasn't a dragon, so she didn't count. You remembered smiling to yourself that summer that you had dyed your hair silver before going to spend the summer with your father. You wanted to be one of them... and, even though no one had asked whose daughter you were, you had gotten bored and finally let it go... you planned to change your last name before starting university. You would tell your father at the end of that summer… after all, that was the last summer your parents' joint custody ended. Afterwards, you wouldn't have to go back to that house if you didn't want to. You dragged the suitcase to the exit, along with the shoulder bag that always accompanied you and on which you had put a patch with the heraldry of your mother's house two years ago. Aemond had laughed when he had seen you like this. You were then sixteen years old. When you did, your uncle had marveled at that brazen act of rebellion as soon as you walked through the door of their family home in downtown King's Landing. He had laughed until you followed his laugh and hugged him in greeting. Those had been good times. In which he still had time for you. Your father had silently scrutinized you without saying much and your aunt Helaena had tried to reason with you why you should carry the Targaryen dragon as well. Finally, it had been Aemond who had convinced you to sew both, just as he had done with the heraldry of his parents when he had been your age on his also favorite backpack. You had glued it together one summer night, late at dawn... you had blushed when you felt it throw your arm over it on that terrace that overlooked the wide patio of the family residence once you had finished... and, then, you had realized that your uncle... he... was what you were looking for in a man... that you would have done anything for him to kiss you... and after that night in king's landing you returned to Starfall with both shields. Your maternal grandfather had frowned upon seeing you, reminding you that at the end of the day they were the ones who stayed by your side, but you left the Targaryen emblem that year because at least there was one who cared... who loved you... who esteemed you...

After how Aemond had ignored you last summer, you had ripped it off when you returned to Starfall, and now you only carried the heraldry of your maternal house, much to the delight of your maternal grandfather, who sometimes you felt was using you as a thrown weapon against the house of the dragon, but you couldn't blame him. You knew little of your parents' breakup, but your mother hadn't had a good time. You understood your grandfather's sentiment to protect your mother at all costs, even if it meant throwing yourself against the dragons. Your mother's family viewed you as a dragon, your father's family as a Dayne. The feeling of not belonging was the only thing you'd grown up with, but, you were a Dayne, of Starfall. Yes, you convinced yourself. That's what you were.

You saw Cregan in a fleeting moment, and he came up to you. You two had spent the whole flight talking, and the truth was that you had also been flirtatious throughout the trip. “Do you need me to help you call a taxi or…?” he told you with kindness and that closed northern accent, smiling at you. He was trying to be polite to the daughter of an old acquaintance, even though you felt there was something else to it, too, after spending the entire flight laughing with you and your coquettish manners.

"No, I think they're coming for me" you shrugged with a charming smile and he was entranced looking at you. You had seen on the plane that he had a wedding ring mark on his finger, so he must have recently divorced...

"Oh, well" he told you delaying his departure, although it was obvious that a very expensive car was waiting for him at the door. He quickly opened his wallet and took out a business card on which he scribbled something on the back with the pen he carried in his pocket. "My card, in case your uncle Daeron doesn't have my phone" he said offering it to you and you took it with a polite smile, to finish putting it in one of the pockets of the shoulder bag.

"I'll give it to him" you answered with a smile, polite and correct.

“The truth is… that behind I have written my personal cell phone. I'm going to be in King's Landing on business until the end of next month” he smiled charmingly at you. You blushed and looked away with a smile "If you ever want to have a coffee... or go to dinner..." he suggested with a mischievous half smile and you laughed charmingly. You weren't interested in the slightest, but you found it irresistible to start having that power over men.

"I will take that fully into account" you answered, superficial and attractive, as if that helped you to appease the pain you felt for Aemond not being interested in that way by you...

