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#this spawned since a dream i had this morning i had like
jiminrings · 9 months
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478 drabble: the baby blue couch sex
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alternatively, jungkook gifts you a watch and you repay him with something of his choice.
[ 99% smut but of course there’s still plot, oc is the one who’s a little mean this time, 478jk asks to be choked, he says the word mommy one (1) time, they r so in love it’s almost annoying ]
[ 478 masterlist ]
Jungkook’s your cheerleader.
He does what’s given to him with grace and giddiness, sometimes going so far as to do things without actually being asked to. He’s been planning your celebratory party ever since it came out that you were nominated for the Daesang for your role in your latest drama. Without fail, Jungkook’s been praying for your win everyday since then, even if he wasn’t the type to.
Was he completely ambitious (he calls it a feat of manifesting) to start planning your celebratory party even before the award ceremony itself happened? Completely. But was it a far shot for you to win the grand prize? Absolutely not, Jungkook argues. You’ve peeked over his shoulder a week before the ceremony and scolded him for being presumptuous that you’d automatically win, but he only turned the tables and scolded you for being too hard on yourself.
You won last night, and everything felt like a fever dream; from the way you’ve bested all of the veterans you went up against, to the whole public roaring in cheers, to you crying to your palms and Jungkook sobbing even harder than you did. You won the Daesang just last night, and after weeks of preparation and second-guessing himself, your husband throws you a party larger than life tonight.
To be completely loved by everyone in attendance made you feel extremely warm and grateful, the whole night revolving around you just like how Jungkook planned it to be.
“That’s my wife for you!” Jungkook must’ve uttered atleast a thousand times tonight, because as much as he wanted to be glued to your side the whole time, he can’t complain because seeing you getting whisked at every direction with praise had put a permanent grin on your face. 
Your husband’s social battery conveniently runs out when the last of your guests leave, unable to recall a time that he’d been more eager for people to stop complimenting the foyer on the way out. He finally breathes a sigh of relief now that the two of you are alone, immediately untucking his polo and undoing the first few buttons of it.
“Finally-…”
“Isn’t it so crazy how we’re still so hyper?” you blurt out at the same time as him, making him blink because he doesn’t exactly know what we were you referring to. He’s not sleepy but it’s clear how you’re the one who’s more energetic between the two of you. “Are you hungry? Do you want takeout? Wait, what if we cook? I think-…”
Jungkook tunes you out, not out of irritation, but out of clear realization that he’s forgotten to give you his present. He finds you adorable when you’re droning either out of sheer excitement or fatigue, but in this light where you’re hit just perfectly in front of him, hands on your waist and silhouette illuminated, Jungkook blanks out.
For a lack of a better method to catch your attention, Jungkook tugs you down to his lap, his abruptness almost making you stumble with your high heels. He doesn’t even look the least bit sorry; in fact, he looks a little nervous.
“Bought you a watch,” Jungkook mumbles, spawning a box from right behind the couch when you weren’t looking. It was the only hiding spot he could think of this morning, albeit a risky one to think there were hundreds of people that have piled in and out of your house tonight.
You’re a little bit perplexed, both from the whiplash and how Jungkook hid it (you’re nosy and it’s physically impossible for him to hide a large Rolex box in his pocket… right?), but you move on as soon as your eyes land on your husband.
He actually looks nervous, his eyes practically glistening when they look up at you with more trepidation the longer that you don’t open his gift.
“Kook, you didn’t have to,” you start, the smile that forms in your face widening when you finally open the package. It’s the Lady-Datejust that stares right back at you, the white gold casing and the pale pink watch face reflecting your awed expression. It’s the same watch that Jungkook stumbled upon in your old Pinterest board before, dating back to the year where you started taking your acting workshops and wanted to take note of all the things you wanted to buy when you make it big.
You did make it big, yet truth be told, you’ve almost entirely forgotten of the things you used to dream of. Your old to-buy lists and manifestation boards come back right to your head with Jungkook’s gift, the memory and sentiment he has for these sorts of things– for you— making you reel back.
“It’s so pretty,” you speak at last, making your husband sigh a breath of relief because he thought you completely hated his gift. You take the timepiece out carefully, looking at Jungkook playfully as you do. “Is this why my debit card was missing the other day?”
Instantly, Jungkook rolls his eyes and shifts suddenly, joking to drop you from his lap as if he’d ever let it happen. He rests his chin on your shoulder as you wear the watch, his large hands running up and down your bare legs. 
“Bought it with my own money, silly,” he answers, voice lilting when he presses a kiss to your shoulder. He noses the curve of it up until he reaches your earlobe, the low giggle that erupts from him in faux arrogance making you shudder. “The couch we’re sitting on? My money too.”
“Your money,” you snort suddenly, the mischievous upturn of your lips making him raise his brows in provocation. He’s a little tipsy and with just the tiniest bit of alcohol in him, Jungkook’s filter is nowhere to be found. He makes it known that he’s entirely amused, even when you’re poking fun at him. “From where, baby?”
You already know where Jungkook could’ve possibly gotten the funds to buy you a luxury watch, especially since he worked for a large firm after college and was thrifty (maybe too much, even), but you wouldn’t be surprised if he does surprise you with a different answer entirely. 
It just happens that you love playing with Jungkook as much as he loves riding along.
Jungkook chuckles again, squeezing your arms with his hands. He figures that you have goosebumps because the airconditioner you have on works extremely well so he keeps touching you, but unbeknownst to him, its his ministrations in the first place that are making you shudder. 
“Well against my dignity, I became Jimin’s virtual assistant. Did the bookkeeping for like, decades worth of records.”
“My Jimin?” you ask in surprise, voice pitching because as much as you expected Jungkook to surprise you, you didn’t think it was to this extent.
He’s unfazed by your reaction for the most part because after all, he did confess to working with your manager behind your back, but what Jungkook really takes offense to is the way you word your shock.
Your husband flicks your forehead as gently yet as pettily as he could, the roll of his eyes coming like clockwork. “What do you mean, my? He’s just your manager.”
You laugh at the brief childish display, not being any better, when you gently pull on his hair. You’re occupied with getting back at him that you don’t notice the hitch in Jungkook’s breath; how his eyes close briefly in bliss. 
“Right. Sorry, accounting nerd.”
“This nerd got you a couch and a watch.”
The hum that leaves you is playful in good nature, and if Jungkook didn’t want to ravage you alive at the moment, he would’ve cackled. “That’s cute. I got us a house.”
“Mhmm, yeah you did. Pretty house,” he instantly agrees, closing his arms around your waist before he leans back on the baby blue floor couch and takes you with him. “It’s like you’re my sugar mommy, but we’re in love and we’re married and we’re not only fucking.”
“Greatly put, Kook,” you chuckle, the new position you have making the hiccups of your chest from your laughs reverberate right through Jungkook’s.
He’s still amused with you, the glassy look on his eyes evident not just from the liquor and the banter, but from the pure need in his chest. He zeroes in on your face when you look back at him, the intensity in his stare shutting your laughs up effectively.
He looks you over like it’s the first time he’s ever did this night, the desire in his eyes trumping everyone else’s who had looked at you in wholehearted yearning and jealousy — he figures that everyone knows and should know that you’re taken by him. 
Jungkook traces you from your high heels, to your stunning legs, to your pretty face, and finally, to your wrist that bears his gift.
“Thank you for the pretty watch,” you mumble, lost in the way Jungkook’s drinking in your appearance.
“You’re welcome. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he hums, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Jungkook’s speaking an afterthought, one that’s the only thing that’s been plaguing his mind recently. “Maybe you should choke me with it on.”
The skip that your heart makes isn’t out of fear, but instead, it’s out of excitement. Your sex life with Jungkook is the furthest thing from boring, of course — it’s just that this is the first time he’s ever pitched the idea to you and you want to kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.
Against the popular misconception of your closest friends (and even non-close, prying people invested in your life too), it’s actually Jungkook who follows your lead. It’s proven by how he clung to you even from a distance during your break, to how he waits for you to come home from work and adjusts to your schedule, to how he craves your validation, and now, to how he wants you to choke him while wearing his gift on your wrist.
“Yeah? That’s what been in your mind all night?” you lick your lips, the drag of your teeth against them assuring you that this is actually happening and it’s not just a lust-crazed dream.
Jungkook’s mind cannot be any more present than now, the nod that he gives you highlighting his desperation. “Heels too, please,” he mumbles, chest starting to rise rapidly in anticipation.
You squint at the volume he regards you at, the way you tower over him as he’s sitting on the couch making him violently shudder. “What’s that? Don’t mumble if you want something, Jungkook.”
Jungkook snaps out of pent-up neediness, the roll of his eyes unmistakeable. “I said, keep your watch and heels on when you fuck me.” He blinks slowly the more that you keep your face straight at him, realizing his mistake belatedly so he rectifies his request sheepishly. “Please.”
“Could’ve said that without the attitude.”
“My fault,” he tests you purposely, knowing that you hate it when he doesn’t say sorry in verbatim. It’s a way of getting to you and on your nerves that he’s mastered. “You should choke me as punishment.”
As much as you try to feign indifference, an amused smile keeps trying to break out of your lips when Jungkook utilizes your moment of silence to scamper out of his clothes quickly, getting out of them in record time. The temperature the room is in should technically make him shiver, and yet the cold doesn’t get to Jungkook at all when his skin’s already hot just by thinking of you getting your way with him.
He has both arms leaned against the cushions, deceivingly composed when everything that’s just running through his mind involves you left alone in your watch and your heels. You undress in front of him like you’re bored and just want to get it over with, and even if it’s merely a show of your pride, it oddly makes Jungkook want you even more.
“I’ll use you however I want,” you croon, testing the waters that Jungkook’s already drowning himself in. He feels woozy already, the manicured nails with the color he picked out scratching against his chest. You’re perched on his thighs and not on his cock and so he bucks up into nothing, the realization that he’s not the one calling the shots making him hiss.
“Y-you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Jungkook’s docile underneath you, prim and proper even when he’s hard. The tiny nudge you give his chin makes him immediately look up, eyes attentive and pleading.
“It’s okay, baby,” you give in, the gentleness of your tone almost making him forget that he’s not dying for you to ride him already. “Wanna be a good boy for me?”
The question barely manages to come out of your lips fully before Jungkook leaps to kiss you, sloppily and messily. He’s whimpering with his mouth open, brows furrowing in frustration when you take control but it’s just not enough until he fills you up.
He’s noisy now, even more vocal than before. You inch closer to fill the space in between the two of you, and even if you aren’t sitting on his cock just yet, your clit brushes against the underside of Jungkook’s cock and it automatically makes him arch, the choked-out groan that comes from your throat making him whine.
Your pussy throbs at the mere attention but you’re sure that neither of you are gonna last either way, making the most out of the little room Jungkook has left before he cums. 
“I know, I know,” you hush Jungkook when you finally line your dripping hole with his cock, the combination of the easy slip and his tip maxing out in your core making him see white. He clenches your hips so hard that you involuntarily squeeze around him, his eyes almost bulging out of its sockets.
“Too — you’re too perfect for me,” he wheezes out when you grind against him before bouncing down again, riding him like you mean it. You’re flush against him, tits against his chest and mouth painting hickeys on his neck like he couldn’t feel any more insane. 
Jungkook makes the sweet mistake of looking away from where the two of you connect and onto the couch, seeing that you did keep your heels on and it makes him choke up over nothing. You pull away briefly from his neck just to see what his attention was on, and you realize that it’s one of the two things he asked you for.
“You’re making this too easy for me,” you huff, the roll of your eyes looking too genuine that your husband’s heart skips. He’s too preoccupied in his pleasure and the feeling of you that he momentarily forgot what he even asked of you in the first place until your hand comes up to his throat. Jungkook gutturally moans at your first, slow squeeze, eyes rolling back immediately.
Even if he hasn’t cummed yet, Jungkook looks completely unraveled beneath you, his moans and whimpers unlike any other. “Tighter. I-I can take it. I’m not gonna break,” he convinces you with his lips trembling, the nod that wracks his head making him even more dizzy.
Your grip on his neck momentarily loosens and Jungkook was just about to whine for more like the brat he is, but he stops in his tracks when he feels you gradually increase the pressure. “But what if I do wanna break you?”
“Gonna– gonna be the fucking death of me,” he whimpers, voice pitching out highly to the point it’s almost recognizable. The groan he releases next scratches the undeniable itch in your brain, setting goosebumps all over your bare skin because Jungkook’s possessed with pleasure. “I’ll let you. I want you to.”
His lips part open without you even saying a word, blinking up at you wordlessly and you take it as your cue to spit in his mouth. Jungkook whines because your hand temporarily betrays his neck to grip his chin in place and so he attempts to move it back himself, only to be swatted.
His eyes are blown-out with nothing but pleasure, snapping out of his daze when you go back to choking him. Jungkook plain-out mewls as your fervent bouncing on his cock transitions back to slow, deeper stroking against your walls. 
Your hand presses down all the right points and Jungkook feels like he’ll go cross-eyed just looking at the watch on your wrist that glints, the slight tremble that’s starting to wrack his body making you realize that’s he’s close to cumming.
“Read the time,” you practically spit as you slowly go back to bouncing on his cock at an angle, the fit tight and obscene with how your walls squelch around him. He’s inside you so deep that you feel the tip of him brush against your cervix, each thrust being the equivalent of you coming closer to being undone.
Jungkook’s close to incomprehensible, his breathing all over the place. “W-what? The– t-the time?” he squints, the tears of pleasure in his eyes making it harder and harder to see.
You bite back a moan when your other hand descends to your clit, digging yourself a grave as you tease. “Read the time, Jungkook. Do it correctly.”
“B-but I can’t-…” he starts to blubber, able to look down on your watch when he cranes his neck down enough, but unable to read the time when he’s this teary and close to cumming.
“Stupid,” you huff, making him whimper. You forego rubbing your clit in favor of roughly pulling his hair back, making him look at you even with the tears in his eyes. “Told you I wanted you to be a good boy. Not a stupid one. Can’t– fuck— can’t even read the time, baby?”
Jungkook’s mouth dries the more that you harshly ride him with no reprieve, the whimpers coming out of him being too high that they barely make a sound anymore. “I-I feel so good that I c-can barely see.”
He shakes underneath you, cock starting to twitch uncontrollably as you rock your hips to a rhythm he can’t keep up with. It feels too good that it’s paining you, swallowing your moans instead by taking out your pleasure by choking Jungkook. “Read the time correctly and I’ll let you cum.”
He feels like bursting already but he wants to please you still, gathering every last bit of clarity in his head. “It’s — t-the time is-…” he stutters, chest rising up and down rapidly. “12:45. It’s — shit! It’s 12:45 i-in the morning.”
You hum, finding the newfound energy to tease him before you see yourself ultimately crashing in the next few seconds. “I don’t know, Kook. You’re off by a few minutes.”
Jungkook’s so frustrated that he can tear his hair out, a new wave of tears running down his cheeks as he repeatedly chants under his breath. He’s begging and pleading and whining underneath you, lip jutting out in an insistent pout. “Y/N, m-mommy, please.” 
“What did you say?” your jaw snaps, the breath in your throat hitching that it makes your hand loosen up slightly on his own. Jungkook’s insistent for your hand to remain though, shaky hands darting up to keep the pressure there. “Where’d that come from, baby?”
“Huh? What did?” he mumbles, so blissed out and lost in pleasure, he feels drunk and sleepy at the same time. 
You finally take mercy when the knot in your stomach starts to unravel out of control, breathless when you take the last step to tighten your hold on his throat. “You think 12:45’s a good time for you to cum, baby?”
“It’s perfect,” Jungkook manages to get out, his vision turning white now that all it takes is one final roll of your hips before he cums inside you.
“Let go, baby, hm? Don’t stop cumming until I tell you to.”
Jungkook finally gets his release and his cum bursts in waves inside you, setting off your own orgasm. He shakes and cries continuously, whining as you slowly rock back and forth through your high as if you’re soothing him. He screws his eyes shut the moment that you grind against him, beyond sensitive to the point of no return. “Can’t — I c-can’t stop cumming! I-…”
You catch your breath as you cease your movements, feeling your husband tear it all out beneath you. “Just until the minute is up,” you assure him, your own vision hazy from how hard you came. “You can take it, crybaby.”
“I can, I can! I’ll be good,” Jungkook whispers, the very last few spurts of his cum draining everything from him. The two of you are completely fucked out, one more-so than the other.
You’re convinced that your husband has already succumbed to sleep if not for the small deep chuckle that escapes him, eyes glazed and slitted.
You don’t hold back this time, indulging Jungkook fully because this time, he says the right thing at the right time.
“If I get you a bracelet next, how far can that take me?”
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Sunwalker
Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 2.2K WC
Masterlist
Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, near death experience for y/n, Astarion crying, companions featured!, visiting Avernus (yikes), the Underdark, guilt, fear
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Astarion smoothed his thumb over the ring on your finger. No matter how long you had been married it was still as if you had just said “yes” to him. 50 years have passed since the elder brain. 40 of which you have been married for. And every day you woke to those scarlet eyes and fell in love all over again. You remained yourself, Astarion never pressured you to turn into a vampire like him. He knew the loneliness it could bring and he didn’t want that for you. You managed to cultivate an elixir that froze your mortality. It nearly cost you your soul to get all the ingredients, most of which you had to beg, borrow, or just flat out steal from some very prominent gods. But you did it. You froze your aging, remaining as young and beautiful as you were when Astarion met you. 
You watched the glow peer through the sheer curtains, leg thrown over Astarions waist as he held your waist in his sleep. Holding you close as always. You looked out into the Underdark, the strange landscape had been your home for quite some time. Beautiful as it was, you missed the sun. The fresh air, the occasional breeze. You never let onto it, knowing Astarion would spiral, envisioning himself as some sort of leech who kept you trapped with him. You would trade the sun for him any day. But still, the heart longs for things it once knew so well. 
“Your face will get stuck like that if you frown any harder.” Astarion whispered. 
You looked up at him, his eyes were closed still, the ever perceptive bastard. “Bad dream.” you mumbled as you relaxed your face, snuggling into his chest. 
“Tell me?” he asked while gently massaging your scalp.
“Sleepy…” you said with a yawn before kissing his chest.
“Then sleep my love, I’ll see you in the morning.” 
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You awoke feeling refreshed. Your house was still bathed in darkness. You had grown accustomed to this, but still, sometimes you missed being greeted by the golden rays of the sun. 
“Darling,” you started as you stretched your rigid limbs, “I was thinking… Maybe we could go to the surface for a few days? Gale has been begging to see me ever since we moved to the Underdark. I miss our friends. And Jaheira isn’t far off from Waterdeep. Neither is Shadowheart. And I’m sure Karlach would slip away from Avernus for a bit if she knew everyone was top side.” you picked at your nails, you hated talking about the surface. You alway wondered if it made Astarion feel bad.
Astarion kissed your forehead before pulling you up so you could be eye level with him. “My sweet, you may go to the surface whenever you wish, you know that. But… somebody has to stay with the spawn. Especially the younglings, they’re still so unpredictable.” his eyes held a sad look. He would never admit it, but he missed your companions too, even Gale. But he knew what he signed up for when he released them. He kept balance between he spawn and the Underdark’s natural inhibitors; drow, myconids, duergar, etc. 
You let out a small sigh, “Only a few days, I swear it.” you kissed him, thumbing over his cheek as you held his face. 
He leaned his forehead against yours, “I know, you can’t live without me.” he said with a smirk but you could hear it in his voice. The waver that held uncertainty. He knew you loved him, but it is so easy to leave and never return. 
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You opened a portal early in the morning. You left Astarion a jar of your blood on the kitchen table along with a little love note. He knew you were leaving early, giving you a small kiss before he watched you go. 
The sun was blinding and took your eyes several minutes to adjust. The soft glow of the Underdark didn’t compare to the ball of fire in the sky. It almost felt oppressive. However - feeling the warmth on your skin, the wind in your hair, the smell of the grass. Gods how you missed it all. You ran your hands through the  tall grass as you walked towards Gale’s tower you saw off in the distance. 
He captured you in a bone crushing hug as soon as he saw you. “Y/N! My dear friend, how I’ve missed you.” he said fondly. “Come, come! Everyone is inside!” 
As promised everyone was inside, even Lae’zel. You hugged them all, holding each of them a little longer than normal. God’s you missed them all. Everyone looked just the same, a few new scars and wrinkles here and there, but the same. Gale had managed to pull something off similar to you, ingesting dark fire to keep his soul bound to this plane of existence thus his body remained as well. 
“No Astarion?” Karlach asked with sadness evident in her voice. 
Your friends all looked at you sympathetically, “The spawn… they need him. And the sun… tends to be an issue.” you said with a slight laugh, trying not to bring the mood down. 
“Did you never find the Sunwalker’s ring?” Shadowheart asked.
“Our leads stopped years ago… we made a home in the Underdark. It’s not so bad, we never get sunburned.” you shrugged with a lopsided smile. 
Your friends nodded, quickly changing the subject as they noticed your mood dropping. You talked, drank, ate, and laughed. It felt identical to when you traveled together, regaling each other with new and old stories. Eventually though, bedrolls called to everyone. 
You looked out the window of Gale’s tower. You had almost forgotten about the moon. You felt a pang in your chest, you missed your husband. You twisted your wedding band around your finger, trying to feel close to him in the dark. 
Gale walked up to you slowly “Missing someone?” he said as he passed you a chalice of wine. 
You smiled softly, “You only get one great love in life… it hurts to be away from him.” you said looking into the deep red of the wine. 
Gale nodded in understanding. “If I may, I might know of another way.” 
“Way for what?” you said with a confused look. 
“A way for Astarion to walk in the sun again.” he said, his eyes shining with hope.
Your eyes widened, “Go on…” you said.
“In Avernus, there is something called “The Eternal Pit "; it is a hellish void. A portal really. To a realm of the unknown, but if you survive it, those who have returned alway return with their hearts desire.” Gale said with excitement. 
“I’ll do it.” you said immediately, “Now, we go now.” you said as you jumped down from the ledge of the window. You rushed to Karlach’s room, knocking lightly before you rushed in. She laid on her bed, resting but her eyes met yours as soon as the door opened. 
“Hello?” she said with confusion on her face.
“I need you to take me to The Eternal Pit.” you said quickly.
Her face was dripping with shock. “I’m sorry, what? You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.” You said sitting on the bed next to her. “Please, it’s the only way Astarion can walk in the sun again. He deserves it, Karlach.” you begged, your eyes becoming glassy. Your lover deserved the world, and you’d do anything to give it to him. 
She sighed, her eyes searching yours. “I have a feeling you’ll go with or without me… fine.” she sighed.
She started to put her armor on. You dawned your mage armor along with your simple chain mail. “After you.” she said, opening the portal back to Avernus.
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“As requested, The Eternal Pit.” Karlach said, cringing as she looked into the swirling black void in the center of the burning, abandoned monastery. 
Your gaze never broke from it, “If I don’t return…”
“Don’t” she said sternly.
“If I don’t… tell Astarion I’m sorry for leaving him alone… I just wanted to give him everything he deserved. And that I love him more than he could ever know.” you finished your sentence before letting yourself fall forward into the pit. 
Heat enveloped you, thick and sticky like tar. It felt fluid and yet molten at the same time. You walked through a sea of nothingness, just emptiness for what felt like ever before you arrived at a shimmering mirror. You gazed at yourself, skin melted, bone showing. You touched the shimmering surface of it before you were thrown backwards. A devil slowly made her way out of the mirror. Her imposing figure looming above yours. 
“What dost thou want?” her voice echoed in a sinister whisper throughout the void yet her lips never moved. 
“The Sunwalker’s ring.” you stuttered out as you lay in the blackened tar like fluid. 
“Why?” she asked.
“My lover needs it.” you said simply, not wanting to overshare in case the devil was trying to form some sort of trick.
“What whilst thou sacrifice?” she asked, outstretching her hand.
You thought hard. What could you give of equal value? “Take whatever you wish, just not my soul or immortality.” 
The devil smiled, “You’re brave. What are you willing to endure for this boon?”
“Anything.” you said. Suddenly you felt all your skin peeling off. Your nails being removed one by one. 
“Pain is your price. If you say stop, your soul stays with me.” she smiled wickedly.
The pain was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Searing. Melting. Evil. You writhe about, feeling every part of you be ripped apart just to be put back together and torn apart once again. You screamed and cried but never said stop. You remember everything fading, slipping deeper into the tar like water before you felt… nothing. There was an absence of everything in this abyss. 
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Astarion rushed through the halls of Gale’s tower, not caring if the sun scorched his skin every time he walked past a window. He made it to the laboratory in the basement. He stopped when he saw your body resting on a gurney. 