"Miss (Y/N)" Cole interrupted the conversation, correctly and perfectly. His hair is always well combed and with a sober face behind his sunglasses. Your grandmother's favorite bodyguard... so, yes, in the end he had come to pick you up, but it hadn't been anyone from the family. Cole was her most trusted worker, but he wasn't your father, he wasn't your aunt Helaena, he wasn't Daeron either… let alone Aemond. Cregan said goodbye quickly giving you two kisses, indicating that he hoped to see you throughout that summer, and you went to Cole. "Her suitcase of hers, miss (Y / N)" he told him as he reached to pick it up.

"No, do not worry. I can" you replied, holding on to the handle, but he kept insisting.

“It wasn't a question, miss (Y/N). Your grandmother would kill me if she finds out that I let you carry it, it's my job" he replied carrying the suitcase himself while you followed him to that luxurious and expensive car, parked at the airport door, because your father's family could allowed to park where they wanted. No one was ever going to say anything against the owners of Targaryen Industries. While Cole put the suitcase in the trunk, you took your mobile phone from the pocket of those very short pants and turned it on. A couple of messages from friends, another from your mother asking you to let her know when you'll arrive… and another from your grandmother Alicent indicating that Cole would come for you, since the others were very busy with company matters. You sighed, did it matter how little you meant to them? That was going to be your last summer there, it was starting to become clear to you. Cole slammed the trunk shut and opened the rear seat door for you to sit there. Your mouth was about to open to ask him to go in the passenger seat, but you knew it was stupid. Cole must have been the person who took his job in the world the most seriously. You just walked in, sat in that leather upholstered car and sighed as the bodyguard took his seat and started the car engine. You were looking at your phone while the car was moving slowly when Cole broke the silence again.

“How have you been doing this last year of high school?” he asked, taking a quick glance in the rearview mirror, trying to make conversation. "Your uncle Aemond told me that you are an exceptional student." Aemond had said that…? Well, you weren't bad at studying, but to be exceptional was to have the grades he would have had in high school. He compared you to him, he always had and that's why you guys had such a good rapport until last summer. Even that year he hadn't even written to you once, when before he had done it almost daily. Distance. That was what you thought he was marking, distance. But he kept showing off about you, or at least that was what you had intuited from Cole's words.

"Fine, normal. I passed everything. Now I´m thinking that's what I'll do with my life next year” you joked, and Cole flashed what must have been a smile on such a serious face.

"I thought you had been admitted to the King's Landing Business School, that you were going to follow in your father's footsteps," he told you, his attention fixed on the road. You laughed sweetly.

"The company would end up sinking if I got to be in charge" you continued laughing and Cole looked at you in the rearview mirror again, this time with concern, as if he hadn't expected your answer.

"Well, you're a Targaryen, your place is in the family business, like your father's and your uncles'," he said with concern, as if he didn't understand that you couldn't feel like one of them, as if your place really… were there. No. You didn't belong to the Targaryens…if not…one of them would have come looking for you instead of sending Cole.

You both continued in silence. You answering messages on your phone and Cole driving. Did anyone from your paternal family really expect you to follow in their footsteps? Perhaps it was what might have been expected in another situation, but not at a time like this. You were not your father's daughter. Helaena and Daeron always tended to forget your birthday and… Aemond had decided to ignore you forever… What was expected of you? They couldn't demand anything of you. They couldn't because you weren't one of them. Those pretty eyes. Those eyes so pretty, that now they looked so sad, was all you had of them. You suppressed the urge to cry as Cole continued to drive. You were nothing to your father, nor to your uncles, but what hurt you the most was to be nothing to… Aemond.

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen modern au #aemond modern au #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x you

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iaure · 11 months

Text

𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁; 𝗳𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝗿

this is very heavily inspired by @//clusterfuck-yandere's yandere leon headcanons; please check out their works. this is something of a love letter to their puppy obsession series. roadmap for future dearest parts with dates

yandere leon s. kennedy headcanons; reader is a survivor of raccoon city.

tw: general yandere behaviour, stalking, harassment, ptsd, entrapment, delusional thinking

notes: the formatting will be slightly different in some parts, as using the headcanon format with dialogue can feel quite clunky.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ guess who's back?!?!?! muerte is here and ready to rumble!! minor hiatus over - and I'm coming in swinging! melania content is going to follow shortly, as I missed it on my roadmap, but i wanted to prioritise this!! wahh!!!! ᏊΦ ꈊ ΦᏊ

this couldn't ever possibly be enough.