He rushed to you, “What happened?!” he yelled, demanding to know. 
You had been missing for three days before you reappeared in Waterdeep. Fainting as soon as you materialized, Gale kept you in the laboratory. He watched your vitals day and night, Karlach blaming herself for taking you despite knowing your stubborn heart would have gone no matter what. 
“OUT! Both of you get out!” he screamed. Feverish tears rushed down his cheeks as soon as he knew he was alone. He held your limp hand, kissing over your face “Wake up, please… you promised…” he held your forehead to his. His sobs wracked him, he kept his head on your chest for hours, listening to the only sign of your life. Your heart beat was weak but steady. He didn’t meditate for days. 
“Astarion…” Karlach said as she entered. She left a cup of fresh blood next to him. “They… I know their heart and mind was filled with only you when they stepped into that pit.” she patted his shoulder. 
He didn’t move, he was practically catatonic. They had told him what happened. Why you went. Your last words. Everything. He couldn’t be without you so this is where he would stay until he too faded into nothing. 
Astarion was sure he hallucinated it, a twitch of your eyebrow. Then your finger. He saw your eyes shifting beneath your lids. His head shot up despite the dizziness he felt due to lack of feeding. “Little love?” he whispered.
You shot up bolt right, leaning off to the side to throw up black liquid that scorched the stone flooring. After coughing and gagging for a solid minute you regained your sight a bit, “Astarion?” you mumbled, unsure if he was really there or if this was a fever dream. 
“Darling?” he said, kissing over your face. 
You sunk back down feeling weak. 
“GALE!” Astarion let out a booming yell which had the wizard running in. As soon as he saw you were awake he rushed a bottle of antidote and superior healing to your lips. Color returned to your face quickly. 
“Don’t ever do that shit again.” Astarion said with a watery tone. 
“I know, you can’t live without me.” you mumbled with a smirk as your shaky head reached for his face, cupping his cheek. 
Astarion let out a shaky laugh before he kissed you. The healing potion tingled against his lips but didn’t distract him enough to feel a warm sensation slide up his ring finger. He begrudgingly pulled away to look at the cause. A golden band with a golden gem softly glowing. 
His eyes widened, “How did you…”
You softly smiled at him dragging him back into a kiss. “Let’s go home.” you whispered against his lips as you carded your fingers through his hair. 
“No…” he shook his head, “My brothers and sisters will manage without me. We’ve lived in the shadows long enough. Let’s make a new home.” he said.
You nodded quickly, pulling him into a crushing kiss as you pressed him close to you. He held you tightly, responding with just as much urgency and passion. “I love you.” he said.
You kissed him over and over, “I love you. Now, Sunwalker, let’s go make a home for ourselves.”
------------------------
Naboo's Note:
Hello all! This was based off a request so thank you for sending that in. This was awesome to write! Had a lot of fun with it, got the creative juices flowing. I hope everyone is well. I work an overnight tomorrow so expect another fic to be out soon! Thanks for everything!!! TTYLXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!!!!
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jungle-angel · 5 months
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Home Is Where The Boss Lives (Mob Boss!Jake x Reader)
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Summary: After a long time coming, you and Jake are finally able to move into your dream home
Tagging: @bradleybeachbabe Rachel you asked and ye shall receive (lol)
"Ok.......ok are you sure?" Jake asked. "Are you absolutely sure....? No, listen, I appreciate you being careful, especially with something like this.......alright......I'll catch you later......yep.....bye."
Jake hung up the phone on his desk, stacking the last few papers into the wooden box before gathering his brown leather sport jacket and heading out for the day. As he made his way out to the main floor of the casino, he pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and immediately dialed your number.
"Hello?" you enquired.
"(Y/n) my dearest, darling wifey," Jake chortled. "I have a little surprise for you."
"Is it a good surprise or a surprise that's gonna scare your overdue spawn out of my belly?"
"A little of both," Jake chuckled.
"Good because he's been sitting on my bladder all morning and I sent Val to the laundry room to get me a new pair of pants."
Jake laughed. "Nah sweetheart you're gonna love it," he promised. "I'll be home in a half hour and we can send the girls either to Mickey's or my sister's place for the weekend."
"Pleas do," you groaned. "I love you."
"Love you too baby."
Jake hung up just before entering the parking garage where his truck was waiting, right next to Rooster's. As soon as he pulled out and got on the road, he headed for home with the radio blasting Dr. John's "Right Place, Wrong Time" from the speakers.
The drive back to his mother's home wasn't too bad, only a few detours and one road closure for an accident. The officer that had waved him through had been an old friend from college and one that Jake had frequently checked in on after an encounter with Slimy Nick, the very bane of the Seresin family's existence. Jake thanked him and promised to keep in touch with the family since Val and the officer's oldest daughter would be in kindergarten soon.
Finally, he pulled into the driveway of his mother's house where you and the kids had been living while Jake had been trying to get the house. Neither his mother nor the girls were home, but you were, holed up in bed and preparing the home for the birth of your third child, a little boy who you knew would be the spitting image of Jake.
"Sweet pea, you good?" he asked, poking his head in the door.
"No," you chuckled flatly.
Jake slid into bed with you, his hand sliding all over your bump in an attempt to calm your son. "Be nice or I'm coming in there," he ordered, pretending to be stern.
"Jake, you're literally picking a fight with your unborn son," you laughed.
"I came to bring you good news but the little demon decided to start a fight," Jake told you.
"What's the good news?"
"You promise you won't go into early labor?"
"Jake I'm three weeks overdue!!!!"
"Ok ok," Jake said, throwing his hands up. "We've got the house."
You were dumbstruck with shock. "The Vegas house?"
"The very one baby!"
You screamed with joy, pulling Jake into a tight hug and kissing his stubble lined jaw. "You're the best!"
"Ain't I?" he chuckled.
It's not long before you're finally able to fully move out of your mother-in-law's house and into your new one, finishing off the rooms to your liking and making them your own. Not three days after you move in, John Michael Seresin, named for Jake's father, is born in your shared bedroom. As you lay resting with Jake and your new little boy, your new home feels more complete than ever.
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dawnbreakersgaze · 27 days
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Lost in Your Echos -Prologue teaser
❥ ┊𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; Dawnbreaker!Zayne × Hunter!Reader
❥ ┊𝐀𝐔; This one is gonna get weird folks. Canon Divergent as fuck, but will use a lot of the canon lore.
❥ ┊𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; NSFW, reader is afab using she/her pronouns, reader's skin/hair/body will not be described (this will be Black reader friendly!!) violence, mentions of torture but no descriptions, beloved character deaths (I'm serious I'm gonna kill 'em), slow burn, obsessive behavior, Dawnbreaker is kind of a creep but he's trying he just doesn't know how, trauma, ptsd, nightmares/night terrors, poorly managed grief and depression, sexual situations (more specific tags for that when we get to those chapters later).
❥ ┊𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; In the far future, Dawnbreaker fights a lone man war against an ever growing hoard of human born wanderer abominations, spawned from an unchecked protocore sickness run rampant. 2 weeks after the death of Georgie, Zayne has an all too vivid dream of the Doctor that abruptly brings an end to his dreams of the Doctor and you.
Several months later, Detective Ivan reaches out to him again, informing him that a woman has come forward requesting help with information about the abominations. Knowing he can't help her, he sends Dawnbreaker her info and suggests Zayne meet up with her. What he finds shatters the delicate reality he has built for himself, but for the first time in his bleak life he can feel the warmth of the sun.
❥ ┊𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; Lost in Your Echos
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"It's you.” Truly the last place he expected to see the haunted expression of his own warped visage was in his once quiet office at Akso hospital, but Zayne already knew this was no ordinary meeting. The mid-morning sun shone through the open windows, washing everything in a beautiful golden glow, but there was no warmth to be found here.
How long had it been since he'd sat behind this desk? 6, 7, 8 weeks? Even now there was a force in his mind that wanted to drift to the many patients he'd left in the care of Dr. Greyson, and their varied outcomes, but the man that stood before him like a specter was the only thing left to take care of now. He wore his face, but so discordant were the expression and mannerisms that they made every part of his being feel like he was staring down the executioner.
This was his grim reaper.
He'd experienced his presence a hundred times in his dreams, yet nothing in those half lucid moments compared to this. 
“You've come for me then, finally.” He watched the unchanging face of his twisted reflection for any sign of recognition or acceptance. Instead, the apparition finally spoke, his expression as frigid as his tone. 
“You called me here.” His voice was quieter than the Doctor's, with the slight rasp of disuse, but otherwise, he thinks they sound too similar for his liking. Zayne watches as the figure cut in black shifts, movements awkward like he takes up space in a room he is not part of. He is a person all too real in a dream or simulation, and it reminds Zayne that his own body is slipping from his grasp. 
“I didn't call anyone here. I'm not even sure where ‘here’ is. If you're not the grim reaper then who exactly are you, and where are we?” Zayne doesn't miss the slightest crinkle of the other's eyes at the use of his macabre ‘nickname’, but all the same he doesn't object.
With a small effort he stands, the unease in his gut growing and gnawing as he realizes now they are exactly the same height as well. It didn't bother him before how perfectly stacked all the logs were, or how healthy all the plants looked. How all the pillows on the couch were fully fluffed and every photo on his desk was fingerprint free. However, the longer he stood here in the eerie silence with his doppelganger, the more his surroundings began to feel suffocating and uncanny. He knows his heart should be racing with the discomfort he's experiencing yet it felt alarmingly calm. His fingers itched to call the familiar ice for his own protection only to find the terrifyingly numb sensation of nothingness. 
He really was dead. But what about-
“I was dreaming.” The other starts softly, temporarily snapping Zayne from his spiral. “I saw… us in an explosion and we called out for help. I …. reached out.” The caution and cadence in his voice made him sound confused, and Zayne follows his flickering gaze downward as they both look to his trembling hands that now tightly grip the photo that sat on his desk of the two of you in your finest evening wear at his last award ceremony dinner. Your smile, so radiant and warm, was forever seared into his memory. This seemed so long ago now. Had the last few months truly aged you both that much?
Wait, when did he even grab this?
No, that didn't matter. He didn't have time to waste now. If he could reach out to him then maybe-
“Can you reach out to her? Is she still alive?” Zayne no longer cared to police his tone or expression, and the reaction of his double was proof enough as he watched his eyes blow wide for just a second. He could feel the frantic tone cracking in his throat like a fading fire but pushed forward despite the strain, slamming his free hand on the desk between them, alarmed by the lack of pain or feedback from it. “Like you are right now with me? She was with me in the-”
“I saw her, yes.” There is a consuming reverence on his tongue when he speaks of you, and if Zayne had any other option, he'd have gladly taken it over him at this moment. The way his eyes soften and soothe at the mere mention of you is enough to trip more than one warning flag, but he lacks the time you desperately need. He knows he's not the first man to die for you, and while he doesn't understand what this body double even is, he's a wise enough man to know his own heart. His own devotion to you, left unchecked, could border on obsession. 
He has no choices left. There is no more time, and his only parting gift to you is hopefully giving you the time necessary to make your plan work. So many had put their faith in you, himself included, and he would be a fool to look this 11th hour gift in the eye and deny its aid. 
Xavier, Jeremiah, Caleb, Thomas, Yvonne… so many more names of the lost had faded from his memory and the thought made him sick, the ghost of the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. How many had he forgotten already? 
“Do it. Please.” Voice raw, he begged. For you, he begged the grim reaper. 
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Chokehold
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Ascended Astarion x F! Tav
18+ angst, regret, longing, tenderness, comfort, complicated feelings, self doubt/hatred, dubcon, rawness, needy astarion, fingering (f!), dry humping, pants cumming (m!)
Escaping him again, Tav finds solace and safety in an old friend in Lower City. If only it was that easy to escape the Ascendant's desire...
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
-
"Oh Gods," She moaned.
Eyes opening, aching from the previous night.
She winced, the tight puncture marks on her neck pulling.
"Oh Gods..." She buried her face into the pillow and let out a frustrated scream.
It hadn't been a dream. She was back in it. The walls of the Elfsong a cruel reminder.
She gave herself a moment to indulge the tempest, beating her fist into the mattress.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Took a few shaky breaths.
But now she must think.
Too many lines of thought assaulted her.
Why did he drink from her with such need? He was free of the hunger. Why did it seem like he was starving?
Why did he leave her to stay here? He could have taken her away. Compelled her, even. Why had he agreed to go?
Why did he... transform like that? They had shared a bed many times since his Ascension and he had always remained the same. In control. What was that?
She shook her pounding head as the one question, the real question, rose to the top.
Why didn't he kill her?
She had betrayed him to the utmost degree. Depriving him of his consort. Of her.
Wondered if she had gone through with the change, would he have more control over her?
Surely.
Would he be less obsessive if she was his spawn? His vampiric bride?
Possibly.
Would he scoff at her escape and pull her back to him with ease?
Most definitely.
He always needed control now, and she had given him as little as she could get away with. She could see it gnaw away at him over time. At his cruelest, he would punish her for weeks on end, trying to break her. Submit. But she would never fold.
Her upbringing had warded her spirit to a great deal of pain. She could endure indefinitely, if needed.
She unconsciously traced the thin scars circling her wrist. On rainy days, she could still feel the bite of wire.
Pulling her lower lip in thought.
She could circle the drain of her endless dilemma later. She needed a plan.
Closing her eyes.
Okay.
She needed to get out of the Elfsong, preferably unseen. And she needed help.
Though she was loathe to pull another of her companions into this, her greatest strength would always be those bonds. His endless pursuit to isolate her had proven that tenfold.
Gods below, if everyone wasn't strewn across Faerun. She needed someone in Baldurs Gate.
If Wyll wasn't with Karlach in Avernus he would be the perfect option. The son of the Duke, in his own castle. His protection would be invaluable.
Think, Tav.
Her eyes opened.
Wait.
Rushing to the window. Yes, she could just make out the head of the statue.
Suddenly buzzing with adrenaline, she rang for the dumb waiter.
"Ugh, what?"
"It's Tav, tell Alan I'm calling in that favor he offered."
Gripping the cracks of brick in fingertips, threading between the vines holding, she cursed herself. Scaling up the side of the Elfsong in grunts of effort.
Stupid, stupid.
Her anger feeding her strength.
Thank the Gods she had been training herself with Shadowheart or she would be broken on the cobblestones.
She leapt up and got a hold on the lip of the roof. Legs dangling out then pulling in, arcing out and twisting up. Catching her heel on the gutter and rolling with gasping breaths on the morning warmed shingles.
Blinking away the endless sky.
What had Karlach said when she watched her scale an oak tree?
"Gods, soldier. If you were anymore of a daredevil I would've hunted you in Avernus."
Tav laughed quietly to herself, patting her bicep twice. Gotta make her girl proud.
She rose to knees, orienting herself. The high wind whipping her hair as she circled with her eyes.
Yes, she could just see the edge of the roof. It would have to do.
"Please let this work." She whispered to herself. Pulling the scroll of Dimension Door from her waistband.
Standing she felt a shingle wiggle under her foot then slip away. Catching herself she gave it a withering look.
Setting her sights, she took a deep breath.
Shouting the incantation, she felt a great pull from behind her spine, and the air broke around her with a crack.
Only doing this with Gale bracing her in the past, she buckled forward when her body crashed back into the world.
Landing with a loud scrambling thud on the roof of the Elerrathin Manor.
"Mom, there's someone on the house!"
Clean hair damp from her bath and swaddled in fresh clothes, Tav sat curled into a plush corner, taking in Jaheira's surprisingly cozy office. Her bloodstained nightgown being tended to, though she insisted there was no need.
The druid worked quietly at her desk. Tav had stepped in, and she had gestured to her kindly to make herself comfortable. "I'll be just a moment."
"No rush." Tav pulled her legs tucked under her. She felt safe here, no easy feat. Beyond the Selune outpost, she could think of very few places where that was possible.
"There. I'll send this with a raven to our Shadowheart." She folded the letter with sure fingers, handing it to a messenger rat that scampered away in determination.
Tav let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I've been worrying myself sick about leaving her in the dark."
Jaheira turned in her chair, giving Tav her full attention.
"Why are you back, cub?"
The underlying question hanging in the air.
Why did you willingly walk into the vipers den?
She bowed her head in shame. Picking at the edge of her leggings.
"Hubris? Hope?" Shook her head. "Definitely stupidity."
"A need for closure is not stupidity." Jaheira sighed knowingly. "The way you could go about it on the other hand..."
Tav laughed, tired and embarrassed, but safe.
"Gods, I don't know. I dont think people like us get closure. It was a terrible idea, Shadowheart said so herself. I just-" She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "I don't want to live in fear. I have lived so much of my life under a knife, I want some breathing room for once."
Jaheira nodded. "You deserve peace. And I will do everything in my power to assist in that. I have already sent word to The Guild, The Harper's, and pulled some strings with the Duke. You will be protected from all sides. You can walk through our city freely."
She organized some papers on her desk and stood, offering out a hand. "And, if you'll allow me, I can give you the best protection I can offer. I will ward you from his harm." Winked, hitching her head over to an open letter on the desk, spinning with blue magic. "A little gift from our friend Gale. I sent for him as soon as Rion pulled you off of our roof."
Tav blinked, tears forming. "This is... so much more than I could ever hope for." A hitching sob caught in her throat. "Thank you."
She held her hand out and pressed her palm into hers.
Jaheira spoke, eyes alight, the air swirling with great pulsing light.
Tav could feel the magic infuse into her, unmistakably Gale's. A warm caress washing over, the smell of old books. A brief phantom hand stroking her cheek.
She smiled, the ends of her hair lifting. The last of the magic pulling in circles into her.
Hello, dear. Welcome back.
"Children, there will be more than enough time to bother her in the morning. Let our guest get some rest."
Little legs running circles around her, Tav smiled warmly. "Ah, I don't mind."
"Don't encourage them." Jaheira laughed, looking fondly but sternly at Fig. "Bed now, little guard."
"Aw, alright. But I'm sleeping outside the door!"
"You most certainly are not."
Tav laughed. "I don't know, I'd be a fool to turn down more protection."
Jaheira pressed her palm on Fig's head, leading her away. "And yet, little guardians are in need of their rest. Off with you now. You too, Jhessem."
The small girl that had been peeking behind the corner squeaked and retreated into her bedroom.
"You certainly have your hands full." Tav mused as the hallway emptied. "Are you sure I'm not going to be a burden?"
"Never." Jaheira reached out and squeezed her hand. Hers warm and calloused. "Now you get some rest too." Spoken in that same stern tone she had used with her children, a sparkle of playfulness in her eyes.
"Ah, okay. You've twisted my arm." Tav mock sighed. Giving her hand one grateful weighted squeeze before releasing.
"Enjoy some safety, you've earned it." Jaheira hushed as she turned away.
Tav closed the door to the spare bedroom behind her. Barely contained tears rolling to the surface.
She curled into a ball on the floor. Letting it wash over her. Hitching sobs wrenching her throat. The tidal wave finally having its way.
Gods, she was so filled with hope it stung her heart. The feelings of grief, exhaustion, wonder, protection, all threading together. A rope that had been tied to her throat now wound tight around her fist.
Even after all of this time, they rallied around her. Her heart bursting with their strength. She was indebted to them all.
-
He crouched on the lip of her new hideaway. There you are, my treasure.
The sweet heady call of her blood, still pulsing through him, leading him here.
One of his many new gifts, he could sense her as long as she coursed through him. Her blood had always bewitched him. Even if hadn't been searching for her, he mused that the river of her would have sung him back regardless.
Eyes scanning the outside of the ledge for traps he was shocked to find the window unlatched.
Tav was not stupid, if anything she was infuriatingly clever. Outfoxing him twice now the proof of that. He was loathe to admit that the only reason he had found her so quickly was the bloodcall.
He slipped inside, quiet as death. Moved on silence to her bedside.
She was curled on her side, breathing softly. Her sweet face relaxed, pouted lips slightly open. Those doe eyes moving back and forth under her lids. Dreaming.
A shot of possession cracked through him. He needed her back.
He reached forward and tried to scoop under her legs and back but felt a bite of magic, pain arcing across his skull. His hands compelled to release.
A familiar voice: You may not have her.
Fucking Gale.
He snarled in frustration. Why do they all insist on interfering in his affairs. This was his consort, his should-be bride. His.
She settled back down into the sheets but leaned into him as he pulled away. Sighing in her sleep.
"Astarion,"
He almost answered, kneeling down. His face inches from hers. Fingers caressing her cheek, her neck. Watching her face, rapturous.
Her eyebrows pulled together in pleasure, lips parting. A sweet little breath leaving her.
He hummed low in his throat, a fierce elation rocking through him.
It had been years since she had reacted to his touch like this. All soft pleading, calling him to her. He could not deny her.
He climbed carefully onto the bed, distributing his weight evenly. Straddled over her, hand still raking feather light desire across her skin.
"Astarion," She moaned quietly. Arching up to meet his touch.
"Yes, my darling," He cooed to her sleeping words. Pulling the blanket away slowly, leaning down and kissing her collarbone. Hand cupping her breast with a low moan. Slotting between her legs.
She sighed, words hushed and barely formed, but he could make it out. "I missed you."
A lightning strike of need and grief struck him.
She had too much power over him, that was the problem. He had every intention of making her happy in the beginning. Loathefully desperate for her to stay, he had offered her everything. Finery, food, any lavish thing she set her sights on. And his linchpin, immortality. To make her his vampiric bride.
But she only smiled at him. Her bewitched fingers running along his arm. "I don't know if I'm ready for that. I just got my life back, Starlight. Let me have a little living before I decide."
Oh, how he had pushed, prodded, enticed. Eventually demanded, berated, bled. He tried to break her, but she had never given in. The panicked screaming at the lack of control in his head aside, he respected her for it. He would have ruined her.
Well, ruined her more.
He softly circled his thumb over her wrist. The scars he had left there sneering at him.
Look what you did. You deserve this.
His old voice in his head again.
You aren't worthy of her.
He clenched down his jaw.
You're disgusting. Treating her like that.
He shook his head. He did what he felt he needed to do. Right?
Her hand reaching for his face broke his hateful trance.
He leaned down into her searching fingers. His eyes closing in quiet bliss when he met her touch.
Her soft fingers stroking his face was a spellbinding balm. He pushed his face further into her, sighing.
Going without tenderness from her for so long, he felt drunk. His whole body swirling with heady pleasure.
He leaned down, eyes lidded heavy with lust. Gently pulling her nightgown down along the collar. Leaving heated kisses along her clavicle.
She moaned, a high intoxicating call.
Oh Gods, he needed her.
He snaked his hand under the covers, her blanket warmed thighs a sacred domain. Still unbearably soft, lamb's ear made flesh.
His eyes hitched back as he met her center. Fingers trailing over her curls to slide back into his home. A velvet wetness meeting him, coating his fingertips.
He leaned his head down into her chest, already overcome. Rutting his hard cock into her hip in slow rapturous thrusts.
He slowly pushed his two fingers in, her body arching up. Her small whimper wrapping around his head in dizzy circles.
Her sleeping form capable of no scrutiny he felt no need to perform. His walls falling.
"Tav," He moaned, pumping his fingers into her endless warmth. Thumb pushing devotion in circles against her clit.
Gods she was too beautiful, it made his chest ache to look at her when she was like this.
Softly mewling, her labored breath a heady miasma pulling him down.
He leaned down to her neck, fangs grazing along her pulse point. Felt a warning crackle of magic.
Gods damn it.
If he didn't have her blood in him, he felt empty. He needed that connection to her.
He relented, leaving a needful kiss along the two pinprick scars he had pushed into her long ago. Feeling a snarl of pride for those, at least. Anyone can look upon her and see this mark of him imprinted in her body.
His fingers curled up in that way he remembered she liked, got the immediate reward of her hips squirming. A short gasp that moved into a pleading moan.
His eyes glazed over, mouth hanging open against her chest. Precum leaking into his trousers. His head nothing but circling waves of desire.
Gods he felt like an animal on all fours, controlled by its heat.
Only she could make him come undone like this.
Only she could pull this from him.
Please stay asleep a little longer. He thought to her, though he knew they no longer shared a tadpole.
I need you. I need you to want me again.
His desire too great for anymore subtle movements, he arced his hips down and ground his erection into the mattress. Whimpering in the back of his throat.
He pulsed his fingers in as controlled a ministration as he could manage, feeling his end approaching hot on his heels.
He leaned up into her ear, watching the rhythmic arches of her body in rapturous greed.
"Come for me, darling." He breathed into her, nipping at her lobe.