♡ you were so close to him.

♡ for the first time in so long, you weren't hidden away, like some fairy tale.

♡ your face was certainly something-a mix of horror, confusion, and what he was sure was simply complicated happiness, not disgust.

♡ but Leon didn't mind, nor care.

♡ this would go swimmingly!!

♡ he'd gotten all dolled up and everything.

♡ there was no coworker to hide you away. no job to steal your time.

♡ it was just him and you! alone! in your apartment!

♡ his joy was practically overflowing.

♡ he knew you'd understand!

♡ you were so sweet, so kind...there was no way you wouldn't!

♡ at your silence, he realised you were most likely nervous.

♡ after all, saying 'we need to talk' is always scary.

♡ you were probably worried sick that he was upset with you! that he was angry that you couldn't see him!

♡ but he'd never be angry at you. never.

♡ "i'm not mad at you! i swear!"

♡ he gave you the best smile he could, despite his heart launching into his throat.

♡ you were too cute!

♡ he was gonna date you, marry you, woo you, sweep you off your feet, get a house together-

♡ "get out of my apartment."

♡ the vitriol in your tone was enough to make his heart drop to his shoes.

♡ where did this come from?

♡ it made his stomach churn.

♡ all he did was love you. how would that garner such anger?

♡ the fantasy of how this would play out began to tear at the seams.

♡ he knew that you had no pity or love for him, in that second.

♡ he didn't understand how this could've started off so poorly, but he knew that he needed to get out what he needed to say now.

♡ "wait, wait, please!" he begged. "please, i just need you to listen to me!"

♡ your face shifted into something uncomfortable, like you were watching a bug, and he felt so...small.

♡ why did you feel this way about him? what did he do wrong?

♡ he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, just from the sheer pity and disgust of your gaze alone.

♡ you crossed your arms.

♡ "then talk."

♡ he immediately been pooling out his confession, stuttering and stumbling over his own words and embarrassment.

♡ he could barely hear what he was saying, let alone you possibly understanding it.

♡ he was functioning purely off of fear now, ready to sob and beg to whatever higher power that he had a chance.

♡ you put your hand up. "i don't understand gibberish."

♡ the force with which Leon's jaw clamped shut was biblical.

♡ he felt like a puppy who'd been chastised, wanting nothing more than to please you, to make you happy.

♡ his brain ran completely blank. he didn't what to say, what to do, how to fix this.

♡ wait! the flashcards!

♡ he began fumbling into his pockets, yanking out the flashcards. but some fell out of his hands, some were upside down, and others were smudged.

♡ it felt like the world was ending.

♡ you were watching him, and the sheer humiliation of it all felt like his entire existence was for naught.

♡ no, no. he couldn't give up. you gave him a chance, and if he blew it, he'd never forgive himself.

♡ he had this one opportunity.

♡ he stared up at you, at how you towered over him while he was sitting. you were so...perfect. how could he compare?

♡ he took a deep breath. he needed to calm down. calm...

♡ and he knew what he had to do.

♡ "i love you!"

♡ he was sure that his honesty would win you over, would bring back your love for him.

♡ but you raised an eyebrow, and he could only stare in horror.

♡ "and why does that warrant you breaking in?"

♡ your line of questioning made his heart fall into the earth's crust.

♡ he could only gape for a second, trying to realise just where along the line this went so wrong.

♡ it totally wasn't when he barricaded you in with him, right?

♡ "i...i needed to talk to you. and you've been avoiding me, so..."

♡ your frown was worse than any kind of possible nightmare he could have.

♡ "and how does that translate into you harassing me? stalking me? scaring the hell out of me?"