She shuddered under him, head falling back. Her neck opening up to him, a flower unfurling in the sun. Her cunt gripped his fingers in vicious pulses, pulling him further into her. That hauntingly beautiful face straining in release.
He gasped in quick choppy breaths, biting back a moan as his pelvis contracted, a deep shudder pulling through him, spurting long pulses inside his finery. Eyes rolling into the back of his skull, gripping into the sheets next to her head. His newly beating heart thumping against the back of his chest.
She murmured something softly and turned on her side, cradling his head into her chest. Hooking her legs around his in an intimate tangle.
Part of his head screamed at him to pull away, but he was helplessly pulled down. Eyes closing with shameful tears threatening.
How long had it been since she had held him?
He buried his face in her. Breathing her in like the last gulp of air before a tide pull.
He knew he couldn't stay, if she awoke the spell would be broken. She would turn him away, that spear of contempt in her eyes. Or worse, the flat deadness that overtook her when he pushed too far, an opaque distant glaze over her doe eyes.
You've really broken her, haven't you? Just like Cazador broke us.
"Shut up." He hissed under his breath.
He carefully maneuvered out of her embrace with an annoyed huff. He was being ridiculous. There was a way to break this spell and he would find it.
Then she would be his again. Finally. Take her back to the place where she belonged.
He allowed himself one last look at her, bristling at himself at the brief spike of longing he felt, before he pulled up into the night air. Twisting into the moonlight, back to the Crimson Castle.
He had research to do.
~
Part 6
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thranduilsperkybutt · 5 months
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☾ the gold & the rust ☼
Pic Sources: 1 | 2 | 3
Pairings:  Astarion Ancunín/Tav!Reader Warnings:  NSFW; angst/comfort smut; yearning; Astarion is not ascended; mentions of past canon-typical trauma/abuse; the struggle of healing; Astarion has racing thoughts and you can't tell me otherwise; canon-typical biting; it's not about the sex it's about the feelings; spoilers for the endgame Word Count:  7,168 words Reader Gender:  Female Author:  Meg Summary:  You’ve told him you will find him some cure for his darkness; you are set on performing a feat no one in history has ever achieved, all for him, but he wonders if it is as futile as the sun laboring to join the moon. Maybe he is destined to forever look upon you with the knowledge that when your bright, beckoning light inevitably burns out, he will be left with only his darkness, alone again... A/N:  Look I blame Hozier for making too many Astarion-coded songs that make me sob my eyes out while thinking about the implications of his "good" ending. Astarion has literally changed my brain chemistry.
The sun cusps over the horizon, its soft tendrils spreading over a murky sky. Beckoning the night’s fleeing retreat with a gentle violence as the day demands more territory in each passing second. Sparse hues of blue manage to cling to some lingering clouds that have yet to meet the threateningly beautiful pink and orange sky.
Astarion reaches out from behind the heavy curtain and his darkness, towards the pillar of light that breaks into the privacy of your bedchamber. Pale fingertips dip hesitantly into the light, as if he could believe everything that has occurred over this past week has been only a dream. It takes but a moment for the evidence of his reality to meet him when his skin sparks and dusts under the light of day.
He flinches back, hissing lowly from the burning pain of it. Glaring down at his flexing hand as if the disdain in his eyes could change the fates that have turned the thread of his life into this ever-knotted thing. He’d never imagined he would miss having that damned illithid parasite in his head, yet here he was. Yearning to reach for morning again. Wishing to experience a dawn that may never welcome him again.
He hears the stirring moan, soft and drenched in exhaustion, and dares a glance away from his own skin and stinging regret. Stilling entirely, Astarion hopes he has not awoken you just yet. He does not wish for you to see him like this, in this state of self-pitiful detestation. Though he knows you may yet love him despite having seen it, showing the reality of his mind beyond his comfortable performances is easier said than done. Tension drips from his shoulders, if only a little bit, as he watches your body relax into the cushions with your blissfully ignorant slumber.
The sigh at his lips is shaky. Mournful. He looks back towards the sunlight and remembers how it had felt when it had forgotten how to punish him like this. He doesn’t know which is crueler: to have never felt it at all, or for it to be ripped away from him like this. In the brief time he was granted to finally walk in the sun again after the past two centuries, Astarion can’t help the fresh anger that bubbles up in him at the taking away of it. He didn’t deserve this--- any of it.
Truthfully, he has no clear memory of how the sun had felt to him when he was simply a mortal elf and not a spawn belonging to a master. It had been so long ago; memories fade over time when drenched in horror, he’s discovered well since. Still, something tells Astarion he loved the day even then as he did now. He’s certain he had always loved the heat of it--- the color.
The way it filters through your hair when you stand in the path of daylight, kissing the edges of your skin in a way he forever wished to share with it. It had been warmer and kinder to him than he had ever expected to receive, somewhat like you. You were undeniably beautiful in the light of day.
Even standing within the finality of the sunset of your journey together--- foes vanquished, coated in sweat and victory--- he had thought the same.
But nothing good ever lasts, he’s learned. At least, nothing but you. Astarion wonders if he would still grieve this much if he were to never have known the day at all. Would he know what he was missing? Would a piece of its cosmic heat have whispered of you to him, even then?
He can’t truly comprehend a world in which his fate had not become so intimately entangled with yours. Perhaps that is the worst part, how he knows he would always brave this feeling of loss to gain what he has with you. In the end of it all, he knows he has made the right choice to have this over the temptations of that infernal ritual’s power.
Despite that knowledge, Astarion truly hadn’t expected you to run after him when the lingering illithid protections dissipated from his being and the sun began its remorseless burning again. He had scampered away from the docks in an abject desperation, attempting to flee from the light’s betrayal. Astarion was the objectively faster party, but you had found him eventually--- you always seem to find him--- after he had taken to cowering behind wooden crates that cast a meager shadow of solace. He had been shaking, cradling himself, closed off entirely from the world as that sickeningly familiar taste of how things had been before--- back when he was still Cazador’s--- came flooding back onto his palate. His mind had become drenched in a fear he had thought could never claim him again.
You’d cut through all of it with your worried call of his name. Plunging him into the magical darkness you cast upon the both of you to shield him from the sun’s assault with such a thoroughness that not even you could see through it. His call of your own name sounded far too broken on his tongue for his own liking, but you’d followed the sound towards his outstretched arms all the same.
Dragging him up into yours, only a sliver of the calamity in his soul dissipated when you promised him blindly, “Come, quickly, I’ll get you someplace safe.”
Despite his better efforts, his voice shook as he allowed you to clumsily drape your cloak over his curls in darkness, unable to bring the deflecting humor to his voice that he so achingly wished would return, “Darling, you are a sight for sore eyes; or, you would be, I’m sure, if I could see you.”
“I told you this would come in handy,” you shot back, and he had been grateful for your effort at ignoring the bittersweet grief that so clearly drenched his soul in favor of reminding him of how he had teased you for spending a good amount of your gold on this very cloak when you’d all first arrived in the city.
His breath remained shallow, but his hand tightened over yours in what he hoped you knew was gratefulness when you finished ensuring the fabric had covered any of his exposed skin, “I shall never question any of your purchases again, on my honour.”
“Of course you will, Astarion,” he heard the slight worry in your voice as much as you tried to hide it. He felt the spell waning and with it the returning disorientation that even slight sunlight left him in. You had grasped his arm firmly and spoken with a confident determination that he suspected was as much for your comfort as it was for his, “Now, get ready to move quickly and keep your head down; the dark won’t last much longer.”
You were good for your promises, he’d learned over his time travelling with you, and that had brought some small comfort as the day reemerged before he’d had a chance to respond. Then, you were maneuvering him through the city, towards the darkness of Sharess’ Caress, with such a precision that he might think it more important than any quest you’ve had thus far if he hadn’t known better. Gripping him tightly the whole way, Astarion still has not dared tell you how grateful he was for it--- for you, surprising him against his better judgement every time with how you simply are.
It has been nearly a week now of you coming to his side in the night and yet some part of him still expected the other metaphorical shoe to drop. For you to come to your senses and tell him that you simply cannot carry on like this with him.
He wanted to believe you. Gods, how he wants it. Yet, he still felt like a fool to think he’s earned some love such as yours. He wants to believe he deserves the way you look at him like he can be what you see him to be. It’s too dangerous for his heart to invest in the thought that he maybe can. That maybe he is, already.
For you to look at him and tell him, “We’ll find it together. I promise we’ll find a way for you to walk in the sun again,” with such determination--- for you to be someone who genuinely believed the both of you could achieve it---
Well, you simply must be mad. He doesn’t know how else to explain these little ideas of yours.
Astarion figures you’ll continue to be as much a surprise to him as you’ve made a habit of in the past… and then there was that persistently annoying optimism of yours to contend with.
But this?
He doesn’t think that you understand the truth of the choice you’re making, to stay with him. To love him. How could you know it and still look upon him with such eager hopefulness as you do? He barely understands it at all himself, and he’s had centuries to come to terms with what he’s become. Forgive him if it’s a bit difficult to begin to understand just what “being something better than what Cazador made him” truly means.
He understands how much he wants you, though. He wants it all. The life that was stolen from him, the opportunities, but mostly for you to be there--- here. Where you’ve not wavered an inch from his side; you’ve given him no reason to think you plan on leaving anytime soon.
Why does he still fear it so much, though?
Some part of him had thought--- hoped foolishly, rather--- that killing Cazador would somehow fix two centuries of torment. Fix him. In the brief time after, he discovered that it hadn’t. In his elongated struggle, he worries it never will.
Nightmares still plague him, he still jumps at shadows, he still has thoughtless fear dart through his mind before he remembers again that his former master is well and truly dead. That simply existing in happiness was the rebellious proof of his victory over a man who he hopes will not haunt him forever. When he is with you, Astarion almost believes that Cazador won’t. It is some charm you have bewitched over him surely. Your ability to calm this chaos in him with soft eyes and patient hands that do not seek to own him, yet he eagerly chooses to belong there all the same.
Astarion still has trouble loving you like he knows you deserve to be loved. There are times when he can barely stand physical touch, though craves to want yours. And you understand the duality of the contradiction in him, taking only ever what he is willing to give.
Sometimes he thinks you too understanding, with little concern of how this affects you. He’s always baffled by how selfless you can be sometimes, particularly when you’re taking in strays. He has come to admit, if only to himself, that he does see the irony in his complaints. Moreso, he’s terrified of what will happen when that seemingly endless well of care you hold within you for others inevitably runs out.
What will happen when you can no longer bear his eccentricities? The compromises? The sacrifice that his double-edged love requires of you? Will there come a time when all he offers as part of being in this real love becomes too overwhelming?
Astarion had fallen in love with you in the easy warmth of sunlight. Looking upon you now as the dawn creeps against your sleeping form, his heart aches as he wonders if he can truly doom you to a life in his complicated darkness.
Selfishly, one thought consumes his mind--- he knows he wants to. He would want you, no matter the cost to you both. You have told him over and over again how you want the same but, Gods, he can’t figure out what he has done for this sliver of joy and it eats away at him in the dark. It’s unreasonable what he asks you to give him, but he’ll take it all the same. Bitterly he thinks, if he were a better man--- the man you see him to be--- he might even feel guilty for it.
For now, all he feels is the monstrous need to escape these racing thoughts in his head.
When will you walk away to join the sunlight for good? Hells forbid the answer his weary heart is preparing for ever be spoken from your lips.
Astarion hopes the day never comes when you choose to go where he cannot follow. He wants to spend all his days traipsing after you, wherever you may lead, no matter how much he may complain about it for show.
Astarion wants to spend all of it, whatever it may be, whatever he’s got left, with you. He’s terrified of the day that you change your mind on him. Fearful that you may one day decide these sleepless nights with a vampire spawn who can offer you nothing more than his undying love and sarcastic quips are nothing compared to the full life you could have with someone else. This theoretical, easy life in the sun that he dares to think he is stealing from you by loving you as he does.
Well, he supposes that reclaiming Cazador’s palace is always an option, rather than his other fantasy of burning it to the ground. Spending an eternity draping you in finery and keeping you to himself within a palace feels like something he should want, but he can’t help to think that it would be no better than making his love for you into a somewhat prettier cage.
More than he wants you, he needs you to freely want him. He’d be tempted to take up praying again if he had any faith that it could solidify your love for him forever, but deep down he doesn’t want heavenly intervention. He wants you to want to be with him--- to choose him willingly and without any regret for what the inevitable sacrifice will be. That understanding is, perhaps, what makes his heart swell with this bittersweet glory over all else.
You’ve told him as much and what your lips did not confess to him willingly, your body has whispered to his with an adoration that threatened to scorch him in much the same way of your beloved daylight. You’ve told him you will find him some cure for his darkness; you are set on performing a feat no one in history has ever achieved, all for him, but he wonders if it is as futile as the sun laboring to join the moon. Maybe he is destined to forever look upon you with the knowledge that when your bright, beckoning light inevitably burns out, he will be left with only his darkness, alone again--- this being the most horrible realization of all to have come to him tonight.
Hells, how desperately he wants to believe you, but Astarion has always had difficulty getting his hopes up. He hasn’t been known to bet on losing dogs, and he certainly doesn’t bet on his own odds these days.
But he figures you have more than enough hope for the both of you.
A minute smile quirks his troubled lips at that thought, watching your fingers twitch in your slumber. He shouldn’t doubt you as he does; you’ve given him everything. His freedom, his salvation--- even from himself, when he hadn’t known how much he needed it. Things he can never repay, and yet you’ve never asked him for a repayment. He owes you everything, but you’ve been adamant in tempering his sense of obligation. You’ve reminded him that everything he's done, he’s chosen for himself.
You’ve only ever asked him to love you, and that you have had for far longer than you know--- far before you ever actually plucked up the adorable courage to ask him for it.
He has come to love you more than he’s ever loved anything for as far back as he can remember. The depths of his adoration could scare even him with the raw vulnerability he is left with when it comes to you. How beautifully all his plans and plots for self-preservation have backfired upon him, though. He would not have you destroy his peace of mind in any other way.
Maybe one day, he’ll admit to you exactly when his nice, simple plan truly began to fall apart. The idea dances in his mind, of how you’ll react to that particular information. You’d hang on his every word, he thinks--- it would be rather pathetic of you, if he weren’t in much the same state.
Gripping the curtain, Astarion finally deems it time to push the budding light out of his darkness. If it is to be the only place he may have you for all of your days, he’ll make his darkness a sacred place. He decides he shall worship you in it--- all other gods have forsaken him already. Until the day his little hero saves him once again, he will indulge in this darkness with you.
The patriars nipping at your heels for guidance, the unwashed masses of the Gate clamoring for their glimpse of his hero, even your other traveling companions--- none of them shall invade upon this sanctuary.
He moves towards the bed, returning to you. Exhausted from a late day in the city and an even later night of enjoying his company, you’ve taken to claiming sleep when you can these days. The evidence of your labor rests in the dark circles under your eyes. He doesn’t think he could stop you from your philanthropic efforts assisting the city’s reconstruction even if he tried.
Still, right now, in these hours you are only his.
He dips his weight onto the bed and lays himself alongside you, pulling you tenderly against him as his lips graze your neck. Truly, he knows it is cruel to wake you, but he doesn’t know how he can manage to miss someone like this when you are right before him. It is as if his very soul yearns for you. He melts against the rhythmic flutter of your heart, and it sounds more like his home than the palace he has spent the last two hundred years in ever could.
Teeth graze against your carotid pulse, and you stir slightly. He hums into the soft warmth of your flesh, biting without intent to draw blood--- though the thought of it does cross his mind. He has never recovered from the taste of you. Cold fingers curl into your bare hip, dragging you slightly closer at the feeling of your waking movements.
Your pulse picks up against his lips. Astarion hears the patter of your heart in your ribs as his tongue drags up your throat towards your ear. Your breath hitches when his lips graze your jaw, but your eyes remain closed.
His lips twitch with mirth at your effort to have him do as he pleases.
“Quite the show, my little love, but I know you’re awake,” Astarion murmurs, slurred from the back of his throat like a man lost in thorough indulgence. Drunk with the scent of you on his skin, he leaves another faux bite on your jaw as you squirm beneath his assault.
“Shall you feed again, is that it?” yawning, your hand rubs at your eyes before you blink them open. When his hands run up your sides, your answering shiver reminds him of that first night he’d fed from you. Lit only by the campfire, you had allowed him to take too much before stopping him, even then.
He chuckles breathlessly, shifting the covers to invade your space more completely as you come back to your consciousness piece by piece, “As tempting as it is when you offer oh so nicely to be my treat, I hunger for something more satisfying this morn.”
“Ah,” you gasp from sleep-drenched shock, reacting on a delay as he brings his knee up to strategically push your legs open. Allowing you to feel the growing length of him through the thin linens between you, he levels you with his weight in a slow grind. Blinking up at him, your eyes focus in a darkness lit only by the dim glow of dawn beyond the curtains when he languidly rolls his hips against yours, “A-Astarion---!” He is watching you peculiarly, with a glint of some unreadable darkness in his eye that you can’t quite place. The breathless whimper at your lips sends that warmth of yours straight down his spine, “What’s gotten into you?”
He hasn’t had you since that night he had been so drenched with adoration that he’d taken you on his own grave and truly confessed how he loved you. Ever since then it had been battle and struggle, one after another, in your pursuit to stop the Absolute for good--- constantly ensnared in some new concern that stole any potential moment he could’ve used to steal you away from duty. After the final battle, Astarion had been so dejected by the return of his vampiric limitations, and you had been near constantly pulled away to assist the public---
There was the part of him that enjoyed indulging in the easy-going intimacy you offered him. The lack of pressure to perform was something he had not yet fully become accustomed to; a certain comfortability that has been cultivated between the two of you over the time you’ve been together. The sense of knowing that he is well and truly safe with you. Despite this understanding, he wished to freely want you in every way he was capable of.
And, oh, how he has come to want you over these last few days.
It was so mindlessly simple and immensely complex. He can barely put into words to describe the ways he wants this. Carnally, intimately, wholly, eternally--- nothing is a sufficient descriptor. Maybe in that vast library that your wizard, Gale, insists on boasting about showing him one of these days, Astarion will find an all-encompassing word for how he wants to have you forever.
As it stands currently, he settles on the comfortable seduction that has become second nature to him, “Actually, I was quite hoping to have gotten into you by now, lover.”
He’ll never get over how you melt for him; how you fall for every word. He watches the heat he stokes behind your eyes, the flex of your fingertips where they lay beside your head on the pillow.
Then, he descends upon you.
A practiced mouth parts yours as his cool hand takes the long route from your waist to your throat, indulging in the feeling of everything in-between. He sets your skin on edge in his wake, stirring a familiar feeling that he was entirely too good at urging from you to settle low in your stomach.
Gentle fingers find his hair and he feels the scrape of your nails against his scalp when he finally rests his hand on your throat to hook his thumb beneath your jaw, kissing you deeper. Passionately. As he always does, Astarion excels at unravelling you in every way, but you have no idea how much you manage to rebuild him with your every touch.
Your body welcomes him completely, urging him closer in ways he doubts you are consciously aware of. His hips rock into yours with each passing second that your heat spreads through him, feeling himself grow harder at your soft moans that meet his eager mouth. When you tug slightly at his hair, he lets a cautioning sound fall from his tongue onto yours, but you only nip defiant teeth at him in response.
And then he’s pushing your hands down, captured at the wrists by his. Pinning you to the pillows while he draws back just enough to catch the breath that is coming, labored, from the both of you.
“I’m sorr---” you begin, remorselessly.
“Telling a pretty lie won’t save you from me,” Astarion leans close once more, dragging his skin against your cheek as he kisses a trail towards your ear, feeling you test his grip at your wrists with a half-hearted tug. “I do believe all of this ‘Hero of Baldur’s Gate’ business has kept you from the more important happenings of our bedchamber. It would be a terrible pity if you continued to neglect your baser desires when I am in such a mood to indulge you.”
“Are you sure you’re talking about me?” you tease and he feigns a mild shock at the insinuation that his own behavior is the reason you’ve yet to bed him.
“I’ll have you know I am all indulgence, unlike you, darling hero,” but when he leans away, your eyes capture his. Reading him too easily, you know something is wrong as his carefully constructed mask falters, if only for an instant. It’s all you need, and Astarion regrets losing himself for the moment as he watches your softening gaze survey him.
“Is that so…?” You’re left guessing at what troubles him, “If you missed me, you could’ve just said so. The city can survive a few days.”
“Does the city know that?” it would be so easy to leave it there, to let you think you’ve figured him out once again. The anxiety in his veins won’t allow it, however, and his mouth speaks before his mind can instruct him to shut up, “Tell me, darling, that you won’t regret it someday… Of course, you won’t--- but I would like to hear it all the same.”
He looks down on you with growing vulnerability, confidence cracking. That detestable anxiety that has plagued him all evening coming to the forefront of his mind once more. Crimson irises swirl with a reckless uncertainty and it reminds you of how he had looked upon you when confessing his initial manipulations in those early days of your relationship.
“Regret what?” the confusion on your face nearly has him losing his nerve, but he chokes back the urge to dismiss you so quickly.
“I don’t want you to regret… choosing me,” his voice is clearly pained at the thought, cold hands at your wrists tightening like he is afraid you will run from him should he let you go. “Choosing us, I mean. I am well aware of all you shall endure if you spend each painstaking night of forever with me. It is a price I was willing to pay for my freedom, but you… I--- I know you have said that I am what you want, but I don’t want this to be one of your regrets. I don’t want you to resent me for keeping you here---”
Astarion was constantly preparing himself for the ending of all things; it is a part of his nature that you wish you could soothe with simple words alone. It will be much more difficult to satisfy than that and you know it, but you intend to spend all your years working towards earning his unwavering faith in you. This trust that he has so endearingly placed upon your soul, when every piece of his own screamed at you for doing the same. You doubt he knows how, if you were to someday break him in the way he so fears, you feel it would be as if you were destroying a part of yourself.
You cut off his rambling with a firm, “Astarion!” like it hurts you to hear him talk of himself in this way. His mouth snaps shut as you search him for the cause of this doubt, “Have I done something to make you think I will have these regrets you worry of?”
“Well, no, but---”
When you pull at his grip this time, he wordlessly releases you, only for you to reach up to him to drag him down into a tight embrace, “Then, why is your heart so troubled?”
“I---” he chokes on the word and how shallowly his lungs fill with you holding him so securely in your arms. Maybe it is better that you hold him so closely that you cannot see how he crumbles against you, dissolving into your grasp as if you are the only thing holding him together when he confesses, “I know what it is to live this life of darkness. You are so---! You deserve everything I can’t give you, starting with a life surrounded by the beauties of daylight.” His head turns, misty eyes catching your worried stare. He regrets the distress he’s caused you, but moreso he needs to hear your reassurances that his mind has gotten the better of him in this. He has never hoped so pitifully that he was wrong.
“Astarion,” heart swelling at the loss in his eyes; he looks to be mourning for you. As your thumb smoothes along the lines of his jaw, you come to realize the depth of his lingering sadness, “tell me, what good is the sun? The sun cannot care for me as you do or feel my love in return. A life of pure sunlight is worthless if it means living it without you.” You watch his breath catch in his chest, a stifled sob of his relief that he does not give into so easily.
His voice comes strained and nearly sounds like he’s on the verge of arguing with you, “You so obviously will miss it! You talk of finding a way for me to ‘walk in the sun again,’ but what if it’s impossible? What if we waste our lives searching for something that was never attainable? When you realize it, I wouldn’t have you look differently upon me.”
“Is that it? You think I talk about finding you a cure for my own benefit?” you scoff, before leaning towards him to place a soft kiss against frowning lips. He lingers in the middle ground as you depart just enough to demand he listen, “I only think of you, Astarion. Since the moment I first saw you, you’ve consumed my mind, body and soul. The sun was made for you--- and you’d know it if you ever had the privilege of seeing yourself in it. I only want for you to be happy.”
The arch of his brow tells you he still doesn’t fully believe you, despite his attempt at a half-hearted joke through the tightness in his throat, “I do quite enjoy when you call me beautiful.” It’s more than that, and you both know it, but if he were to ask you right now to name one thing about the light of day that you know you will sorely miss, it would be never seeing him in it again.
Rolling your eyes, you sigh at him with a lopsided smile, “Oh, my silly vampire, I love you much more than the sun. Without you, I would not want any of it. In fact, you can take the moon and stars, too, while you’re at it---”
He cuts you off with the eclipse of his mouth on yours, hands spread along your ribs to dig eager fingertips into your skin as he pulls you in as close as he can manage. The kiss is more languidly meaningful than the last; he intends on burning the feeling of you into his mind to replace the torrid thoughts there. If your words had not been enough to convince him, you hope the way you receive his body with your own can. Every part of you calls to him, blood and sinew, breath and bone, flesh and spirit.