♡ the guilt was eating him alive. he absolutely, totally, completely went about this the wrong way, and now he's paying for it.

♡ you get up to move, and instantly, he knew it was now or never.

♡ if he let you get any further away, then he'd be giving up.

♡ he made an unceremonious dive for your legs, praying and sobbing against everything that you wouldn't just kick him in the shins.

Leon looked up at you, at how your face contorted into confused disgust. You looked at him as though he were nothing more than the dirt under your feet. And he hated to admit just how much he liked it. You were looking at him. It was everything. The smell of you overwhelmed him, eyes wide and a flush on his cheeks.

"Please! Please don't!" He hated just how much this made his heart thunder in his chest. You were looking at him. All he wanted was your eyes on him, all the time. If you looked away, he'd just...die. It'd be all over. Look at him, every day, please? "If you leave, I'll die! My heart would just stop beating! I can't live without you! You're everything to me! You're my world, and-! Please!"

You looked at him, scanning over his face as your nose scrunched up. Your mouth was slightly askew, tired from your work and from Leon...and you were perfect. Tears came to his eyes from just how overwhelming the entire situation was. This was the closest he'd been to you since you let him sleep in your bed. He knew he needed you to move, to get away from anywhere away from him.

He stood, gently tracing his hand up your body as he began to lead you back to the couch. Your movements were so slow, so uncertain...but that was alright. This was all about you and ensuring your own sense.

He had to come clean.

♡ he confessed to having known you on the internet, even back then.

♡ the look on your face was...something. you didn't seem as surprised as he thought you would be.

♡ he confessed to having come into your home before. he admitted to snagging some of his own prizes, to indulging a bit. he admitted to making sure you got home safe, in his own way.

♡ there was a lot he confessed, but he didn't particularly care or mind.

♡ he could see you think, could see your opinion shift in and out as he spoke.

♡ he wasn't sure what all your thoughts were. but you didn't look at him with disgust anymore.

♡ it leaned more towards pity, truthfully, but he certainly didn't mind.

♡ you didn't hate him anymore.

♡ this had gone the absolute best way possible.

Leon kept on talking, praying that the more he did, the more likely you were to love him back. To give him the dedication he gave you. All he ever wanted was you. If you'd feed him even a sliver of that...he'd be happy beyond belief.

"I've loved you for...god, so long now. It's been months, I think. You were always just so nice, even to people you didn't know, you know?" He played with his hands, hoping that you'd take what he said to heart. "Back on the forum, I didn't like that you were trying to help everyone by yourself. And you were always so sweet when you responded to me. It felt like I knew you my entire life. The people from Raccoon City, the people that know what happened...it's really a world of it's own."

The memories of what had happened, those he met. Those he left behind. Marvin. Ada. Those that he failed. There was nothing that could even come close, Leon was sure of that.

"Trying to save those two...I never said their names, did I? Sherry and Claire. Sherry was maybe ten, I think. She was under my care for a while, and I saw how the outbreak was scary. Caring for someone like that is scary. And you were trying to do it for so many people. I wanted to help you."

"You know stalking someone is scary?" You looked up at him with those pretty eyes, but your voice was gentle now. Sweet, succulent, worried. He cast his head down in shame.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry."

"When you sent those messages, I was scared shitless, Leon." Your voice was firm, but quiet, trying to get the point across. "I thought you were going to kill me or kidnap me or something."

"Never!" Leon's heart leapt back to his throat at the idea. He'd rather die than any harm come to you, at all, ever. "I'd never do that! Swear to god! I wouldn't ever hurt you! I just-! I was scared. Scared that you hurt yourself, or something. I wanted to respect your privacy for as long as possible, but...I really wasn't sure what happened."

You stayed quiet, and the fear of you getting mad again began to well up.

"And I love you. I really do." Leon bit his lip, trying not to cry again. "I know I didn't really talk about my family."

"Mhm." Your eyes flicked across his face, he saw, and he couldn't help the flush. "You knew all about mine."

"I'm sorry."

"Your family?"

"They're...well, my parents died when I was a kid. And a cop took me in. And there was a lot of people liked me when I was a teenager for my looks, and it really messed me up. Literally right before the outbreak, I had just broken up with my girlfriend."

You raised an eyebrow and Leon faltered. Maybe you were the jealous type. Maybe you didn't like that he had a girlfriend.

"Am I a rebound or something?"

"No! No! I didn't mean it like that!" Leon felt like shrieking, trying to temper his voice but horrified at the idea that you'd think you were a rebound. His ex couldn't possibly begin to compare to you, in your divine glory. "She didn't really seem to love me, and I wanted someone who wanted more than just a guy who was nice-looking. And you were nice to me when you didn't even know who I was. And you were nice to me at the bakery, and during the power outage, and it was just a lot."

A lot. That was one way to put it.

You finally spoke, and your hands reached forward a bit to actually hold Leon's. He gave a stuttering gasp, and his eyes went wide. You were touching him. He wasn't forcing it. He wasn't reaching over for you. It was you. All you. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to hold his hand. You wanted him! You wanted him!!

"What do you want out of this?"

"What?" He had to snap out of the haze of you holding his hand, tilting his head. "What?"

"You came in today hoping for an outcome." Your words were stiff, almost practiced. "What's that outcome? The best case scenario?"

Leon went still. What did he want? The best outcome was that the two of you would date, be wed, have a house, share insurance, get two cars, and Leon would come home to you, and...well. Maybe capping it at marriage was the smart idea.

"I want to marry you."

"No."

"Okay." He gave a bitter chuckle at your quick response, face falling with a wince. That was...to be expected. Of course you'd say no. You were the practical type.

"However."

"However?!" He gasped, lighting back up again. However what! He felt like a dog, with someone opening a bag of treats.

"I'm open to dating-"

Yes!!!

God loved Leon. He was the world's favourite person. He was the luckiest man to breathe. The possibility that you would even entertain the thought of dating him was everything. He could touch you. Hug you. Kiss you! Hold you! Hug you! He thought of hugging twice, but the idea was just too good to pass up. He scooped you up into his arms, cheering as calmly as he possibly could.

"I'll be the best boyfriend ever, I promise! I'll do everything for you, I'll move in right away-or you can move in with me! We'll figure it out! I love you! I'm so excited! This is the best day of my life! I love you so much!"

"L-Leon!" You gasped, trying to get some words out past his bear hug. "On some conditions!"

Leon let you go, keeping his hands on your arms. His grin was like the sun opening up. If you asked him for the moon on a ring, he'd like the band with the stars and forge it all with the sun and make metal out of the night sky. He'd do anything.

"Of course! Anything!"

"One-don't threaten Selia."

"Who?" He paused. He knew only of a handful of people, but Selia wasn't a name he recalled.

"My coworker?" At your words, Leon's eyes went wide, with a 'ooohhh'. "I, believe or not, like hanging out with her."

"Okay." Leon nodded.

"Stop stealing my stuff. Ask first."

"Sounds good!"

"And just walk me home. Don't stalk me."

"I mean, I was doing that before..."

"Don't sass me."

"You're the boss!" Leon leaned down to kiss you, the joy in his heart about to make him combust. If he was going to die of joy, he wanted to sneak a kiss in first, so he can say he had the single greatest experience mankind could possibly achieve. But when he closed his eyes, he felt something that wasn't quite your soft lips. It was the palm of your hand, a bit sweaty against his mouth. He opened his eyes, blinking fast and still on top of the world.

"Mmh mmh? (Too soon?)"

"Yes, Leon. Too soon."

𓂋

ʚ♡ɞ taglist @theybotomy ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @kujosuke ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @je-suis-argent-miel ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @xxacademy ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @apollodarling-writes ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @gettingsilly ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @yumekos-gamble

#yandere leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #yandere resident evil #yandere x reader #yandere resident evil x reader #˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ dearest updates #divagaciones (per)#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ palabras muertas

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