Maybe it’s clear to him now, that you are as intertwined as the earth and sea. Should the tide of your soul ever depart from his shores, he can rest in the knowledge that your reunion is inevitable. As far as you are concerned, you are fated in such a way that not even the gods above or the devils below can alter the course of how your body fits beneath his--- how you shall always welcome him home.
You will have him, for as long as he will have you.
When he finally withdraws, he dares not go far, eyes blinking open slowly in a melancholy acceptance, “How can I be so fortunate?”
Brushing the mess of white curls behind his pointed ear, you hum at the shiver that runs through him when your fingertips graze the skin there, “I don’t know, but it’s about time things start going our way, don’t you think?”
“That it is,” his groaned agreement softens the worry in his eyes and he melts into the stroke of your hand against his temple.
“What you should be worrying about, Astarion, is whether you’ll regret choosing me when I’m all old, wrinkled, and grey,” it’s only half of a tease, and you hope he can’t see through the smile on your lips. The thought has been on your mind for some time after realizing that the two of you were going to somehow survive everything you’ve endured these past months.
“Darling,” he scoffs, nudging his nose with yours, soothing you as much as you do him, “knowing how well trouble finds you, we’ll both be long dead before either of us need worry much about that.” His lips graze yours, when he gives you his earnest answer, “For our sake, I hope to spend every moment we have left with you, watching every sunset and sunrise we are granted until the end takes us both.”
It's more complicated than that, but most real things usually are.
What isn’t complicated is how you feel beneath him, tongue tracing his teeth as he ravishes you. There is a completeness that comes in the way of his body fitting against yours. This reassurance in your touch will never falter. Even if your mind were to eventually escape you, he will know you were always his. If the world were to fall away in this moment and leave nothing but this room, Astarion would happily float out his days with you here forevermore.
He loves you. You love him.
He can scarcely comprehend anything else. Nothing else matters, he decides.
Nothing but your little shivers and whines when his fingers delve down the soft flesh of your stomach--- nothing but the arch of your body into the exploration of his touch. Nothing is worth more than his name whispered from your lips in that scandalous tone you reserve for these moments he sets your skin ablaze with teeth and tongue. You call to him like it were a prayer, but Astarion has hardly done anything so holy to warrant the way you say his name.
His sole inkling of faith is spent on the belief that he could live his whole life, his extended eternity, and never tire of loving you.
Soft and demanding partner within the thrill of his touch, you’ve learned, and his hands part you for him with that comforting understanding. Insistent and hesitant are your finger’s answer to him, digging into the nape of his neck as your head falls back against the pillows. Throat bared, it’s a wonder he doesn’t take another bite of you where he’s done so frequently before, but his attention is too acutely focused on the aching wetness between your thighs and his slender fingers.
Your lips part in an open moan of his name with how expertly he drags pleasure through your veins with each stroke within you, and he drags his teeth against your jaw in a growl, “You sweet, generous thing, always so ready for me.” Finally, he grants you some relief from his constant teasing, pressing the heel of his palm into your most sensitive nub. He allows you to seek your own pleasure with each desperate grind of yourself against the hand that continues to stroke pleasure from within, “Do you have any idea what the sight of you does to me? How dearly I long for us to never leave this bed?” The rasp of his voice has heat rushing up your spine, muddying your thoughts with each continuance of his lascivious tongue, “Leave the Gate to fend for itself, my dear, for I should have you like this always, stripped bare with me between your thighs.”
“Have me then, Astarion,” you really did purr for him in times like these and as much as he enjoys teasing you for it, he truly does relish the tone you get when he has drenched you in lust. His reaction at your words is groaned against your throat; he’s so near, but his hand retreats from you all the same. Never to neglect you for long, your lover is soon tearing at your smallclothes with an impatience that was not wholly unexpected from him.
He pushes his weight onto his forearm beside your head, using his other hand to tug at the laces of his loose breeches while glancing down between you. His eyes, rubies in the darkness, snap to yours and it is as if he has dipped you in firewine and struck a match. You burn for him, from the inside out and in such a way that you know he has thoroughly ruined you for anyone else. You are dripping with it, onto the sheets and the new press of his length against your core. His indulgent rub of himself through your folds is punctuated by him grinding into you, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling for but a moment.
Hair disheveled, you watch the beauty of him as he swallows deeply before capturing you in that piercing gaze once again, “I think I shall have you, now--- how did you just put it?” He crowds you with his arms, and your breath hitches at the feeling of him catching at your entrance when he murmurs lowly, deliberately, “Body and soul? Isn’t that right, my love?”
The way you drag him down into your kiss as he pushes into you is a messy, desperate thing, but it only seems to urge him on. You simply cannot seem to get close enough, though not for lack of trying, as he fills you gloriously. Astarion gasps into your mouth, staggering the push of his hips against yours, devouring you until he is left seated so deeply within you that you can hardly breathe. Then, hands around your thighs push your legs up, and he fits impossibly further.
You sob a moan against sharp fangs, deliriously full of him as he begins a slow fucking that is just enough to drive you into madness. Clambering for something to ground yourself, your nails dig into his back, scraping against the scars that remain there--- his hips snapping faster into you at the feeling of it.
He smears saliva across your jaw and down your throat, understanding your breathless, “Please, please,” for what it is. Permission.
Pain is so fleetingly brief that it may as well not exist at all, because when he bites down hard enough to draw blood from your skin, you are met so suddenly with a lightheaded ecstasy that is compounded by the pleasure he pulses through your body. Only the raw stretch of his every thrust keeps you from dissipating into delirium entirely. You are left keening beneath him as he dissolves into the taste of your blood, feeling his moans against your neck and the way his thrusts begin to match the drum of your heart in your ears. Astarion’s fingers drag in the space between, stopping only when he has found the base of his seat within you.
You feel your heart skip in your chest before he ceases the meal he’s made of you, licking your throat of the sloppy blood that threatens to yet spill. The iron of it meets the smell of sex in the air and he strokes his fingers against where he continuously plunges so deep within you; the wet sounds of your coupling may have been embarrassing if you weren’t so disoriented with the raw need of it. Your every nerve has fiercer concerns than your fickle dignity when he is working to make such a wonderful mess of you as this.
“Delicious,” Astarion groans into your shoulder, nipping and groaning against whatever he may get his mouth on as he feels your increasingly erratic clenching with his harshening pace. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, feeling him reach to draw tight circles at your clit as his own pace begins to falter. Neither of you will make it much further through this. He is left stained, begging upon your skin, “Come with me--- Hells, darling--- I need you to---"
Finding a grip in his hair allows you to drag his head sharply back to force his open-mouthed gaze to cast upon you once more, desperate to see him as he falls apart with you.
The sight of him is nearly enough for you to lose what little sense you’ve held to; while his complexion has turned slightly rosy with the assistance of your fresh blood, he still looks upon you with a consuming hunger all the same, “I love you.”
“Gods---!” dark eyes slam shut as he gasps out your name before all control leaves him in the mindless oblivion that he drags you down into alongside him. Scorching pleasure burns from the inside out as he loses himself in the trembling heat of your rapture, dissolving into a wild and erratic pace that bursts sparks of euphoria behind your eyes.
You are both left in the sticky aftermath of it, heaving mingling breaths as tension melts into you from where he collapses and lingers atop you. You hold him, content to have his softening length seated within you for all eternity as you let him continue his mindless caressing of your skin.
He has said it before, but it will never be enough, so he says it again in the hoarse aftermath of your lovemaking, “I love you, darling. You have made me so… happy.” Should you ever forget it, he is prepared to remind you for the rest of your days, “Thank you.”
Your own repeated declaration is sighed with a contentment that you hope will last a moment longer as your fingers take to stroking through his hair when he lays his head against your chest. Can he hear it from there, you wonder, how your heart whispers only the sweetest of sentiments for him? You like to think he can.
“Astarion?” you finally croak after some time, and he hums soft acknowledgement without much movement. “We should watch the next one together.”
“The next what, my treasure?”
“The next sunrise.”
There is a smile in his voice when he murmurs, “Always.”
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heartsfromia · 1 year
Text
all i need to know — k. mingyu
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pairing: non-idol! mingyu x neighbor! reader
word count: 2,651
genre: fluff, kinda enemies to lovers (more like to friends)
warnings: reader has a nightmare, depictions of violence in dreams
author's note: not proofread, none of my works are tbh ;__;
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Not again.
Mingyu lied awake in his bed as he hears the familiar rush of water behind the wall, before your voice came echoing throughout his room, showcasing how thin the walls were between your two apartments. It was eleven in the evening and you were just getting into the shower. Why did you shower at night? The reason was beyond Mingyu, but it was mostly because you felt more comfortable being clean before lying in bed and aimlessly scrolling your phone until you decide to sleep at around four in the morning.
Nonetheless, your habit of listening to your Spotify Top 50 playlist while you shower was getting on your neighbor, Mingyu's, nerves.
He's always tried to be a decent neighbor to you, although, he expected you to do the same. Wishful thinking of him, to be honest.
Then again, your initial meeting with your six-foot neighbor wasn't great, either. It was the first night in your new apartment earlier in the year, and you had returned from a night out drinking with your friends, so admittedly, with your hazy thoughts, you had mistakened Mingyu's door as yours.
Mingyu remembers waking up to the sound of keys being shoved into his door and the turning of his door handle. Grabbing his phone to find that it was past two in the morning and someone was trying to break into his apartment.
Scared of who might be behind the door, he grabbed the closest weapon to him, which unfortunately, was hole-puncher on his desk before stalking towards his front door. Peeking through the peephole, his brows furrowed in confusion when seeing you, someone he had never met before. Thus, causing his worry to rise.
"Why are you trying to break into my apartment?" He decided to ask, his voice shaking slightly in fear. You froze, looking up at where his peephole was before looking to your left and right.
"I'm trying to break into my own apartment," you answered, your words coming out slurred. "What are you doing in my apartment?" Safe to assume you weren't the best version of you when drunk.
"This is my apartment," he reiterated. "Who are you?"
"Y/N."
"Well, Y/N, this is my apartment, not yours."
"Is so."
"Is not."
"This is apartment 17C," you answered, stubbornly glaring at the peephole. Mingyu sighed in frustration, concluding that you were obviously under the influence from your droopy eyes and slurred words. Of course a drunk tries to break into his apartment the night before an exam, luck never favored him.
"This is apartment 17E," he responds from inside, "17C is on the left." He watched you look to your left, and he groaned, resting his forehead against his door. "My left."
"Oh." And you were gone; no apology for waking him up, or trying to break into his apartment, nothing.
He found you rude and annoying ever since.
Granted, you were drunk, and barely remembered anything past the third bottle Seungcheol had ordered for the table, so anything past that was beyond your memory. You remember waking up after that night, wanting to go out to grab the breakfast you ordered in, and seeing Mingyu throw out the trash. You locked eyes with him, and waved, but despite seeing you, he turned away, not returning the wave.
So, yeah, the feeling was mutual.
Mingyu would always knock at your door when you were making your daily dose of ice coffee, asking you to…
"… Quietly break your ice because some of us are trying to sleep."
"Oh, really? Was I disturbing your beauty sleep, Mingyu?" you asked mockingly, exaggeratingly pouting your lips. "Too bad, I need coffee."
"At 1 AM, Y/N, really?"
"Yeah, because some of us struggle to have normal sleep schedules," you retaliated, rolling your eyes.
"You're the literal spawn of satan, Y/N."
As if you're the perfect neighbor, you bitterly thought. Whenever you tried to catch up on sleep, he'd always be listening to obnoxious workout music, the wall you both share providing little to subdue the bass and you, yourself, struggle to sleep.
Don't get yourself started on whenever he has friends over. There had never been a time whenever Mingyu and his friends didn't argue over the mundane things, and you were forced to hear it because of your stupid thin walls.
Or when you're deep in your sleep, you jump awake because of a loud crash, and when you confront Mingyu about it, he disregards it, saying he dropped something and that you're being overly dramatic.
You were both each other's neighbor from hell, but neither of you tried to move out—your egos wouldn't let you.
"Just move out," Minghao told Mingyu, as the two returned back to his apartment.
"And lose my deposit? No," he answered, unlocking his door but not forgetting to send a death glare to your closed door. "If anyone is moving out, it's Y/N."
Pan over to your apartment, where you're lying on your bed, Seungkwan seated by your desk suggesting the same thing.
"I'm not moving out, he will, though," you finalized, "why is it that I have to move out? I literally just moved in here."
"That was four months ago, Y/N."
"Exactly."
"But, has anything happened while you were here?" You turned onto your back, locking eyes with Seungkwan, who had a look of concern.
You shook your head, "I've been purposely sleeping later so I wouldn't have them."
"Yeah, but you know at some point, you'll have them again, Y/N," your friend tries to remind you, "and even if you keep sleeping late, that'll also have toll on your health, do you get that?" You groaned, rolling back and facing the ceiling.
"Nightmares are normal, Seungkwan—"
"Not when they keep happening to the point your sleep schedule is a mess, Y/N," he interjects, a stern look on his face that mimics a parent scolding their kid. "You're lucky your class schedules are in the afternoon."
"And that I have you to wake me up," you grinned slyly at him, earning a roll of his eyes.
You were a bit grateful for your mess of a sleep schedule, since you always find yourself having the same nightmare when you sleep the normal eight hours required. Your nightmares weren't anything too bad, more of a nuisance with how vivid they felt, ranging from being chased by an unknown figure with a knife, to falling from a high building.
You thought it was because of stress from college assignments, among other things, so the best option you could take was to purposely mess up your sleep schedule, only getting three to four hours of sleep.
Seungkwan was right, though, at some point while living alone, you're going to have them again.
And unfortunately for you, that was tonight.
And with your obvious strain of a relationship, Mingyu never knew anything about your sleeping problem, thus, panic washed over him when he was woken up by screaming coming from your apartment. Sitting up on his bed, he stayed quiet, thinking he was imagining it, but sprung up and rushed to your door when he heard you scream again.
"Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?" he called out, knocking against your door. Mingyu tried turning your door handle, when he heard another yell from inside, and for a split second, he debated on breaking your door down to get to you. However, that thought was quickly disregarded when the door opened, revealing your tear strickened face and messy hair, obvious dark circles surrounding your red eyes.
"Are you okay?" He asked. Of course you weren't, he knew that, and you knew that, you didn't need to say it out loud because it was obvious.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Your weak tone caught Mingyu by surprise, and he shifted uncomfortably in his spot.
"That… that doesn't matter, Y/N, are you okay?"
"Yeah," you sighed, wiping at the sweat and tears on your face, "it was just a nightmare, it happens."
Mingyu's eyes glanced all around your face, finding any indication that you needed help of any sort, even just someone to accompany you, but you stated quickly before he could interject. "I'm fine, Mingyu, you can go back inside."
Mingyu only nodded, sparing a last glance towards you before he slips out of your apartment. With an exasperated sigh, you closed your door and returned back to bed, but you couldn't sleep. You would only be brought to where your nightmare had left off, like a returning to the theatre after going to the bathroom.
Despite the fact that you wanted to act like nothing happened, Mingyu didn't seem to get that memo. He had become cautious around you, asking how you were doing today, and even offering you food he had cooked up that day, just in case you hadn't eaten.
Even though it was odd for him to act nice to you, it also meant complains were lesser and lesser, and he grew to understand why you sleep late at night, even refraining from knocking against your wall when he hears the familiar breaking off ice on your side of the thin drywall.
All was going fine, you weren't having any nightmares, but your sleep schedule was at its worst, and to add to that, it was finals week, which caused your stress levels to each an all time high.
You knew you were bound to fall asleep from the exhaustion, and you couldn't risk being stuck alone in your apartment, so, begrudgingly, you knocked against door 17C, chewing on the insides of your cheeks as you waited for Mingyu to open the door.
"Hey, Y/N, what's up?"
"Hey, Mingyu, uhm, this might be an odd request, but is it okay if I crash in your place for tonight?" You asked, fiddling with your fingers nervously as you rocked on the balls of your feet. "It's just I'm really exhausted right now, and I feel like if I lie down anywhere, I'll immediately fall asleep and I'm just scared I'll—"
"Yeah, sure, it's fine with me," he reassures, not needing further explanation as you were growing uncomfortable with having to explain yourself. "You can take my room, I have to work on an assignment right now."
"Are you sure? I don't want to int—"
"I'm sure, Y/N, go ahead." You meekly nodded, sending him a grateful smile before following Mingyu to his room. There was a good three minutes of you awkwardly standing there, watching as Mingyu organized his bed before gesturing for you to lie down. You only stared at him, waiting for him to leave.
He was a beat late to realize, blush dusting his cheeks as he immediately looks away from you, "I-I'll be outside if you need anything."
Mingyu wasn't sure whether you had actually fallen asleep or not, but he wasn't too keen to check on you, worried that he'd be invasive. Deciding to stay focus on finishing his assignment, momentarily he forgot that you were asleep in his bed as his thoughts were fixated on the essay in front of him.
A yell from his room caused Mingyu to jump in his seat, eyes wandering around his apartment in confusion and shock before it registered that you were in his room. When another scream was heard from you, he rushed towards you, pushing his door open to find you jerking around where you lied, struggling to awake from your slumber.
"Y/N, Y/N!" Mingyu called out, and you could hear him your nightmare, however his voice was distant. All that you could focus on was the cloaked man, chasing you through the dark alleys before your entire body began to shake, the world around you fading to black and you shot up awake, cold sweat dotting your temples as your heart raced against your ribcage as if it ran a marathon.
Immediately you broke down, crying in fear that whatever that was would follow you in the real world, but also in relief that you had escaped it once again.
Large arms had wrapped around you, pulling you close as you weeped against his chest. Mingyu's hands gently stroked the back of your head, cooing at you, calming you down. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Y/N. You're safe now, I'm here."
It took you fifteen minutes to completely calm down, and during then, Mingyu left you alone to come back with a mug of warm jasmine tea. You mumbled a thank you as he handed it to you, sitting at the edge of his bed, keeping his distance as he watched you take a sip, sighing in content as the warmth trailed down your throat.
"Do… do they happen often?" He was cautious, not wanting to overstep your boundaries, but he was curious.
You shook your head, "I'm not sure why, but they mostly occur when I sleep after being extremely exhausted—and with college assignments, and right now being finals season, it's almost every day that I'm really tired."
"Is that why you purposely stay up late?"
You nodded. "If I sleep for lesser hours, it lessens the chances of me having nightmares."
"But your health is affected as well, Y/N."
You couldn't help but chuckle, finding his concern towards you amusing, and quite… adorable. "I take my vitamins, Mingyu."
"Still, though."
Mingyu sighed. "When did they start?"
"They've only worsened since living alone," you told him, "and I've only started living alone since my second year of college."
"So, you've been having them for almost three years?" You nodded, taking another sip. "Did sleeping here help it?"
You pursed your lips in thought. Admittedly, compared to your nightmare before, it wasn't as bad—still a pain, but maybe it was because you were woken up before it could worsen is why you think it was better than before. You nodded. "I think it's because you woke me up before the worst part."
Mingyu nodded in understanding. Seeing him look so invested in your problem was an odd sight; if you were to tell yourself five weeks ago that you'd be in Mingyu's room, that he'd be consoling you after a nightmare, you would laugh.
You couldn't help chuckle out loud at the thought that just a few weeks ago, Mingyu was your nagging neighbor from hell. He looked up upon hearing your laughter, raising a questioning brow towards you. You only shook your head, stating, "Just funny how you're caring, you know? Since, just a few weeks ago we were at each other's throat, trying to annoy each other so one of us would move out."
Mingyu laughed as well, rolling his eyes at how things had turned. You then chose this time to ask him, "Why did you hate me?"
His brows furrowed, "You seriously don't remember?" You shook your head, and he begins to explain to what happened that night you got drunk, a smirk forming on his lips as he watches your cheeks flush a bright red as the memories of that night finally came flooding in and you grimaced.
"Oh my gosh, I should never join another dinner if Seungcheol's paying," you groaned in embarrassment. "I'm really sorry, I'm normally well-mannered… sober."
"It's in the past, Y/N, now that you've apologized," he reassured, waving it off. He checked his watch briefly, seeing that it was now past seven in the evening and he faced you. "Do you want to stay for dinner?"
"Is it okay if I sleep for a few more minutes first?"
He nodded. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" You thought for a second as you stared into his brown eyes, the sincere concern laced through his irises as he stays put in his spot beside you.
"I'm not sure, but you'll be here, right?" He nods, and you smile warmly at him. "That's all I need to know that everything'll be okay."
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bmtillerbabe · 13 days
Text
Chapter 3 of "A Beneficial Arrangement", posted now!
  Still working on writing the explicit smut 👀
But until I get some free time, a few of these scenes will have to do, I suppose :)
Available to read everything I have posted on AO3 now!
Enjoy <3
-----------------------------------
“Well, there goes that idea.” You mutter to yourself, eyeing the rain.
  The torrential downpour started sometime this morning, and hadn’t let up since.
  So much for trying to make headway towards Moonrise.
  You absently watch Karlach off in the distance running around in the middle of the storm with Scratch, playing and throwing a ball, and all but rolling around in the mud with him. You can see the steam sizzling off her in waves from the raindrops pattering onto her red skin.
  “Gods, this feels so good!” She cries out, practically bathing. “It’s so cool!”
  You smile, observing from your dry distance, your heart warming at the sweet and innocent nature of the Tiefling. At least someone’s happy.
  Wincing in pain, you gasp sharply, reorienting your stance and shifting your weight to alleviate some of the sting. Reaching down to your side, you grip the bandage Shadowheart had been kind enough to wrap around your middle – after no small amount of coercing, mind you. And eye rolling. Much, much eye rolling.
  Damn mortality.
  Earlier that day, a rogue group of the so-called Absolute Cultists had ambushed your party on the road to the Goblin Camp, leaving quite the plight in their wake. You and your friends had taken them all out, of course – but in no small feat.
  One of the thieves had thrown a javelin at you, and even being as dexterous as you were, you didn’t have time to dodge fully out of the way before the sharpened tip took a good chunk of flesh out of your side.
  It was a nasty wound that even Shadowheart’s healing skills couldn’t snap-fix. It was going to take good, old-fashioned time … and a lot of it.
  Not to mention, during the impromptu battle, your party had gone through many of the remaining health potions, scrolls, and magical items. So, that, combined with needing to rest and recuperate without much gold left, on top of being so wounded . . . the stress levels were rising.
  As the unofficial leader of this little party, everyone kind of looked up to you to keep everything safe, keep everyone going…. Keep everyone in one piece.
  But how can you do that, when you can barely keep yourself in one piece?
  You’re rubbing your forehead as you stand under the awning of your tent trying to will away the stress and absently rubbing against the thick wrap of cloth tied around your middle section, when a familiar voice chimes up somewhere near you.  
  “Darling, don’t make that face. Worry doesn’t look good on you.”
  Astarion chides playfully as he comes to a stop under your awning. He had been trotting quickly, trying to evade the torrential rain, but to no avail. His hair was glistening with fresh droplets, and his clothes had those little dark freckles sprinkled across them. He looked positively angelic like this, and it made your heart sing and soar. A smile crept up to your lips before you could stop it.
  Astarion.
  The vampire spawn.
  The party’s resident blood-sucker.
  The elf that was slowly becoming someone you thought more and more about … someone who’s smile, wit and charm began to not only invade the privacy of your dreams, but lonely moments in the night as well.
  Your “beneficial arrangement” had proven fruitful as of late, and you had both agreed to let it continue well past the two week mark; even working up to having him feed on you every night, now.
  A little ‘Lesser Restoration’ never hurt anyone … right?
  Your body had adjusted quickly to the nightly blood loss … and having him in your tent every night had admittedly gotten easier as time went on. The only thing that didn’t get easier, however, was the growing pangs of desire that made your stomach do ‘The Thing’.
  Not only when he would feed on you – but now, whenever you would just look at him.
  Your heart skipped several beats; your breath became shallow and short; words seemed to fail you; and you felt your insides melt into a puddle of wanton need.
  All from a mere glance in his direction.
  It hadn’t gotten easier at all – it had gotten so much harder.
  It had become every night now, when he would bite you – the arousal would flare up and overcrowd your senses. Drive your mind wild and mad with desire, fanning the little sparks of lust and need into searing, scorching, flaming fires inside you.
  And one night afterward, when he was finished feeding from you, after he had left with his usual ‘thank you, darling’ … you had given in. Unable to resist the temptation anymore, you touched yourself … for the first time, thinking of him.
  Maybe it was wrong. Maybe normal people weren’t supposed to think of party members, of friends, like this … but the way he looked, the way he smelled, the way his cool lips felt against the intense heat of your pulsing neck, wishing desperately you could feel them all over you, on every inch of your skin …
   That first night, you had blown out all the candles in your tent so as not to cast miming shadows in the night, and brought yourself to the greatest orgasm you could remember to date.
  You didn’t even have to lick your fingers to get started, slick and wet as you already were.
  Circling your clit with your finger, you had merely closed your eyes, biting back a moan, imagining the fingers were his … imagining his hot, blood-stained breath cascading down the valley of your neck; feeling the tips of his fangs drag across your sensitive skin; and that deep, gravelly voice he got after he fed …
  ‘Thank you, darling.’
  Yep. That did it.
  You gasped sharply before you could even thrust a single finger inside, coming hard with a muffled squeak. Your back arched off your bedroll, your breathing was ragged and heavy, your mind reeling with delicious images of all the sweet, wonderful little things you could be doing with him … to him …
  Biting your own lip, the sharp tang of blood flooded your mouth, and you eagerly sucked on your tiny injury – the taste somehow making you even more ravenous; prolonging your pleasure.
  Sleep had never, ever come so easily to you in all your days.
  And in the days to come, it became a nightly occurrence.
  Feed.
  ‘Thank you’
  Leave.
  Play.
  It was quite the enjoyable arrangement … until your night-time desires began to bleed (pun intended) into your daily life.
  Just like now.
  Being so close to him, looking at his beautifully damp hair as he ran his slender fingers through it to brush the curls from his crimson eyes; this was a dangerous game you were playing.
  But one you just couldn’t bring yourself to quit gambling on.
  Astarion made his way behind to you, where the camp’s Travel Trunk sat (yet another thing everyone kind of just collectively and unofficially decided on: that you were the supply keeper), and began digging around inside it.
  Curiosity got the better of you, and you look away from where you had been transfixed on Lae’zel trying to fight the rain (and cursing at it when she realized the droplets kept hitting her back when she was turned) to watch Astarion, rummaging around.
  He had taken to removing random things from the innards of the old chest, setting them on the only patch of dry ground under the awning, mumbling and muttering incomphrehensible words to himself. Clearly, he was digging on the hunt for something in particular, but for what, you had no idea.
  With an exasperated sigh when he apparently doesn’t find it, he turns on his heels to face you.
  “Do we have any honeycomb?” He asks impatiently.
  Your brows furrow. Out of all the things you thought he could be looking for, Honeycomb was not among them. “Huh?”
  The vampire lets out another disgruntled sigh and makes a face. “I take that as a no, then?”
  “What do you need honeycomb for?” You ask, very curious now.
  You were all quite literally in the middle of nowhere, everyone had already eaten, and dinner wasn’t for several hours yet ….
  What could he possibly need honeycomb for?
  “You think my skin stays this porcelain-esque of its own volition?” He scoffs at you and dramatically flairs his head to the side.
  You can’t help but suddenly let out an incredulous laugh.
  “A serum?” You choke out. “You’ve been using all our honeycombs for your complexion this entire time?”
  Astarion looks at you, somewhere between confounded and offended; as if your question made less sense than his statement.
  He blinks.
  “What else could I have used them for?”
  You begin to laugh again at the absurdity of the moment, raising your hand with a wide smile. With everything that has happened, all of you almost dying – you maybe more so – running low on supplies, morale down, the rain delaying your journey forward so that you all have to spend the night in one place – and he is worried about having honeycomb?
  To moisturize?
  You must have seemed a sight, because Astarion stares at you and … even begins to smile.
 “What? What is so funny?”
  “It’s just --- you --- we---” But you can’t get it out. The entire situation is suddenly hilarious.
  Maybe it’s you finally having lost your mind to the absolute absurdity (another pun intended)  of these last several weeks. Maybe it’s the exhaustion finally catching up to you, or the stress, or all of the above – but your laughter comes out in short, loud bursts. And it feels wonderful to laugh again.
  However sweet it may have been, the moment is short-lived.
 You are reminded once again of the gash in your side and you stop laughing, quickly intaking a sharp breath when it lights up with a stabbing fire. You reach down to grab it with a cry of pain, wincing; all humor evaporating like the rain on Karlach’s skin.
  Astarion is up and at your side in an instant, eyes wide as they scan you over.
  “What? What is it? What’s wrong? Tav, are you alright?” The concern in his voice is nigh palpable.
  But before you can respond, you hear him take a long, slow inhale. You feel his muscles tense, his grip around your waist tightening – wait, his hands were around you? When did –
  “Oh,” He drawls out, low and sultry. “Your injury.”
  He knew before you did, his keen sense of smell catching the scent of blood before it had even fully soaked through your bandage.
  Laughing too hard had caused a stitch or two to come loose, or maybe popped them, you weren’t sure… but you were sure about one thing – you were bleeding now.
  And Astarion knew it, too.
  “I’m…. I’m fine.” You breathed out through your teeth, clenching back a painful moan. You go to move again, to stand up straighter, but a jolt of pain shoots through your side again and this time your voice hitches and cracks. Your eyes watered.
  Astarion grits his teeth, releasing a moan; tight and clipped. Breathing in deeply again, you can easily tell he’s clearly restraining himself … and it’s taking effort.
  A lot of effort.
  I must have just bled more, you think.
  He swallows hard. “Hold on, darling. Just … Stop …”
  You continued to try to shift your weight to alleviate some of the pain searing through you, but apparently, your efforts only made the situation worse.
  “Stop moving around so much, damn you.” Astarion clicks his tongue and growls softly, holding your shoulders in a vice so that you remain still. “Here. Let me help.”
  There’s that gravelly voice again …
  Before you can protest, he is lifting you gently and spinning around so that he can walk with you in his hands back into your tent.
  The inside is pitch dark, thanks to the storm outside and you having not lit a candle yet. But that doesn’t deter him. He continues to carry you back and into the tent, setting you down gently onto a stool, apologizing as you wince again, before turning to close the tent flap that served as the only door in and out of the confined space.
  You hear the faint pitter-patter of raindrops splatter against the top of the thick fabric of the tent ceiling, and a distant bark from Scratch outside.
  Would have been calming, if it weren’t for the excruciating pain you were in.
  That, and Astarion being so close to you – pupils blown out hungrily, and just the very tips of his sharpened canines on display through heavy breathing.
  Soon, it wouldn’t just be the blood gushing out of you …
  Astarion kneels at your legs where you sit comfortably as you can on the chair, his knees pressing into the soft earth to make small indentations in the exposed grass.
  His expression is taut and he closes his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath. It almost sounded like he was savoring something in the air – which, you knew, was probably closer to the truth than you thought.
  But in a second, his eyes are open, and he seems back to his normal self. Pupils and all.
  “Alright. Let’s see it.”
  His words catch you off guard somewhat, and you just gawk at him.
  “Wh… what?”
  He motions to your middle section where the blood was already seeping through the bandage and onto your shirt, as if what he had just said was the most obvious solution in the world.
  “Let’s see your wound.”
  You blink at him, your cheeks flushing. Your mind was anywhere but on your current injury, at the moment. With as much as you trusted him, why could he possibly want you to …?
  You would have to remove your … ?
  When you continue to gawk at him like he’s a mystical, mysterious being, he huffs impatiently and reaches towards your middle.
  “N-no, wait--!” You start and lunge forward towards his hands, but stop quickly with a sting stab of pain and a cry, squeezing your eyes shut.
  You heard him take yet another deep inhale, and his voice became serious.
  “Tavriel,” He growled, “Stop. Moving.”
  Holding still, you sank back onto the stool, sitting mostly upright and gripping your side again. Blood was oozing out and onto the palm of your hand, soaking through the thin fabric of your adventurer’s tunic.
  Both of you held still and silent – for utterly different reasons.
  The rain continued it’s dance just outside.
  Astarion kept his eyes shut, his hands resting on your thighs in tightly clenched fists.
  You felt a twinge of guilt wash over you. You knew it was your fault he was trying so hard to contain himself – wait, his hands were on your –
  “Now. If you aren’t careful, I don’t think I will be able to restrain myself much longer. I want to help you, not add to your blood loss.” A pause. “So. Do you want my help or not?” He speaks through tight lips. He doesn’t open his eyes.
  You hesitate, your mind suddenly concentrating on his hands still clenched, resting on your thighs.
  His eyes open and he looks directly at you, his gaze like fire on your skin. It nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. Because what you see isn’t anger, or annoyance, or impatience.
  No.
  Its … kindness.
  Sincerity.
  He truly wanted to make sure that you were okay, and do what he could to help you.
  “You’d be willing to …?” Your voice dies out before you can finish your question.
  Astarion rolls his eyes, and thrusts a hand to his hip. “Noooo, I’m patiently waiting for you to just bleed out all over camp so I can watch over your dying body and finish you off – What do you think!?”
  His sarcasm makes you smile, and gods be damned if you find yourself nodding before you can stop it. His very eyes held your voice captive, gripping your vocal cords tight.
  “Good.” Astarion breathes out almost in relief when he sees your sheepish grin. “Now. Take off your shirt.”
  You knew your face turned redder than Ithbank when you heard that. And you couldn’t have possibly heard that correctly … but … your wound did need cleaned and re-dressing … And he was offering to help … Not to mention, your shirt was mostly ruined anyway, what with the blood having already soaked through it and all.
  “You … you don’t have to do this.” You say kindly, watching him rise to his feet. As tempting as this whole situation was, and oh how you couldn’t deny how much you absolutely loved the idea … Astarion was still a person. He was a friend. And you didn’t want to make him feel forced into doing anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Even if it was something as simple as helping bandage your wound.
  “Darling, if you go ask the Cleric to assist you again, I think she’ll renounce religion. You’re already starting off her every morning using up some of her magic.” He proclaims as he walks towards the front of the tent again.
  You wince shyly.
  “Besides, I deal with blood every day, who better to help than myself? You really think someone else is better suited for this than a vampire? Not to mention, I am quite nimble with a needle and thread, so if you should need some stitching up, I can guarantee you that my work would be better than Shart’s, Cleric or no …”
  Fair enough.
  He did have a point.
  Caving, you slowly, tentatively gripped the ends of your tunic with clenched teeth and eyes shut tight. You weren’t sure if he was trying to give you privacy, or keeping himself as distant from your blood for the moment as he possibly could, but you were grateful nonetheless when you had just a moment to let your façade down and a tear slip free while Astarion's back was turned.
  You were in a great amount of pain.
  And part of you was scared to remove the bandage … you hadn’t actually seen the wound yet, and … what if it was so much worse than you thought it’d be? What if it was deep and horrid, and infected? What if you were going to get poisoned or diseased, and die?
  You supposed Withers would be able to assist you, but still … It was scary. 
  Trying to concentrate, you focused on the sound of Astarion humming an absent tune, listening to the distant sounds of him rummaging through the Travel Chest in search for the remaining first aid supplies.
  And you did try, you really did … but you couldn’t bring yourself to remove your shirt. And it wasn’t the fear, no – it was just the sheer inability to bring your arms up and over your head whilst pulling the sticky, soaked fabric with them. The pain was too great. You winced and gasped softly, another tear slipping free with a silent scream of pain.
  Returning triumphant, Astarion’s brows furrowed deep into his forehead and he suddenly was less excited about his find. He quickly made his way back over to you, kneeling again.
  “Tav, Tav, Tav, stop. Let … Let me...” He reached out.
  “No. I can do this. I … I got this.” You try to argue, but your breathing was coming in short raspy breaths, and soft whimpers crept up and out of your throat.
  You felt a cold hand on your forearm, and you opened your eyes to look at the pale face now inches away from yours.
  It was even smiling.
  “Please.” He whispered.
  Indignation shriveling up, you feel another painful tear fall freely down your cheek with a defeated sigh and nod softly.
  Slowly, carefully, as if you were the most delicate thing in the entire material plane, Astarion began to remove your shirt; pulling it up and over your head, and gently off your arms.
  Aside from some squeaks and whimpers of discomfort, you found the process to be so much easier, and soon you were left in your bra-lette and the dark red stained patch of cloth wrapped around you like a snake on a corpse.
  You curled your arms up and out of the way, suddenly shy and covering your breasts with your forearms as much as possible.
  You felt like a burrito in a soggy tortilla.
  But you noticed he took no mind to your nakedness. Astarion was careful, practiced even, as his deft fingers began to untie the knot on the bandage, slowly unwrapping you. Watching the precise actions of the pale elf, you noticed how … easily he was undressing you. How careful he was when he pulled away the soaked bandage, his concentration focused on the task at hand. His eyes didn’t wander, his lips didn’t curl into a smirk …
  You’d never seen him like this.
  And you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.
  His movements were quick and soft, much like his voice when he sat back on his haunches for a moment, assessing the damage. Deciding on a course of action, he rose again to walk off, grabbing your wash basin in another corner of your tent. Ripping a spare cloth with his teeth, he was back at your side in an instant to wipe away the excess blood.
  You … expected it to hurt much more than it did.
  When you winced, he uttered a, “Sorry, darling…” and continued.
  You could feel in his motions that he was taking care to cause you as little pain as possible.
  You were impressed.
  You even let out a small chuckle, causing him to look up at you.
  “Are you sure you weren’t a Cleric yourself in a past life?” You joked.
  He smiled wryly, and looked back down at your injury to continue working. And for a while, you thought he was just going to remain quiet …
  “Well … let’s just say I’ve …” He sighed, his eyes doing dark and his expression fading for a moment. He chuckled darkly. “I’ve had a lot of practice…”
  Your heart sank at the implications of his words.
  It was quiet again between you for a moment; you keeping your mind busy with mulling over what he had said.
  You knew Astarion had been enslaved by a cruel vampiric master named Cazador – one of The Gate’s most prestigious nobles – for some odd two hundred years. He had even mentioned briefly some of the torture, the torment, he had gone through. But seeing him here, now, being so careful, so kind towards you … making sure you were going to be alright … You realized Astarion could have easily become something so much worse than his evil master. He could have allowed the awful things he had experienced shape and mould him into something evil and cruel himself.
  But he didn’t.
  Sure, he could be a right ass-hat at times, but … deep down, you could see.
  There was, somehow, a lot of good left in him.
  After handing you a bottle of the strongest alcohol he could find, and warning you that ‘this is going to hurt’, you did your best to keep the tears to a minimum as he threaded a needle from the kit, and started stitching you up.
  Literally.
  You could feel the resistance of the needle as it thread back into your skin, pulling your two slices of split flesh back towards each other again.
  You could smell the blood, and you knew it must have been torturous for the poor spawn.
  Looking down slightly at his furrowed brows, you tried to smile through the pain.
  “Thank you.”
  He stopped for just a second, glancing up at you with only his eyes, the needle currently sticking out of his pursed lips as he dabbed away more blood. That devilish smirk crept its way back onto his face, and it made your insides dance.
  “Of course, love. We can’t have our only fearless leader die of infection, now, can we?”
  You smiled, wincing sharply as he continued his ministrations. “Really, Astarion. Thank you. This is really kind of you, and I appreciate it so much. Truly, from the bottom of my heart – thank you.”
  At this, he did come to a complete stop; blinking at your skin. It was almost as if his mind couldn’t compute the meaning of your words. He stole a glance at you, looking between your face and your injury multiple times … opening his mouth, and closing it again, his own vocal cords strung tight, now.
  “I … You’re … You’re welcome.” He decided to respond quietly, clearing his throat. 
  Was he … blushing?
  Dipping the spare washrag into the bowl of water one last time, Astarion wrung it tightly before leaning back down to wipe away the fresh blood oozing slowly from the new stiches. You shifted on the stool to get more comfortable, sighing. The rain was still coming down hard outside, though the noises from the party had died down considerably – everyone most likely in their tents to keep out of the downfall.
  Your pain had died down to a dull, throbbing heartbeat. Gods bless alcohol. Of course, it still hurt like a motherfucker, sure. But a fresh bandage was going to feel so much better than –
  You gasped sharply, unexpectedly when you felt something … warm, and wet against your skin. It was a sharp contrast to the icy water that you had been feeling from the washrag just a moment before.
  And looking down, you felt you may faint.
  Astarion had leaned forward and licked a searing trail up the side of your stiches, trailing his tongue along your side to catch the crimson droplets forming. Your cheeks flushed with what was no doubt, every ounce of blood left in your body as you watched.
  You felt more than heard the groan of appreciation reverberate from his throat and onto your skin.
  The sight alone – actually getting to see him feed off you – made his usual feeding methods seem suddenly so … plain.
  Getting to see first hand, his tongue dart out to dance across your pink flesh, watch his lips connect to your body to gently suck, groan internally at the way his eyebrows furrowed deep into his face as if tasting the most delectable thing on the planet …
  If you thought you had felt desire before, you had never been more wrong in your life.
  Backing away, Astarion, wiped his mouth and looked up at you – eyes shimmering with bloodlust as he tried to blink it away. “Sorry, darling.” He playfully offered that crooked smile, wiping the corner of his mouth with a long, pale finger. “I just couldn’t help myself. Wouldn’t want such delicious morsels go to waste.”
  You tried to swallow through a throat that was now dry as sand, and searched desperately for any words. Blinking against the thoughts swirling in your mind, a wild, woderful idea occured to you just then.
  Looking back on it later, you told yourself that you were just too injured, in too much a weakened state to think clearly – yes, of course, that was it – and that was why your breathing quickened, why your palms grew clammy, and why you lost all your senses when the words came tumbling out.
  “Is there any left …?” You had asked, timidly. 
  Your stomach was reeling, feeling as if you were going downhill on a sled.
  Quickly.
  Astarion’s eyes flickered back down to your exposed skin, the slight trail of blood gathering around the gash. The way he looked at you, seemed to push you faster down that hill. Or perhaps he was the sled, it was hard to tell …
  “Why, yes. There is more. I’m going to have to clean it off before I wrap it back up … it would be a waste of a perfectly good bandage if I just left you to bleed through the new one, too.”
  But … his words … they were too sincere. His actions? Too kind, for your tastes – him turning back towards the wash basin to wring out the blood-stained rag again between his long, pale fingers.
  No.
  You wanted something ... else. 
  Gulping to yourself, and your mind swirling with that crazed feeling of hunger … you decided that, maybe … just maybe this once … you would give in to yourself.
  When his arm came back with the rag in hand, you reached down to place your hand over his – stopping him. His eyes snapped up to yours.
  It was quiet and still between you for a moment.
  And you were starting to rethink your actions…
  But it would be such a way to show my thanks …
  You swallowed tightly, the air thick with anticipation.
  “Tav, you’re still bleeding, I--”
  “Clean me off …” You cut his words short.
  He blinked at you, and for just a mere moment, you saw a flash of white-hot desire, a pent-up raging beast behind his eyes – before it was masked away again. He smirked that smirk, and your stomach flipped over itself inside you.
  “My sweet, what do you think I was trying to do?” He chuckled.
  But you shook your head, nerves steeling as the desire began to take over all logic in your mind. You were really going downhill now, and there was no brake.
  “Mm-mm.” You muttered, “Clean me off.”
  You watched with butterflies as his gaze darkened upon you again – his eyes glowing like molten rubies.
  “Tavriel …” He uttered your name as a breathy growl, a warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do …”
  Damn that deep voice of his, that accent, the way the words sounded like silken strands of fabric woven into the space between you.
  Your cheeks flushed again, your hand remaining on his; gazes locked.
  “Clean me off.” You repeated, firmer this time, but only by a little. It seemed that not only werte those the only words your mind allowed you to remember how to pronounce, but they thankfully served to answer a million questions at once.
  Ah, linguistics.
  “Tavriel …” He said your name one more time, leaning close to you with a deep breath. He paused to let a cool hand trail a soft pattern up and across your exposed abdomen. You shivered under his touch, somehow cold and hot all at once.  “Once I start ... I might not be able to stop myself until I’ve completely devoured you … So, I warn you again – are you sure you know what you’re asking for?”
  All trace of fun and help and lightheartedness was completely and utterly gone from the conversation, the air between you tight and tense and charged with a heady tension the likes of which you had never felt before in all your days. Your eyes were glued to his, both of you breathing heavily, near panting as he awaited your answer.
  With a final gulp, you nodded softly, once again answering the same way you did before, but with words that held such a different meaning, knowing you were too far gone to stop now.
  “Clean … me …. Off…” You whispered.
  With a deep, throaty moan that made the muscles beneath you clench, Astarion lunged quickly, but carefuly, back towards your injury, planting his open mouth over as much of the wound as he could and licking around it softly.
  You gasped and hissed in both pleasure and pain – the former overpowering the latter.
  His tongue began to draw patterns on your skin, and he began to suckle softly on your gentle, sensitive flesh. Watching him, feeling him moan softly against you, feeling his lips tug and pull at you, drinking whatever of your life’s essence he could get ahold of, shot a pang of desire coursing through you, and right between your legs.
  Lost in your moans of pleasure, you tangled your hands into his hair, holding him against you and relishing the feel of his cold vampiric hands on your other un-wounded side, and the other one that had snaked around to the small of your back, pulling you closer to his mouth.
  There was no way you were bleeding that much, now. And a part of you in the back of your mind knew it. Knew that his lips were just on you for the sake of being on you … knew his tongue was just licking you for the sake of tasting your skin … But you didn’t want to think about it any more than that, you didn’t want to think of the meaning, the hopes, the want, the lust, the need … all you wanted was to relish and enjoy the feeling of being swept away, swept off your feet yet remaining glued to the chair beneath you.
  And his moans … his sweet, delicious moans …
  You were in heaven, completely content with feeling as much pain as you could tolerate, watching his breathing grow heavy and ragged, his shoulders heaving up and down, his hands gripping the sides of your thighs in a deliciously painful grip – wait, his hands … you really had to start paying better attention –
  And when his tongue darted out directly across the fresh stitches on your side, you hissed in pain and pleasure mixed again, but this time, his name came out.
  “Astarion …”
  Slowly pulling away from you, you watched him bring his head up right towards yours, your own breathing coming out in short, raspy pants. His hands remained on your thighs in a death grip, and you were half-sure there would be bruises forming later … but somehow that thought only turned you on more …
   His ruby colored eyes were directly in front of yours, now, his lips stained with you.
  “Yes, darling?” He drawled slowly, quietly, his breath and voice husky.
  Your faces were inches apart … your heart fluttered and raced in your chest. You wanted nothing more in the world than to reach up and grab his face, pull him close, and devour him like he devours you on a nightly basis. You wanted to lick your tongue across his skin, to bite and tear at his flesh and draw out the sweet, sweet blood so you could taste him yourself. You wanted to tangle your fingers in his soft, wavy curls, hold him close and ravage him – and feel him ravage you in return. Feel his lips plant soft, suckling hickeys all across your body …
  You decided in that moment, you wanted him.
  And you wanted him now.
  Letting your eyes dart down towards his plump lips, you licked your own; your breathing lifting your shoulders up and down quickly.
  You didn’t know how to proceed, you didn’t know how to react, to ask, to plead, to beg for what you wanted. All you knew is that you wanted it, and gods damn you to the 9th layer of the hells if he didn’t want it, too. But based on the look in his eyes, the way he was leaning towards you, the way his hands felt on your skin, worming their way up your non-injured side and pulling you closely, softly towards him.
  “Tavriel …” He uttered, and you swallowed gently, your eyes never leaving his lips – inches apart now, getting closer, … closer …
  “Oi! Tav! Hey, umm … you got any of those bandages left?”
  Karlach’s voice rang out around you both and her heavy footsteps were drawing near as she made her way towards your tent.
  With a gasp, you jerked your head towards the opening of the tent that your Tielfing friend was about to walk through at any moment. And see you in a very … precarious position.
  “Oh! Uhhmm, uh, yeah! Just, er, give me a second! Im, uh, changing shirts! Hold on!” Heart racing within you for a completely different reason, now.
  “Really? That’s the best you could come up with?” Astarion whispered to you, but you smacked him on the arm with another wince. You rose to your feet as best you could, scanning the tent floor for the bandages that Astarion had grabbed. Quickly walking to the front of the tent, you opened the flap ever so slightly and saw Karlach readily approaching.
  “Hey, thanks – I have a little cut here that I …” The Tiefling sighed, cocking her head to the side when she saw your exposed skin. “Awh, Tav, are you trying to do it yerself? You could have just asked for help! I mean, I might singe your skin a little bit, but – Hey! We could use me to cauterize it!”
  “Karlach, I appreciate the thought a lot, but –” You glance behind you into the darkness of your tent, but … its empty.
  Astarion was gone.
  Your heart sank, plummeting down to the earth where it had just been flying through the heavens mere moments ago.
  The moment gone.
  Sighing with a sinking feeling in your gut, you turned back towards Karlach with a forced smile. “I would appreciate some help wrapping myself back up, if you don’t mind, Kar.”
  “Of course, soldier! You can trust ol’ Karlach with anything.” She thumped at her infernal heart with a closed fist and a grin.
  Inviting her in your tent, you absently watched as she helped to wrap you back up, mind wandering off to where Astarion could have gone, and … why, he had gone.
  Something so, so good, just …
  Another pain ripped through you entirely, having absolutely nothing to do with your injury.
---------------------------------------
Again, I am still writing the actual explicitness!! Hopefully il get enough comments and readers to get over my own mind and keep going! (hint hint, lol)
Love you all! Thanks for all the love ice received so far! ❤️😘
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tragedybunny · 11 days
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Slow Dancing In a Burning Room - Chapter 2
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༺Summary༻
In a moment of weakness, Serafina helped Astarion ascend, forever altering him and their relationship. Irrevocably bonded in violence, can she survive life at his side, or will she be broken by the cycle of pain and terror.
༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav)
༺Warnings༻ Dubcon / Noncon elements , violence, toxic / abusive relationships
༺Word Count༻ 2047
༺Masterlist༻
༺A/N༻ The consent is very much dubious here below, to reiterate the warning. It has been a bit of a treat to write Astarion being his worst self. I will have to take fluff breaks, so if you follow my other stuff, don't despair, more fluff will come. Thanks to @themadlu for the beta on this chapter read on AO3
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꧁༺Chapter 2 - First, Thou Shall Obey Me as Thou Lovest Me ༻꧂
༺ In which Serafina learns the first of Astarion's "rules" for her existence.༻
Astarion did not set rules for her the way Cazador and Vellioth had for their Spawn. His rules were implied, unspoken commands that she would learn through trial and error. 
“Sera,” his voice was singsong, playful in a way she knew was dangerous. “Wake up, little love,” he called, from where he lay, on his side, behind her. 
Sleep was starting to release its grip on her when she felt the press of him at her entrance from behind. Then, he was plunging in, her struggling to accommodate him. A sound between a moan and a yelp escaped her as a hand tangled in her hair, yanking until her eyes opened wide. 
“Wake up, Serafina,” he hissed, thrusting his hips, the pain of it lessened by her mercifully growing wetness. 
Arching her spine, she positioned herself to give him the best angle to fill her with, and ease her own discomfort. It was something she had learned very early in her time as Consort to the Vampire Ascendant; Astarion would take his pleasure when he deigned, and she would need to make the best of it. “I am awake, my love.” She let out a breathy gasp as warm heat began to build in her core, her body responding to him as it always did, even when she wished it wouldn’t, even when she hated what he was doing to her.  
Groaning, he dug his fingers into her hip, leaving bruises that would heal fast enough. At the very least, nothing he ever did to her left a lasting mark. “It took far too long,” he snapped, thrusting into her with escalating violence. “Touch yourself,” he ordered. 
Without hesitation, her fingers found her clit, working the bundle of nerves quickly. Though she knew he cared very little for her enjoyment on days like these, it was still somehow an insult to him, if she didn’t reach climax. She offered a prayer to the gods that she could accomplish the task this morning, since something had him in a foul mood. 
Closing her eyes, she drifted far away, to a different time, to a different Astarion. Not the monster she made, but the sweet elf who had wanted something real, the one that was hidden from her so often these days. How he would hold her and touch her gently, and they would reach a bliss born of love together. 
Her breath came in little pants, she was so close. He was with her, whispering softly to her, and she was happy, safe, loved. “Ast-”
With one harsh thrust and another groan, he finished, tearing her from her beautiful dream. He pulled her hips tight to his, making sure to fill her with every drop of his seed. A mark of ownership, as her new life prevented her womb from ever carrying children. That very same dead organ had cost her the favor of her Patron.
Titania had been merciful, withholding her wrath until the Netherbrain sank beneath the Chionthar, allowing Sera to wield her warlock magic to help end the threat of the Absolute. Then, on a morning garden walk, protected from the sun as Astarion had promised, Titania appeared. A twisted reflection of their first meeting, gone was the kindly Fey who had called herself Godmother; now she appeared as the wrathful Queen of Summer burning like the sun. 
“You have betrayed our bargain, Serafina,” her golden eyes flashed and a halo of fiery red hair seemed to move with life of its own. 
Her gaze found the intricate stonework of the garden path and studied it. “Please, your Majesty, I can still be of use,” she pleaded, desperate at the thought of losing her power, and no longer being hidden from remembrance. 
“You had one use, girl, raise a house to serve me, as your ancestors served my sister. This creature that you’ve become is incapable of that. Consider yourself lucky that I merely take back what it is mine, and not hold you to the strictest terms we set. Though in a way, this is its own punishment.” 
Sera chanced a glance at the seething Queen, and swore she caught a hint of sadness in her eyes. 
“Serafina,” Astarion’s voice beckoned and she felt herself tense. She hadn’t been in the garden that long, but, in the short time since they’d moved into Cazador’s old manor, he’d become concerned with keeping her close to him as often as possible. 
“I will leave you to your paramour. We will not meet again, child.” Titania was gone in a burst of light, leaving behind the scent of wildflowers and warm forest, the scent Astarion had once said she carried. 
An emptiness crept through her veins, a hollow feeling where once her magic had dwelt. Another part of her that was gone, like her reflection or the breath in her lungs. Her legs wobbled beneath her and threatened to give out. 
“Little love,” he was closer and his tone had grown terse. He worried for her, everything had always been taken from him, and she could be too. 
“I’m here,” she called back, voice cracking. 
Then he was there beside her, as though he hadn’t been far away at all. Although she was sure he’d sounded closer to the manor. Strong arms wrapped around her and she let herself collapse into his chest, choking back her tears. 
“What is it, my darling?” He cooed at her, stroking her hair gently. “What happened?”
“Ti-Titania,” she managed, resisting the urge to sob. “She came, said our pact was over, she took my power.” 
His hands gripped her shoulder, tightening until she gasped. “Oh my sweet, silly, little Serafina. Why ever would you be concerned with losing that blasted pact?” 
“I…” She struggled to think of an answer that would explain it. These flashes of another Astarion hadn’t gone away once they were safe. More and more, he was there, the spawn she loved disappearing into him. 
“See? You can’t think of one good reason.” His lips kissed the top of her head, even as his fingers seemed to dig into her bones. “You don’t need her magic, you have me. I’ll always protect you, and you’ll want for nothing, just like I promised. Isn’t that good enough?” 
“Of course my love. It’s just…”
“Just what?” His tone turned dark. 
“It’s strange for me.” It was a mood she was learning well, one that would tolerate no argument. 
His grip relaxed and he pulled her to him again. “I suppose it is, but you’ll adapt quickly you have a talent for it. Now let’s get inside, we’ve a lot of decorating to see to and I want your opi-” He cut himself off and tilted her chin up to look into his eyes. “I know you, don’t I?”
She tried to shrink away, to find a way to deny it. But with Titania’s pact gone, the magic that had protected her was gone too. Everyone would remember her, even Astarion. “Lady Serafina Glacies. Your mother is quite infamous among the nobility, as I recall. And that night, Cazador announced your betrothal, you were terrified, poor little thing.” He chuckled. The man she loved, laughed at the worst moment of her life. “Looks like you're another thing I took from him, another thing that he was unworthy to have.” 
And here she was now, not the Summer Queen's Warlock, not the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, simply the Consort. 
“Didn't finish, love,” he clicked his tongue at her mockingly. “Poor little thing.” 
“It's fine,” something in his tone felt ominous.
“Nonsense,” his fangs nipped the back of her neck before he moved. Shoving her to her back, he kneeled between her thighs, hooking her knees over his shoulders, leaving her dreadfully exposed to him.
A finger ran along her slit, eliciting a whimper. “You know, things like waking up and finding release wouldn't be so difficult if you'd just drink sentient blood.” He began to trace rough circles around her clit, the pressure walking a line between pain and pleasure.  
“I just don't want to hurt anyone.” He'd been insistent it would solve all her problems, to just drink thinking blood once, and see what she was missing.
A snarl curled his lip upward and he glared down at her. “You know, there was a time when I would have given anything to feed as I wished.” A pale hand lashed out, wrapping around her throat, cutting off air she didn’t need, but blood she very much did. Once her instinct might have been to fight, but she had learned it only made him angrier. Instead, she fought to push down the rising panic and ignore the dizziness she knew would set in if he didn’t let go. 
His fingers continued their violent ministrations, her clit aching under his touch, and no way to escape him. Whimpers died in her closed throat, and yet she felt her body betraying her and climax building. “That was almost your fate too, in case you’ve forgotten. But look at how kind the gods were, delivering you to me instead.” 
He plunged inside her again, even as his hand remained around her throat. “If you would just stop being stubborn and listen to me,” every word was punctuated by the thrust of his hips and the throb of her tortured clit.
With shame, she felt herself clench around him, as she reached bliss in the midst of the madness. 
“Good girl,” he purred, releasing her throat, seemingly finally pleased with something about her this morning. Only for the hand still abusing her sex to suddenly pinch her sharply. “It really shouldn't have taken so much.” 
But a few more thrusts occupied him with finishing while she blinked back tears and felt the blood returning to her brain. He was still, and calm, eyes softening as he looked down at her. “Oh my sweet,” startlingly gentle fingers brushed her hair from her face. “I’m sorry, I got worked up. I only want the best for you.”
She relaxed into the touch, the soft words. This was her Astarion, the one she loved. The other she had to endure at times, but this one was hers. Turning her head, she kissed his palm as it trailed along her cheek. “I know,” she rasped, through vocal cords that would recover soon enough. 
“Shh,” he leaned down to kiss her softly enough that the fear melted away. 
Collapsing beside her, he pulled her onto his chest, where he could pet her and kiss the top of her head over and over. “Really my love, it just vexes me when you won't take care of yourself.”
“I love you,” she whispered, wanting to hold onto this moment of calm.  
“I know you do, my little treasure, my Serafina.” He squeezed her tightly and sighed happily. “I know. I just have to help you through this.”
Her stomach dropped, all the peace she'd found evaporating. “What do you mean?” 
Astarion rolled her off his chest, and sat up with a knowing smile. “You have this hesitation about eating properly. And you need help getting over it, so I'm going to help you.” 
“But Astarion…”
He cut her off with a finger against her lips and tutted. “Now, now, little love, you'll just have to wait and see. And do one little thing for me.” Astarion’s eyes began to glow red and she felt an itching in her mind. “You're not to leave our rooms until I return.” 
There was pain tearing through her heart and fresh tears pooling in her eyes. There was no choice but to listen to his command, the command of a sire to his spawn. He'd compelled her. “You said you'd never.” 
“If you were obedient. Starving yourself is not very obedient. What if you got weak and were killed and left me alone?” He stayed calm but she could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface. 
Rising from the bed, he began to dress for the day, while she lay there, still in disbelief. “When I return, we'll settle this matter.” 
He leaned over and kissed her, ignoring the tears silently falling. And then he was gone, leaving Sera to await what his idea of help would be. 
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sherifftillman · 1 year
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busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader
A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.
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Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, penbury is a fanon surname
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Word count: 4.2k
A/N: Aaaaaand THIS is where the real good stuff starts! Sorry for all the other posts, just had to start getting the ball rolling. I am aware that since this is taking place in modern London, there may well be slang used that people don't necessarily recognise. If you'd like me to make a glossary of some kind, hit me up!! I hope you enjoy Ralph In The Future as much as I do <3
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"Bet it feels strange being behind here again, doesn't it?" the customer asks you. It's an older woman, you don't particularly recognise her, but she certainly seems to know you well enough to know you've been promoted since you first started working here.
You force a smile, "Not really! Sometimes the floor just needs an extra pair of hands, and it helps me know what's working and what isn't for my staff and my customers, so," you shrug.
"Yeah, I don't envy you, still working at a time when nobody wants to work," she shakes her head.
You press your lips together tightly. There are so many arguments you could make right now, but already trying to juggle two roles is taxing enough. Instead you simply tell the woman her total and ring her through. Once again adorning your best customer service smile, you thank her for her custom and send her on her way.
"D'you think she's ever worked a customer service job in her life?" Your shop floor assistant asks as they re-fold their display shirts.
You shake your head, "I think… Cushty little secretary job at her dad's business, at first. Never had to pay rent, got married to the first guy at that job to pay her attention, got a council house nice and early and spawned a couple of kids just to stop him from walking."
They let out a wide-eyed, long-drawn breath, "Daaamn, someone woke up on the salty side of the bed this morning!"
You chuckle humourlessly, "That doesn't even make sense. And yeah, sorry, it just… Really sucks that I've got major shit to do this week, but I can't just let you do all the work out here on your own, not with Karens like that around."
"Can't you get your friend to come down and cover? Or to do your manager shit on their next shift?" 
"Nah, it's gotta be me. And they can't come in today because of their other job, so I'm gonna do it as overtime," you explain dejectedly.
"You're doing great, champ!" they sidle up to you to gently punch you in the shoulder encouragingly.
"Hey now, kiddo, I'm the manager here, I need to be motivating you!"
"Nah, you're sales right now. You're just as good as the rest of us common muck," they tease, and you stick your tongue out at them.
The day drags, and the quality of customers certainly doesn’t improve. A man who thinks he can return an item without a receipt. A woman who insists on ordering an item that’s no longer available because she saw a friend wearing it just last week. Children. 
And sure, maybe now, at 5:40pm, the customer of your dreams could walk in through the front door. But you and your coworker are exhausted, and this is the kind of shit you always wanted to become a manager to do. Taking one last look up and down the almost empty high street, save for the ones who are heading to the Wetherspoons on the corner, you decide to start the closing process early.
You manage to finish a little after 6pm, and you consider just getting all of your admin stuff done while you’re here, but also, you really can’t stand the sight of these four walls much longer. You figure you’ll just go to the coffee shop nearby, get yourself an iced latte for the walk home and think about what kind of takeaway you’ll be craving once you get back to your flat. No cooking. Not tonight.
You’re well into a mental debate about whether you’d rather have a chow mein or a biryani when something else piques your interest. There’s a man in front of you in some kind of costume. It’s either really old-school military, or… Safari explorer. Maybe he’s one of those live re-enactors. Maybe he works at the zoo. Maybe he’s just one of those quirked-up little guys. You get your phone out to text your friends, ready to ask them if they’ve seen anyone dressed similarly before, but as you continue walking you collide with something.
Someone. Your flimsy plastic cup gets crushed immediately upon the impact, pouring ice cold coffee down the strangely-dressed man’s back. Your first instinct is to shout, “Watch it!”
The man jumps out of his skin, either at your words or the ice cubes soaking his back. He spins around to look at you like a deer in headlights. Eyes like giant chocolate buttons stare you down. If he’s supposed to be dressed as an Army boy, he does not have the face to convince me, you think. Unless the message they’re sending is that literally anyone could get drafted.
“You alright?” you ask, eyes narrowing and head cocking as you study him.
“Ah - um - oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! This was absolutely my fault, I’m just - I’m so lost, and I was trying to find a man and now he’s gone and - oh, blast, stupid Ralph, you’ve really gone and done it now!” the man flusters, looking in every direction except at you.
You whistle and click your fingers at his eye level. “Hey, Bambi! Focus. It’s okay.”
He moves his head back to scrunch his face at you in confusion. “Bambi?”
You smirk, “Yeah, you’re like a baby deer right now. You said you’re lost? Where’re you trying to get to?”
“Uh, well, I suppose I should try and find my home, um… Penbury House?” he asks tentatively.
You kiss your teeth a few times as you think of where you’ve heard that name before. “Oh!” You look at him, puzzled. “You sure that’s your house?”
“Well, my name is Ralph Penbury, so…” he wiggles his shoulders from side to side before shrugging. You appreciate the extra flair.
“Right, but Penbury House is the name of the place they turned into a Waterstone’s,” you explain. He looks lost again, so you explain, “Waterstone’s is a bookstore.”
Ralph scoffs, “Oh, pish-posh, my home has not become a bookstore! That would be quite preposterous!”
So far your entire interaction with this strange man has been a tennis match of bewilderment, just exchanging expressions back and forth. “Are you, like… On something, mate? Do you need me to get you somewhere safe?”
“I want to go home, please! And not a… Bookstore, my real, actual home!” He’s starting to sound quite overwhelmed now, so you take a step back.
“Okay, okay. It’s okay. We can calm down. You mentioned looking for a man? Do you know this man?”
“Well, not personally, but I travelled here with him. About yea tall,” he holds his hand just in line with his eyebrows, “very old. Silent man. Hair just past his ears. Looks, um. Unwashed.”
Your eyebrows raise in realisation. “Ah, Homeless Pete!” Makes sense that Pete and his crew would be involved somehow. “Shall we go and find him?”
“Do you know where he is?!” Ralph asks, his expression lighting up. He may be dressed like an absolute twat, but you can’t deny his adorable little puppy-dog face.
“I know where he hangs out, we can go see if he’s there?” you ask, and Ralph nods. “C’mon,” you jerk your head in the direction towards where you know Homeless Pete tends to hang out when he’s not walking the streets. You wonder what ol’ H.P. (as your friends call him) could have given his poor boy to make him trip like this. “So, uh, quick question. Sorry, I completely forgot. What’s the full date today?”
“Well, the last I checked, it was September the 7th, 1926,” he replies simply. You stop in your tracks, and he looks back at you with a frown. “What’s the matter?”
“N-nothing, nothing,” you shake your head and carry on walking. This poor boy must be on something pretty damn strong. “Let’s get you to H.P, yeah?” Just to find out what he’s taken. Then it’s straight to the hospital.
Ralph inhales so loudly that a guttural sound forms in his throat. “Oh my goodness! Do you think - am I in - the future?” He grips your arm tightly. “Was the lift a time machine, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” you tap his hand lightly with your own as you keep walking with him, "considering that it's September the 7th, 2022." Normally, you would be throwing any stranger that hugged your arm like Ralph now is to the ground, but there’s just something about him. Either he plays the innocent human puppy role far better than any indie boy that’s ever tried to hit on you on a night out, or he really is just going through it.
You eventually reach the underpass where a large part of the local homeless population gather, and sure enough, there is Pete himself, sat between two shopping trolleys. He spots the two of you and immediately bursts into laughter. “What the fuck, H.P?!” you yell. “You’re usually chill, what have you done to this poor boy?!”
“‘M not a boy, I’m a grown man, thank you,” Ralph mutters into your shoulder.
“‘Course you are, babe,” you murmur sarcastically as you nod at him, before once again turning to Pete. “Well?! You’ve got him talking about - about time machines, and the 1920s, I mean, just look at how the poor sod’s dressed!” Pete’s eyes widen as he waggles his finger at you, as though you’re both in a game of charades and you’re on the right track. You turn to one of the people Pete lives amongst, “What’s he been on today?”
The other person shakes their head. “Nothing, swear down! Besides, he’s a proper tight-arse, he wouldn’t go ‘round drugging any fucker going. ‘Specially not a toff like that,” they snort with laughter as they point to Ralph.
You look back to Homeless Pete. “So, you’re telling me. Time travel is fucking real.” Pete nods. “And you were in 1926, and you dragged this sad sack of shit out here with you, with no context.”
“You know I can hear you,” Ralph points out indignantly, but still quietly and still from the safety of behind your shoulder. His arms are still wrapped around yours, too.
“Yeah, but look at you, mate. You’re not exactly getting us answers as to how to get you back to… Wherever we get you back to,” you explain before once again turning to Pete. “Where is this… Time machine? Ralph said something about a lift.” Pete snarls as he gestures over to a block of flats you vaguely recognise. “So we go there, get him back in the lift, and then what? Is there a button, or a combination, or -?” Pete moves his hand from side to side. “And what does that mean, is it a random button each time?” Again, it feels like you’re in a game of charades as he silently tells you you’re on the right track. “Is the random part right?” Nod. “So, it’s not about the button, but… The floor you get on?” A shake of the head. “Is it just at random times?” Nod. “So, how do you know when to go back to it?” He shrugs, then points to his temple. “What, you get some kind of vibe, some Spidey sense?” He nods with an upside down smile. You sigh. “So we don’t know when Ralph here can get back.” A shake of the head.
“Do I have to stay here with him, then?” Ralph asks you sadly.
You sigh again. “No, c’mon. I guess you won’t want Chinese or Indian, we’ll just get a chippy dinner on the way home.” You start walking in the other direction, and Ralph quickly paces to catch up with you.
“A chippy dinner?” he asks, baffled.
“Yeah! Like fish and chips? They had that in the 20s, surely?” you reply.
“Well, yes, I suppose, but we only ever had it at the seaside,” he cocks his head as though reminiscing fondly. It only accentuates the cuteness of his whole face.
“Think you can be a big boy again now, or do you still wanna hold on?” you ask, outstretching your arm. He doesn’t appear to blush in the conventional sense, but his ears do flush a bright pink. Even more adorable. Fuck. Remember, he’s technically like a hundred years older than you. He slinks one arm around yours and you pull him in tightly by pressing your own arms towards your torso. “There we go. Now I can make sure I’m guiding you so that hopefully you don’t get bumped into anymore.”
“I think I’ve certainly learned my lesson in not standing still in front of people!” Ralph jokes, making you genuinely laugh for the first time all day. It feels strange, you can feel every muscle in your face move with it. But you also feel the weight on your chest lifting, too. You’d been at boiling point all day at work, and discovering a time-traveller wasn’t exactly helping you to simmer down. But you can make this work. He’s just an… Eccentric, extremely sheltered family friend who’s staying with you for a short while. That’s what you’ll tell anyone who asks.
“Yeah, you’ve learned that if you do, some dickhead’ll throw their iced coffee all over your back!” you laugh.
Ralph frowns, “You’re not a - a one of those, at all! You’re very nice to take me in like this. Most people seemed to think I belonged in a jungle.”
“Yeah, the old school military uniform kinda looks more… Safari explorer, these days,” you explain.
Ralph’s eyes light up. “Someone finally recognises the Army uniform for what it is!”
“Yeah, I thought I recognised it from when we went to the War Museum for school once. That was the kind of get-up they used to wear in the First World War.” You trip over your own feet a little as Ralph once again halts to anchor you to him, despite what he’s just said. He looks… Distraught. “Alright, mate?”
“Why did you say… First World War?" He asks with fear in his voice. "We won the Great War to restore the - the balance of power, how long did that last?!” He looks at you, dumbfounded.
You hiss air through your teeth. “Oh, boy. Yeah, there’s a lot that’s happened in the last century. I don’t know if it’s such a good idea telling you all of it, since once you get back, it’ll be your future, so…” You contemplate. “We’ll just keep all the questions you have to stuff you’ll need to get by in the here and now, alright? Anything you learn about history, just try and let it go over your head,” you pull him forwards gently and he falls back into step with you.
“One question I have about the here and now,” Ralph starts, and you look over at him. He makes eye contact with you to ask, “What exactly is your name?”
Laughing again, you tell him. “Sorry, I really should have led with that, shouldn’t I! It’s been a long day."
“I’ll say. About a hundred-odd years long!” A giggle bubbles out from Ralph’s lips and it makes you snicker, too.
“You’re a funny one, Penbury. For an old sod, at least,” you push your shoulder into his before leading him into the chip shop. “So, are you a fish guy, sausage, fishcake, pie?”
Ralph looks at all the options in the serving counter with an upturned nose. “What’s that one?” he asks, pressing his finger against the glass.
You look over and answer, “Battered sausage. Sausage, but in the batter they cook the fish in. Bloody lovely,” you smile wistfully. 
“I might just stick to the classic cod and chips, thank you,” Ralph mutters under his breath as he stares around the small room in fascination. You order on behalf of the pair of you and take the bag from the server with a grateful smile. Ralph notices and plasters one on as well, though his definitely comes off as more fake. He basically attaches himself to your arm again the second you’re out of the door, as though you’re bound together magnetically, and you guide him to the tower block that contains your pokey little flat.
After spending several minutes convincing Ralph that the lift isn’t going to suck him into another time period, and that he’s more than welcome to traipse up all the stairs that lead to the ninth floor, he relents and stands in the lift with you, though he stands so close that you’d think his goal was for you to wear him. Brushing against his chest feels nice, though. Shut up, you’re just touch-starved. This is not your ticket out of your dry spell. This is a fever dream.
Once you’re in your flat, you quickly dig out whatever men's clothes you have laying around - some sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and you throw them at him. "Just to get out of your dirty clothes while I plate up, eat before this gets cold, then you can go shower. I'm sure there's some boxers in my pyjama drawer you could use, too, I'll find those for you in a bit." You point to your bathroom and he quietly complies.
You could've just eaten the meals straight from their wrapper, the way you always do. But you figured Ralph has had enough culture shocks as it is, you'll give him the decency of eating from a plate. Besides, spending your night with a man dressed in 1920s army gear who's eating fish and chips out of some paper on his lap might just be enough of a sight to tell you to get yourself checked into the psych ward at the earliest convenience. At least you can try and create some kind of normalcy in this moment.
A quick Google search tells you television wasn't around in 1926, so you don't want to expose him to that tonight, too. Give it a day, maybe. You could play some old-time-y music on your Echo but you're not sure what he'd want to listen to. Instead, once you're both sat on the sofa together, you make conversation with him about his past as you eat. He tells you about how the Penburys were known socialites, how he and his sister had pretty much the same group of friends, how they had recently found friends in a rather special group of people, one of which he'd fallen head over heels for, just for her to reject him, and his heartbreak caused him to join the Army, which he hated.
"It's rather funny, you know," Ralph adds. "People here talk very similarly to Lauren and the others. I wonder if they exist in this time, too."
You start piecing things together. "Lauren… Plays jazz… She the drummer in this little quartet?" Ralph nods, his eyes wide. "Kinda short, has a brother called Nick?"
"Nicholas, yes! He's tall and he wears thick glasses! You know them?!" Ralph asks excitedly.
"Yeah, Nick was in my class all through high school! Always used to fancy him," you reminisce happily before stifling a laugh. "Wait, wait. So you mean to tell me that this Lauren you're besotted with is - is Little Lauren? Oh, you poor, sweet boy."
He looks offended. "Why would you think that that’s such a bad thing?!"
"Mate, I've known you five minutes and even I know Lauren would chew you up and spit you out," you look at him sympathetically. "And you're not gonna be able to change her on that. Unless you're into all that kinda stuff," your nose turns up a little as you joke, just to get a reaction from him.
Sure enough, there go the illusive colour-changing ears. He sputters, "W- I - I don’- I’m no- That is no appropriate discussion topic over dinner!” and you collapse into a fit of giggles, falling into him a little.
“Oh, lighten up, Ralph. Things are far less proper round here, that was nothing,” you explain, to his horror.
Once you’re both finished eating, you grab a clean pair of boxers from your pyjama drawer and toss them into the bathroom, gesturing to Ralph with your head that that’s where he ought to go. “Sorry you’re gonna have to use your finger as a toothbrush tonight, I’ve not got any extras of those, but -”
“Oh, all of this is already above and beyond! Even taking me in, I - I hope you understand how truly grateful I am, and with your patience acclimating me to… All this,” Ralph gestures around with his hands.
You nod with a soft smile. “Uh, give the shower a few minutes to run, though. Goes from freezing to scalding and then you’ve just sort of gotta… Keep fiddling with it. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”
The various screeches you hear from behind the closed door suggest that he is not as successful in figuring out the shower as you’d hoped. While he showers, you do a little more digging. Thankful that your mum’s weird obsession with your family tree may finally come in handy, you ask for the login to her online ancestry account. Tapping through to the census search, you type the name ralph penbury and set the dates between around 1890 and 1930 to look for any documentations of birth - or death. Sure enough, an entry pops up: 
Ralph Penbury - Date of birth: 01/02/1901 - Parents: William and Delilah Penbury - Occupation: Private in the Armed Forces - Death: Announced 19/09/1926 - MIA, presumed dead
You frown at the result. Was Ralph always doomed to go missing in action, you wonder? Is he only presumed as such because he’s travelled through time? His existence hasn’t been completely erased by the trip, obviously, but how much of this was affected by it? It hurts your head to try and think about. But at least you know when his birthday is. It’s still a few months away by all accounts, you may not even get to celebrate it with him. You still make a note of it in your phone.
Ralph soon emerges from the bathroom, and the sight causes your breath to catch in the back of your throat. He already had a certain cuteness about him, but as he rubs his hair dry with the towel, his damp natural curls stick out in all directions. Some facial hair and a neck chain or two, and he’d be exactly the kind of guy you’d let break your heart in a smoking area. He studies your face carefully as you’re staring at him. “Is there something wrong?”
“No!” you snap yourself out of your trance quickly. “No, not at all. Um, you can - you can take the bed. If you want. Get a good night’s sleep.”
Ralph gasps in horror, “I could never! I am simply a guest, I must insis-”
“And I must insist that you’ve literally travelled almost a hundred years to be here. Who knows when you’re gonna be here until, so… I don’t mind. I can sleep on the sofa for now, I promise,” you smile. “Just let me get in there real quick to get changed myself too, yeah?” Despite still standing in the bathroom doorway, and therefore not in the way of your bedroom, Ralph still steps aside and gestures towards it for you.
You change into a tank top and trousers combo, grab a blanket and some cushions out from your wardrobe, and head back into the living area. “Are you decent?” Ralph asks, his eyes squeezed.
You laugh, “Down, boy, I wasn’t exactly going to come out in my birthday suit, was I?! Yes, I am, you can look.”
He opens his eyes, takes one look at you, and yelps before covering his face with his hands. “You said you were decent!”
You look down at yourself, confused. Sure, the top is well-fitting, but you don’t think it’s indecent at all. You walk over to him and pull his wrists down. His eyes are once again shut tightly. “Ralph. It’s okay. I promise. Again, this is absolutely fine and modest in these times. Unless you want to stick out like a sore thumb, you’ll have to get used to it,” you shrug, letting go of him. He opens his eyes slowly and his breath shudders as he quickly jolts away.
“Okay, very well. I’ll try my hardest,” he nods, though he seems to be making the effort to keep his jaw up to maintain a high eyeline. “Are you sure you’ll be okay sleeping out here?”
You sigh, repeating once again, “Yes, Ralph, I’ll be fine. Go get some rest. You’ve had a big day.”
“Yes, very well. Erm,” he ducks his head down and to the side for a split second, as though to kiss your cheek, before stopping himself and once again raising his head high, his eyes wide and his ears pink. He clears his throat. “Thank you, again. Good night.”
“G’night, mate. Sleep well,” you pat his arm and start setting up the sofa for the night as he enters your bedroom and closes the door behind him.
You stick the TV on, not really caring what’s playing as it only really serves as background noise, and turn your lights off. The glows of the television screen and your phone screen illuminate the room as you search for any other evidence of time travel. Nothing that matched Ralph’s story comes up. You’re somewhere deep into a conspiracy theory about someone with a mobile phone being spotted at a Charlie Chaplin premiere when you finally drift off to sleep.
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madforhoran · 5 months
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"You could start a cult"
Let me preface this by saying - I am really not a good writer and english is not my first language. I just wanted to get this little piece off my chest to spread some positivity with the spawn!Star ending amongst all the angst, etc.
It's dumb, cheesy, and maybe lame...😅
Word count: 5400
Mentions of: blood, cannibalism (not graphically described in detail)
Also posted on AO3
“You’re brooding, my love,” Astarion remarked, poking his finger into Leliana’s cheek. The creases in her face were only getting deeper than they already were at age thirty-five but she couldn’t help herself. She felt unworthy of the man laying next to her, not really knowing what he saw in her. He could’ve had everything and instead this was what he ended up with. A bland sub-par sorcerer and a life in the shadows as they hadn’t been successful thus far in finding a solution for day-walking. It’s been a month since they parted ways from everyone at the docks, studying dusty ancient tomes, asking powerful magic artisans for help. Some were willing to assist but for a hefty price which they couldn’t afford.
She hated herself for losing hope so quickly, becoming paranoid Astarion was going to resent her. 
She didn’t understand how their relationship came to be in the first place. He was funny, quick-witted, beautiful. She let herself be seduced by all the corny lines because she never experienced anything like that before. Such a man talking to her? Only in her wildest dreams. She took the opportunity despite her deep insecurities and unsurprisingly, being in his arms didn’t erase them. She kept thinking about her gangly limbs, folds, and other things she hated about herself. It was definitely a one-off, she thought as she woke up the next morning. However, it wasn’t. To her surprise, he asked her to join him in his tent later. If this was the way in which to keep him, she didn’t mind, at the same time she was still expecting that surely these escapades would soon end. 
On the way to Shadowlands they managed to save enslaved gnomes, which ultimately Astarion didn’t like because of his own prejudices, saying they had their free will to rebel. Unlike him under Cazador. So why should they receive help when they didn’t even ask? Leliana helped them anyway. 
Then they came across a very strange fish tribe who were most thankful for Leliana purifying the lake and adjacent area from parasitic mushrooms. The tribe was close to extinction otherwise as their young were dying from the effects of the mushroom poison. The fish kept bowing, mumbling something incongruent. Halsin was doing all the translating and assisting with the work but ultimately the fish tribe thanked her and gave her a piece of kelp. Halsin said it was a token of utmost gratitude. Astarion complained it reeked of fish rot and wanted her to burn it in the campfire once they were out of earshot. He was ridiculous, whiny, selfish, but she couldn’t help being absolutely enamoured by him. He made her laugh and curled around her like a cat at night.
When he told her how for him the sex was just to get her on his side for protection but he fell for her, opening up about his own issues with intimacy, it was a whirlwind of emotions, sadness for what he went through but mostly an immense relief, happiness like no other. She agreed to give him space, accepted they needn’t have to be intimate unless he wanted to. She wasn’t going to push him as for her sex was never important. With these revelations her wild magic was going crazy since then. Lae’zel gave her a proper tongue lashing after she almost turned her into a frog during the fight with the absolute cultists at Moonrise. 
“This elven dick is costing you braincells, Leliana! Tsk’va!” 
Shadowheart and Karlach were taking the piss out of her for it. Little did they know all Star and her were doing in his tent was kissing or reading books. It was fun times, despite all the elder brain craziness and impending doom happening around them. 
She wasn’t thinking how their lives were going to be afterwards, especially after confronting Cazador and stopping the diabolical ritual Astarion was tied to. Reliving those moments in her mind became an ongoing nightmare. The safety the power offered, ability to stay in the sun, to enjoy food. True freedom. More often then not she felt regret for pleading with him not to do it despite knowing there were seven thousand lives at stake who would’ve been sacrificed to the devil. 
“How do you not hate me?” she asked. “I’m useless. You wanted the best for us both and I ruined it.”
His brows furrowed. “Is this about the ritual?”
“Yeah.”   
“I really miss the stupid tadpole in moments like these,” he sighed and gripped her hand. His fingers trailed her knuckles eliciting tiny sparkles of static energy. It always amazed her how gentle he could be. “You stopped me from killing seven thousand innocent people. I did choose you over the power because you believed I don’t need it and you were right even though I occasionally give you shit for it,” he added with a smirk. “We’re getting by just fine, darling.”
“But…”
“Shush.”
“Astar-,” she gasped as his mouth covered hers in a deep kiss, his fangs slightly cutting the insides of her lip. “I love you, you absolutely impossible infuriating woman. Don’t you dare question me or yourself.” 
“It’s not only the day-walking but your feeding as well, I know my blood is too weak to sustain you. I hate that you have to go hunt.”
“Then I have to start feeding you better. No more of those scrawny chickens from the market. I spotted quite a juicy boar last night in the woods.” He bared his fangs, giving her the cheeky devilish grin she adored so much. There was something more he wanted to say as his eyes trailed down towards her lap. “You’ve given me plenty when you…well, can I say it out loud?”
She turned beet red, a wave of intense arousal coursing through her remembering the first time they made love when she was bleeding couple weeks ago, her blood all over his deft fingers, his tongue languidly licking and tasting the inside of her thighs. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, she should be disgusted with herself. She didn’t want him to ever feel like his vampirism is what attracted her to him. 
“Do not say it,” she hissed through gritted teeth and he chuckled, pushing her onto the bed, his erection firm against her groin. Every single cell in her body screamed as he kissed her. Another perfect distraction manoeuvre, another thing he was so annoyingly good at. 
“Looking forward to it next month,” he mumbled, pressing more kisses down her neck and collarbone. “Now allow me, I’m going to get that boar. Someone is hungry.” 
She watched him walk out, swallowing a huge lump in her throat. In spite of his assurances Leliana couldn’t get rid of the intrusive thoughts of regret and self-hatred.
* * *
When days started to become shorter, they packed their necessities and locked their little cottage on the outskirts of Rivington. Research bore no fruit and they didn’t want to waste more precious time sitting about or begging old crusty arcane arts specialists for a discount. They needed money, and Astarion’s hands were getting stir crazy as it’s been a while since he sank his teeth or dagger into a monster or a bad guy.
Monsters needed killing, bad guys needed punishing, might as well earn something from it. 
Unsurprisingly they found trouble in the very first village they walked into after leaving Rivington. Shabby crooked houses nested around a small tavern, the most luxurious building was most likely the mayor’s house on the top of a small hill.
The tavern was full but the mood oddly not as cheery as one would expect. Patrons were staring into their drinks, nobody laughed or spoke out loud. “I smell blood in the air, stale,” Astarion remarked quietly as they sat down in the corner on the tiny rickety chairs. “It’s foul.”
“Like Araj’s?” Leliana asked alarmingly. Astarion visibly shook. “Gods below, no, but gross nonetheless. I can smell it coming from that creepy man.” 
“The one at the bar talking to the young woman?” Astarion nodded. The young girl was barely an adult, visibly intoxicated. As the evening progressed she seemed less able to keep her head up. After a while the man dragged her out of the tavern like a puppet. Leliana thought that at least someone from the patrons would react but nobody did as if it was a normal occurrence. Astarion walked up the bar and quickly picked up the half-emptied glass the girl left behind. The liquid was spiked with some herb, Leliana wasn’t sure what kind. “I don’t like it. Let’s go after them,” she said.
Astarion’s dagger glinted in the palm of his hand. “Yes, let’s.”
They followed the pair under the invisibility spell. The man was heading towards the house on the hill and locked the door after he pulled the young woman inside. They waited a few moments to make sure the man didn’t know they were there. Locked doors of course were no trouble for Astarion. The only issue was he couldn’t get into the house uninvited. “Be careful, darling,” he told Leliana.
She refocused her invisibility spell and walked in. She searched through the bottom and upper floor, the rooms were empty. Where did that bastard go? She began looking for any hidden doors or contraptions and found a latch leading to the basement from the kitchen. Upon opening it, she was hit with the stench Astarion mentioned. She couldn’t smell it back in the tavern but now it attacked her like a punch in the face, the smell of blood and rotten meat. Instincts were telling her that the any wasted second could cost the young woman her life. 
When she stepped down to the basement, she spotted him leaning over the unconscious body. He was biting into the woman’s thigh as she laid in midst of bloodied body parts and what were most likely human bones. Leliana barely suppressed the reflex to vomit. She quickly immobilised the man with a spell and teleported both him and the woman outside where Astarion was eagerly waiting.
“The asshole was too preoccupied to even notice me. He tried to eat her. There’s a mount of rotting half eaten corpses in his basement,” Leliana said. “I have to patch her up, can you watch over him? And you know what, let’s make him squirm a little,” she added and ended the holding spell. 
“What the hells are you doing?!” The man exclaimed as Astarion grabbed him by the collar. “I’m the mayor, how dare you!” 
“I see we interrupted your little midnight snack, didn’t we?” Astarion asked, aiming his dagger at the mayor’s jugular. “How about I give you the taste of your own medicine?”
The man’s eyes darted towards Astarion’s exposed fangs, ready to strike.
“Lay your dog off me, woman, or else!” He screamed. Leliana shot a witch bolt right into his chest, a weaker one but painful nonetheless. She fucking hated anyone insulting Astarion like that. “He’s. Not. A dog!” She hissed.
Astarion smiled at her appreciatively with a hint of promise in his eyes. He liked when she was righteously aggressive. “I wouldn’t try to piss off a lady who can fry your balls off and feed them to the wolves. Or a man who can rip out your throat in an instant.”
The mayor’s yelling and snivelling woke the sleeping villagers and all came out of their houses, tavern patrons too. “Step aside, that’s my daughter!” A distraught female voice echoed in the middle of the village square. A woman in her fifties ran towards them and dropped to her knees, cradling the still unconscious daughter in her lap. 
“What in the hells is going on?” Someone from the gathered crowd inquired. “Your mayor here has an acquired taste for human meat, it seems. A mount of corpses, you said, love?”
Leliana nodded, tightening the witchbolt still connected to the man’s chest. “He must’ve drugged the girl and then took her to his house to eat her. Quite a few young women must’ve disappeared like this, I assume.” 
The woman whose daughter they saved spoke up. “Five in last couple of years, but he always blamed the disappearances on wild animals or bandits.”
Leliana shivered with disgust. “The house needs to be burned down, else you’re risking a plague.”
“But what are we going to do with him?” Asked the tavern’s barkeeper, pointing towards the mayor. Everyone was looking expectantly at her and Astarion who was sprung like a whip. “My partner will gladly get rid of him for you or we leave him at your mercy.”
“NO!!!” The man yelled once again, pissing his pants. Astarion scrunched up his nose but didn’t loosen his grip. “Oh, I’m rather enjoying this. Can I kill him now? Though watching the angry mob tear this piece of dirt to pieces would be equally as satisfying.”    
The man writhed in Astarion’s grip like a worm. “My fellow villagers, I implore you, don’t be foolish, can’t you see there’s a vampire standing among us? He’s the one who did it! I finally caught himandhiswitch! You’re going to believe two strangers and murderers instead of your mayor?!” 
Astarion let out a sarcastic high pitched laugh. “Ha! Nice try!” 
A wave of unease spread throughout the crowd. Leliana sensed the situation could turn dire unless the drugged girl was woken up as the only reliable witness. 
“He-he killed them and she with her witchcraft moved the bodies to my h-home!” He shrieked. 
“Oh, spare me your bullshit, mayor Randolf, it’s you who was at the bar with the girl,” said the burly barkeeper. The mayor gulped. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side, Horace?”  
“I thought you were just bedding them, not murdering them! I was so fucking stupid.” 
“This is amazing,” Astarion chuckled, pressing his dagger to the tender flesh of the man’s neck. “May I?” 
“Kill him,” said the hoarse quiet voice of the mother. Others agreed with the judgment. Astarion efficiently slit the man’s throat and it was over. The villagers inspected the basement, indeed finding their missing daughters, those whose faces were still recognisable. They set fire to the house afterwards and burned mayor’s body along with it.  
It was a grim spectacle, yet Leliana smiled, hugging Astarion around the waist. “So, how does it feel being a hero again?”
“Believe it or not, I kiiiind of missed it,” he admitted sheepishly. “How very pathetic of me, I know.”
“It suits you,” she replied, kissing the tip of his nose. They watched as the villagers slowly walked back into their homes, only the woman with her daughter and barkeeper were still hanging around. The young woman was coming back to her senses. “I’d like to thank both of you,” said the mother, “if there’s anything we can do for you, get you something to eat or money for the road, just ask.”
“I can give you a room for free, and food on the house,” offered the barkeeper gesturing towards the tavern. “I trust your partner won’t hurt us? I mean no offence, of course.”
Leliana nodded but remained quiet allowing Astarion to speak for himself. Stigma around vampire spawn was still prevalent, however at least the man didn’t imply Astarion belonged to her or was less than her. “No harm to innocents.” 
They stayed in the tavern till the next evening. The barkeep prepared a bloodied steak for Astarion and had the villagers spare some coin. Despite everything, Leliana allowed herself to feel a bit more optimistic about their future if only for a short moment. 
* * *  
Their lives became a series of attending various festivals and performing odd jobs. Setting rat nests on fire, hunting down thieves, saving lost kids from a hungry wolf pack or rescuing a rich banker from the Upper City from becoming dinner for a couple of ogres.
“We should’ve let them bake him and ransack his property,” Astarion remarked, rolling his eyes. Leliana shot him a look. “What? We need the money, darling!” 
“He did pay us, love,” she said. 
Astarion scoffed. “Way too little considering I have to still dig crusty ogre mucus from underneath my nails. It’s not coming off!”
“Aw, you poor thing, I’ll clean them for you,” Leliana said mockingly, suppressing a giggle. “No, you don’t have to,” he pouted. 
“I clearly do because you’ll be whining about it till my head explodes.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “I can’t afford to look unpresentable next to you.”
“Here I thought you were the eye-candy in this relationship,” she smiled. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Well, of course I am, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the most beautiful person in all Faerun…and you look cute when you’re blushing.”  
* * *
It started following year, the dizzy spells, fatigue, losing balance. Easy to shake off, ignore, and hide from Astarion at first. At least Leliana thought.
They were passing a mining town when massive explosion shook the ground. Couple of people managed to not get crushed by the rubble and ran screaming for help. She knew Astarion wouldn’t be happy if they got involved but she had to. Her spellwork had gotten better over months of regular use, ironically a complete opposite situation to her physical state.
“I must do it,” she said, clasping his hand. “I know,” he replied begrudgingly. “For once I wish you were a little more selfish.”
“Then I wouldn’t be the infuriatingly nice naive fool you fell in love with.”
“Point taken. Let’s go before I tie you down and drag you away,” he groaned. “But if I break a nail, it’s your fault.”
The entrance to the mine was completely blocked, with some citizens trying to dig the rocks away. Someone suggested to use dynamite but it would cause more damage and quite possibly kill any miners underneath on the other side. 
“Love, I will have to cast telekinesis, then I need you to—“
“Just don’t drop it on my head, darling.”
Telekinesis wasn’t her strong suit but she managed to move the outer layer of rocks. Couple miners were stuck under the rubble which Astarion lifted for them to get away to safety. However the rocks were never ending, the mine completely caved in. She was getting tired. 
Astarion glanced at her, worried. “We cannot save everyone, I don’t want to you to hurt yourself.”
“Lady, please, there’s still three of our friends missing! They can’t be further in, only couple more meters, please!” Begged one of the miners. Astarion’s glare was murderous. 
The dizziness hit her unexpectedly and she lost control over the spell. A large boulder wavered in the air as she crumbled to her knees. She couldn’t see nor hear. Only felt a touch of Astarion’s arms around her. 
She regained consciousness but felt this time the dizzy spell was longer and more intense than before. Astarion was nervously pacing around a room. The window shutters were closed, something to eat and drink was left on the table. There was a knock on the door and a woman in an apron handed Astarion a bar of soap and clean sheets.      
“Star-,” she croaked, her throat dry like a sandpaper. She could barely lift her arms or feel her legs. He was at her side immediately. “I knew I should’ve not let you do it, gods!” 
“It’s nothing, I’m fine.”
He scoffed. “You’re not fine. You think I haven’t noticed?! We’re going to back home and I’ll start making the perfumes.” 
She kept her mouth shut. A fucking failure, that’s what she was. Wouldn’t he be happier with a less self-sacrificing idiot? Most likely. 
* * *
The dizziness episodes were happening more and more frequently, and lasted longer. Leliana could barely stand straight. No amounts of healing Shadowheart casted on her made it go away. Gale was useless too. Astarion unwillingly contacted Halsin. The buff druid’s knowledge was the last resort. He split his lip biting into it so hard trying to suppress the urge to tear out his throat, he had to leave the bedroom for a while to calm down. He couldn’t stand Halsin touching her. Even though she shut down his advances Astarion knew Halsin was still in love with her.
“Physically there’s nothing wrong. No poison, fever, no illness,” Halsin said, his usual calm tone was laced with frustration. “So we aren’t going to do anything? Just sit around like idiots?!” Astarion snarled. Nobody answered. He hated feeling so helpless, it was almost as if he was again in that tomb Cazador locked him in. Out of solidarity, Halsin, Gale, and Shadowheart stayed and took turns in attending to her while Astarion was working or hunting. He was only feeding himself to stay upright, not really having any appetite. 
Leliana was slowly becoming bedridden, not responding to his voice, not even seeing him. Hundred lashes from Cazador hurt less than watching her wither in front of him. “Do not do this to me,” he whispered, kissing her temple. Her skin was cold to the touch. “Don’t you dare.”
He slept glued to her side to make sure he could feel her barely perceptible breath. It was getting shallower each coming day until it stopped and he couldn’t hear her heartbeat either. He jumped out of bed, frantic, hurrying Halsin and Shadowheart out of their temporary bedrolls.    
“She’s dead, druid, fucking do something! Shadowheart?!”
Gale was oddly calm, as if waiting for something to happen but unsure what it was. “She isn’t dead, Astarion, and you saw Shadowheart’s healing spells didn’t have any effect before.”
“Then why isn’t she breathing, why isn’t she responding?”
“I think she’s transforming. It’s almost complete,” said Gale. Fuckin cryptic wizard. Astarion was close to smacking the hell out of him.
“What? Speak to the point! What’s going on?”
“I can sense the energy. Very similar to what Mystra radiates. It’s not exactly weave, it’s something different.”
“Gods above, you mean she’s—“
Leliana could hear them but couldn’t react just yet. Astarion was gripping her hand so strongly she was worried he was going to snap her bones. The energy flowed all around her, flowing into the touch as well. She slowly opened her eyes, met his intense beautiful gaze. He looked wrecked like she’d never seen him before. “What’s h-happening,” she croaked weakly. 
Gale appeared above her, looking more interested or fascinated rather than worried. “Seems like you’re becoming a goddess. Or at least, a demi-goddess.” He stated matter-of-factly as if she just changed her clothes. Astarion stared in utter disbelief.
“I thought I lost you…I really thought I fucking lost you.”
“The fish people aren’t a myth after all,” snickered Shadowheart. 
Gale snorted, dumbfounded. “Fish people? Those who we met in the Underdark?”
“Haven’t you heard of the power of worship of fish people? They can grant people godly powers if they believe in the purity of their heart.”
“Of course I’ve heard about it, thought it’s lunacy, and it’s been ages since we were down there.”
“You can’t expect to become a god in five minutes, Gale.” Shadowheart patted Leliana’s shoulder and turned to leave. “Let’s go, I’m sure the two love birds want their privacy now.” The door closed behind their friends but neither Leliana or Astarion paid attention to their surroundings. The smell of his perfume engulfed her as his lips gently touched hers. Tentatively at first. She embraced him, pulling him closer, hungry all of a sudden. She felt so alive, full of energy, on top of the world…and so sickeningly in love with this man. Didn’t take him long to make her climax and dominate her senses. She was gasping his name out loud, digging her nails into his scarred back. It was more intense somehow, a deeper connection, like her brainwaves were on overdrive joining with his. 
Astarion let out a guttural moan as he spread her legs wider, entering her again and again. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice raspy, “my…goddess.” 
She fell asleep at dawn but it was more like a trance. She didn’t need to sleep anymore. Was it really the fish people’s doing? She remembered the kelp, remembered them bowing. If they had knees it would probably look like kneeling. She had no idea though what it meant other than simple gratitude. Her skin was smoother to the touch, hair silkier, eyesight sharper. Astarion stirred next to her, a soft lazy smile spreading across his lips. “Morning. How are you feeling?”
“I can’t describe it. Strange, great, different but still the same,” she said, studying her hands and body. The energy field was all around her, like a silver shimmer. She sensed the same energy around Astarion, on the places where she touched him. His mouth, arms, torso, and groin especially…mainly the groin, looked like they’d been painted with pearlescent sheen. She might’ve been a goddess now but it was him who looked divine. “I covered you with…something,” she said, feeling her cheeks going red. He chuckled. “A godly gunk? Hmm, I rather like that.”
“Open the window,” she suggested, suddenly thinking that maybe the magical residue, or whatever is was, could do what she hoped it could do? What if her biggest wish became a reality? No more doubts and regrets? 
“Hold out your arm to the sun.” 
He looked at her quizzically but did as she said. The windows shutters almost didn’t budge from rare use. He quickly stepped away from the window, leaving only his forearm out to face the sun rays. She stood up from the bed, observing and waiting for any reaction. Nothing was happening. Astarion’s eyes widened and it was one of the extremely rare moments he was speechless. He stepped into the light fully, the sun bouncing off of the silvery particles. The only patch of skin that began to burn after a long while was his elbow.
“Missed the spot, my sweet,” he pointed out and she leaned in and kissed it. They made love all day, with every window shutter wide open from that moment on. 
* * * 
There was a knock on their door a week later. Astarion grumbled in protest, pinning Leliana to the bed as she attempted to get up. “Mhmm.“ He nuzzled her neck, playfully biting her shoulder. “Ignore that.”
“It may be important.”
“More important than this?” He asked opening her mouth with his and hooking his leg under hers. Gods, he was perfect.
However, the knocking was incessant so unwillingly he got up and opened the door. There was a mass of people standing and looking rather admiringly. She recognised so many faces of those they helped.
“H-hello,” she waved, not really knowing what to say. “How did you find us?”
“None of us have any idea. We just knew where to go,” spoke the older woman at the front of the group, the one whose daughter they saved.  
“All of you at once?” She asked in disbelief. They nodded in unison. “What are you here for?”
“To celebrate you.”
“But why?” 
Astarion looked positively delighted. “Don’t ask why, darling. It’s a party! We accept!”
It felt more like a religious gathering than a party but there was food and children running around playing tag. Whatever the hells it was, Astarion was having a blast going around lecturing everyone how to properly pray. They were indeed praying. To her. 
One of the women remarked with a smile, “My dear, your partner is very nice albeit a bit intense!”
Leliana chuckled. “Please ignore him.”
She stepped away from the little group gathered around her and walked towards Astarion. “Star, my love, please go gather the kids and show them some tricks. Just don’t do any knife throwing on live targets!”
“Darling, I would never,” he smirked.
The religious non-party party lasted till nightfall, the people recited the last prayer and promised to come back regularly on that day every year. 
“This was…strange,” Leliana said. “I don’t understand it.” 
Astarion seemed to understand it perfectly. “We have a cult, love.”
“Sounds oddly familiar.”
“It does indeed, you’re a way prettier cult leader though.”
* * *
The wedding ceremony was happening under the basking sun in the middle of summer. Astarion picked the spot - near the hill where they first met, right next to the crashed nautiloid ship. Shadowheart and Gale were there already, taking care of the sitting arrangements for the guests. It was quite the spectacle. Gnolls, humans, tiefling children and Halsin, Rolan and his siblings, Omeluum, Dame Aylin and Isobel. Around a hundred of spawn from the Underdark came as well, those who were able to control themselves. They were shadowed by the nautiloid wreckage and Gale’s darkness spell.
Fish people were floating in the water, maybe not entirely understanding what’s this all about. Nobody even knew how they got there but Leliana suspected the kelp had everything to do with it. Suddenly the sky parted and a massive red dragon flew in with Leliana’s favourite alien friend on top of it. 
“Lae!” 
“I see you’ve been busy,” Lae’zel remarked with a smile and hugged her. “Can’t believe you’re really marrying that fool.”     
Leliana glanced upon Astarion talking to Gale, not believing it either. The freedom looked good on him. All these people were here for him as well, not just because of her.
“Now you’re not the only one who bedded a goddess, wizard. And I am marrying her,” she heard him say. Gale rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “This is not a contest, Astarion.”
“I’m almost sad that it isn’t. I’d have won.” 
“Gods…do you have your vows ready?” 
He turned back, his eyes meeting hers. “Of course I do.” He’d been practicing for days, stopped each time Leliana came near. 
Shadowheart walked up to them holding an attendance sheet. “We’re still waiting for Karlach and Wyll, then we can begin.”
“There they are!” Exclaimed Mol, one of the tiefling kids they helped at the Grove. The barbarian and warlock jumped out of the Avernus portal, hellish flames encircling them. Karlach was beaming.
“Well, fuck me, soldier. We almost didn’t make it, this hellion was causing trouble.” She nuzzled a little horned baby in her arms. Wyll looked over the moon content. Both of them had more scars than they had before but radiated happiness. “More trouble than a bunch of cambions,” added Wyll, caressing the baby’s head. The hells were in for a treat.
“Alright, let’s do this everyone!” Gale cleared his throat. “We’ve gathered here to connect this unlikely pair in marriage. Two people I’ve come to know under perilous circumstances whom I’m lucky to call friends. Difficult times either shatter the bonds between people or make them closer to one another. We’ve been through a lot together and I’m glad to say the latter is true for our little merry band, especially these two standing in front of me. Go ahead, Astarion.”
Leliana looked up at him and he once again had that tender disbelieving expression he had when he told her he loved her as they sat next to his grave. He pulled out the paper with his vow and threw it into the water. “I had this entire elaborate speech prepared but it would be much better to just say it how I feel it without rehearsals. Everything I’ve told you back at the cemetery still holds true only thousand times stronger. Most people here know I’m a bit of a walking…uh, problem. You could’ve blasted my head off right upon that hill behind the nautiloid where I almost knifed you, you could’ve staked me, betrayed me to Gur. I would’ve been dead million times if not for you. Actually, if you followed my every stupid suggestion, we’d all be dead or mindflayer thralls. You showed me kindness in equal measure to everyone else around and I know I was a bit of a bitter prick about it. I don’t understand how I’ve earned your love despite all that and probably never will. Now thanks to you I can stand here not burning to cinders. You’ve given me everything and more than I could ever have imagined. I don’t want this to end. I want you, as my forever and always.”
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valiantstarlights · 9 months
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I am obsessed with your writing especially Demon Dream and the lovely priest he took as his husband
I keep wanting the angst though of Hob getting kidnapped while he is carrying their baby and Dream threatening to unleash the apocalypse until he gets Hob back
Thank you 🖤 I love them too, blasphemous as they are. 🥰
Okay. So while I think it's highly unlikely for priest!Hob to get kidnapped, especially when he gets pregnant, let's say it did happen.
CW: violence and gore, but neither dream nor hob gets hurt so don't worry 😊 strangely fluffy 👀
Maybe the lower demons squatting in Destruction's abandoned territory thought it was a good idea to kidnap Dream's pregnant consort as a hostage. Give us what we want and you'll get your whore and your spawn back.
Maybe they managed to plant a couple of their own agents among Dream's household servants, and they knocked Hob out and carried him out through a hidden passageway in the dead of night while Dream is visiting one of his siblings' territories for some administrative business.
Maybe they even manage to drug Matthew the hellhound's food, knowing that the hellhound never leaves Hob's side, especially with Dream gone with Jessamy.
(Matthew has followed Hob around like a 3 month old puppy since he arrived, always begging for pets and treats. Matthew is as large as a warhorse and he is very spoiled. 🐶)
The lower demons behind the kidnapping plot are very happy that the first phase of their plan succeeded without a hitch.
For the second phase, they write a threatening letter to Dream with their demands. They foolishly mention that they're gonna hurt Hob and their unborn child.
Dream, currently in Desire's territory, goes ballistic when he receives the letter. He goes full Nightmare form, towering over everyone, horns and wings and tail on display, fanged mouth dripping with blood, claws long and sharp, his feet leaving fiery footprints in his wake.
(In short, very scary sexy.)
Desire, Unity, and a pregnant Miranda do their best to calm him down, but every time Dream sees Miranda's stomach, he is reminded of Hob and he wants to tear Hell apart looking for him.
Desire feels for their brother. When Unity had been pregnant with Miranda, they almost had their entire territory on lockdown. So they offer to join forces with Dream to look for whoever is responsible and fashion a new level of Hell just for the culprits. Them and Dream are going to personally torture them all for eternity.
Dream is very grateful and calms down a little. He is still freaking out, thinking the absolute worst scenarios and remembering the last morning he spent with Hob, with the man standing behind him in the vanity, combing his hair and being very careful about his horns, how warm he felt when they embraced, how the baby kicked between them, as if wanting attention as well. Hob had laughed when the baby continued kicking and stretching, with Dream's large hands pressed against his stomach, imploring the child to take it easy on Hob's body.
Did he tell Hob that he loves him before he left? He must have. He remembers kissing him until Hob pushed Dream's face away playfully and told him he's already running late.
Before Dream left, Hob told him that he wants guava jelly donuts and smoked sausages when he comes back from visiting Desire. They had visited together, a long time ago, before Hob got pregnant. Dream remembers being dragged to various food stalls, and Hob chatting with the food vendors, who were happy to serve him and Dream their best creations.
He wants to see Hob's smile again. Feel their child moving in Hob's belly again.
Desire helps him write messages to their other siblings, informing them of the situation, and has their own trusted messengers send the letters.
Dream is glad that Desire is helping him, because he cannot think clearly right now. He wants to storm Destruction's abandoned territory first, and Hob cannot possibly be there.
...Unless the rebellion they quelled years ago have managed to build their forces back up again and they were the ones behind this.
He tells this to Desire, who finds his logic sound. And without another word, they gear up for battle and call upon their armies.
--
Meanwhile, Hob is being kept in a glass cage. Not like Dream's fishbowl, but kinda like an aquarium. Roomier, and has the amenities of a prison cell, which Hob is actually thankful for, because he pees a lot these days.
No one has touched him yet, but he has heard the things they want to do to him: unpleasant things he'd rather not hear. He hopes his baby is asleep and not listening because he doesn't want them to be traumatized.
He knows that Dream is coming for him and that all these lower demons would pay for what they have done, but he wishes he would come sooner rather than later. He is still a couple months away from giving birth, but he worries about his nutrition. He wants his baby to be healthy, and prison food in Hell is just...not it.
(He's only been here like a day and he hates it.)
And he misses Dream. This is the first time they've been away from each other this long. He wants to lay in bed with him and have him hum lullabies from his own childhood while he presses kisses on Hob's stomach. He wants to read books sitting on Dream's lap, Dream reading his own book, and Matthew and Jessamy napping at their feet. He wants to eat his meals with him which would eventually lead them to fuck in the dining room.
Dream is gentler, these days, torturing Hob sweetly when he goes slow and gentle rather than fast and rough like Hob sometimes craves.
Hob wants his husband.
Hob wants his child to be safe and healthy.
Hob wants to kill every single last one of these motherfuckers who dare lay a hand on him, and would dare harm his child.
As you can see, once Hob enters the anger stage of the five stages of grief, he's as vicious as Dream and his other siblings. He may just be human, and he may be currently pregnant and seemingly helpless, but you have to remember that this is the same man who murdered someone in cold blood when he was still a priest because he wanted to save a convent full of nuns from being the man's victims.
Also, Hell has changed him.
He vows that he's going to survive, and in a couple of months, he'll safely give birth to his and Dream's child in the safety of Dream's castle.
And so he waits.
He waits until the lower demons grow restless, and for them to become stupid enough to want to enter his cage and do what they said they were going to do.
He barely has to wait a full day.
The first batch of demons enter his cage, and they're all smirking, telling him that Dream has abandoned him, and that he's their plaything now.
Hob has his back against the corner, but he is calm and says nothing back. Just caresses his belly complacently.
When the first one brazenly steps closer, Hob opens his mouth and starts reciting scripture.
The demons, almost as one, clap their hands against their ears before they explode in a shower of blood.
Hob continues speaking, projecting his voice louder, the way he used to do when he gave Mass as a priest.
It was an accident, how he found out that scripture can hurt the lower demons.
Back when he was new in Hell, a servant had given him his meal in his rooms. Dream had been across the castle attending to some business, and Hob had begged him for a reprieve after the previous night's activities so he was still in bed.
The servant served him his food, then demurely steps to the side, in case he has a need for anything else.
Unthinkingly, Hob had said grace. And the poor demon girl had shrieked and clapped her hands against her ears, and Hob immediately shut his mouth and apologized profusely.
The servant girl's ears bled a little, but her full recovery time took a week. She was a lovely girl and so Hob sent her gifts every day until she healed, genuinely apologetic about his thoughtless action.
Back then, he had only spoken the first four words of the prayer. Now he is reciting the entire Book of Psalms.
--
Desire and Dream, along with their combined armies, arrive at Destruction's territory and mercilessly slaughters all the demons they meet. Their bodies will reform later, but they have been marked for torture, and will not be able to escape or hide ever again.
Dream is a monster in the battlefield. Demons actually flee at the sight of him, but he does not let them. He carves a bloody path straight to Destruction's crumbling castle, where his heart is telling him to go.
Once he disintegrates the castle doors, he descends the stairs towards the basement, heart in his throat, fearing the worst.
He is barely halfway down the steps when he sees a massacre.
From how the bodies are positioned, though, they look like they were fleeing something. Some died covering their ears. Others are just a spray of red on the walls and floors.
He walks on.
In the middle of the basement is a glass cage. He snarls at the sight, imagining Hob being caged and treated like an animal, when he should be placed on a throne and dressed in the richest and softest materials, spoiled and well-fed and loved.
The cage's walls are covered in blood, and Dream knows he has to go inside and check, but what if--
He can't bear it if--
He hears humming.
He runs forward and wrenches the cage's door open, and is met with Hob, sitting on the bed that is pushed against one wall, covered in blood but looking unharmed.
Hob's face lights up when he sees Dream, and Dream rushes towards him, falling down on his knees and running his hands all over his love, checking if he's safe. If the baby is safe. Dream is going to start torturing everyone responsible as soon as their bodies reform.
"I'm fine, Dream, honestly," Hob says, laughing and batting his hands away.
It's so good to hear him laugh again. Dream kisses him, unmindful of the blood smearing between their faces.
"And our child?" Dream asks, hands still on Hob's arms, holding him so his mind registers that this is, in fact, real. Hob is alive. Hob is fine. "Are they safe?"
"Of course they are," Hob says. "Although I have to say, they have had enough excitement for a while. No excitement again until they're at least a century old, please."
"You would not let them help me torture the demons who dared to end their life before they're born?"
Hob hums and thinks about it. Finally, he says, "Not if I were there to remind you both to take breaks."
Dream laughs. It's terrible and frightening, but Hob loves it. And oh, how Dream loves his husband back.
"Thank you for rescuing me, by the way," Hob says as he stands. Dream helps him up, and places his hand on Hob's back, gently massaging the area. "Oooh, that feels good, thank you."
"I do not think you needed rescuing at all," Dream remarks, now looking at the scene around them. Only the place where Hob was sitting is free of blood and guts. "Did you do all this?"
Hob looks at him askance. "Of course I did. Have you so little faith in me?"
Dream pulls his beautiful, brilliant husband towards him again, and together they stand in the middle of the carnage that is Hob's doing alone. Between them, their child moves and greets Dream with a gentle nudge against Hob's stomach. Dream presses his hand against the movement, and with the other tilts Hob's lovely face up so he would see just how much Dream means his next statement.
"My love, you are the only one I have unending faith in, and the only one I will gladly spend the rest of my life worshipping." He leans down and gives his love a chaste kiss on the lips. They are both covered in blood, but it doesn't matter. It's irrefutable evidence that they would do everything in their power to get back together and keep their family safe.
Hob hums. "I'm looking forward to this eternal worship by first eating the guava jelly donuts and the smoked sausages I asked you to buy."
"And you shall have them," Dream promises. "For I have not forgotten."
"Carry me home?"
Dream obediently leans down and picks his husband up in his arms. Hob's ankles must be killing him. All the more reason to make these bastards suffer. He is looking forward to showing them just how badly they fucked up.
But that can wait until after his husband is happy and sated and safe behind his castle walls again.
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alleiwentcrazy · 1 year
Text
Eddie Munson finds great joy in collecting strays. That’s obvious.
With people, it’s quite pronounced. He treats the word “freak” like an acclaimed royal title, not some low insult. Eddie loves his freaks – he treats them with care, understanding and unmistakable devotion, always offering some sort of safe haven and an outlet for both their sadness and glee. Everyone who knows Eddie knows that.
It’s a bit less pronounced with other creatures. Although Eddie’s adventures with wild, sometimes even feral (or simply interdimensional) animals still present a sore spot for him, he’s never stopped caring about them and trusting them. Eddie has a whole clowder of half-domesticated cats wandering around the fields behind his trailer at all times, because he can’t seem to accept the fact that it’s impossible to efficiently help each and every one of them just like that. Sometimes their constant presence, walls-scratching and low mewling spawns some unwanted pictures and dreams in Eddie’s head, but he will never admit to that.
What’s even less obvious—even to Eddie himself, it seems—is that his relationship with all kinds of strays is, more or less, a two-way street.
Eddie takes after his strays more than he’s aware of. For example, he’s just a little more sarcastic when he’s back from hanging out with Max. He’s a little more excited about basketball when he picks up Lucas after his practice, even though he considers himself a sports’ sworn enemy. He’s a little more tentative and reflective when he gives El some advice about regrowing her hair, because he’s well-versed with how much of a pain in the ass it can be. And so on, and so forth.
It’s the same with his cats. He takes after them a lot.
Usually, it’s Steve who notices it first. He’s also the one who falls victim to Eddie’s cat-like habits.
*
The first time it happens, they’re “studying” for Eddie’s exams. He’s been forced to retake his senior year once again, but this time he’s doing everything in his power to get through it unscathed. Usually Nancy plays the role of his tutor, but Steve takes over when she can’t make it. He’s more like moral support than anything else, since Eddie studies best when he has someone to talk to, and Steve isn’t too confident about his academic skills to really tutor him, so he’s just happy to help and listen.
But it’s starting to get late, he had a morning shift and he’s finding it hard to fight off the drowsiness, especially because Eddie’s voice is deep, raspy and warm, and it makes him feel like he’s listening to some type of bedtime story.
“...so that’s why, I think, trig kinda sucks. But I’m getting the hang of it, I guess?”
He barely registers the meaning of the sentence. He’s so comfortable sitting under the blanket on Eddie’s bed everything loses importance. Moving his mouth seems to be an impossible task, so Steve just hums. When he cracks one eye open, Eddie’s looking at him with an unreadable expression.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he says, but Steve doesn’t even see him leave. He slides down and buries his face in the pillows.
He knows when Eddie comes back because the smell of coffee infiltrates his sleepy haze, but doesn’t motivate him enough to get up.
“Budge up,” he hears. Then a hand squeezes his shoulder, so he moves closer to the wall with a whine, squishing his cheek further into the pillow. Something warm settles beside him and he thinks, simply, that it’s really pleasant to be this cozy and comfortable before he drifts off for good.
When he opens his eyes in the morning, he’s welcomed by a very curious sight.
Eddie Munson sleeps like a cat.
He’s lying on his back, long hair only slightly tangled where it’s splayed over the pillow. When sunrays hit his face, he instinctively turns his head in the right direction and Steve almost expects him to make a noise—a noise that would most probably remind him of purring. Eddie’s limbs are spread out all over the bed and his whole body seems to be twisted to the side, but he still takes up a lot less space than anticipated. His left hip is pressed to Steve’s right, but it’s the only point of connection between them.
Steve has seen this sleeping position only once, when he met Robin’s cat, Biscuit. Biscuit supposedly hates Robin, but somehow trusts Steve, because he sleeps with his tummy out when Steve’s around. Just like Eddie.
Steve raises his brow and looks at Eddie’s sunlit face again. He’s peaceful and relaxed, unbothered by the noises coming from outside. When the sun moves again, Eddie moves with it, pressing his bony hip a little closer to Steve’s.
That’s curious indeed. Steve doesn’t want to dwell on how it makes him feel at the moment, so he just looks. It’s quite a sight.
*
Weeks pass, Eddie’s peculiar habits get more and more frequent—or maybe after that one night spent at the trailer Steve’s just more focused on taking note of them. His hypothesis that Eddie’s a lot like his animal companions of choice is being confirmed time and time again, mostly when Eddie falls asleep.
After some time, Steve notices that on top of preferring weird sleeping positions, Eddie also makes a habit of seeking other people’s warmth whenever he wants to take a nap. Steve honestly doesn’t think it’s anything personal; Eddie will fall asleep on anyone’s shoulder if they let him, but he seems to have a preference. The preference being Steve.
When Robin tries to comment on that, Steve silences her. Half because he doesn’t want to confront that yet, half because he enjoys it and doesn’t want to spook Eddie away. Sue him if he likes being needed, right?
The only time he kind of regrets letting Eddie cling to him is when they go to the beach with the kids.
It’s not even a real beach, but they’re set on enjoying it as much as they can. Eddie takes his van, Nancy takes the wagon, they pack everyone inside and get the hell out of Hawkins for a full day. The weather is perfect, the grass is green and soft, the lake is nothing like Lover’s Lake at home. If only because there are no horrible memories attached.
Steve’s off babysitting duties when Nancy announces lunch, everyone wolfs down their sandwiches and lounges lazily around the lake in the scorching afternoon sun.
There aren’t many things Steve enjoys more than good sunbathing. At home, he can’t really do that anymore. He can’t stand the pool and the chlorine, he can’t stand the sound of unnatural sloshing of the water. It all makes his head spin and before he knows it, he’s back inside, fully dressed and calling Robin to ease the panic.
It’s different here. He lays down on his fluffy towel and enjoys the sun, listening to Dustin’s happy squeals and Lucas’ joyful giggling.
Until he has to hiss, because glacially cold droplets of water hit his sternum and a shadow obscures the light. When he opens his eyes, Eddie Munson grins at him despite the glare he’s being welcomed with.
“Hiya,” he says, shaking his head like a dog. Steve scowls some more. “Move over, beauty queen.”
“Don’t you have your own towel?” he grumbles, but makes space nonetheless, all while desperately trying not to catch Robin’s eyes at the same time.
Eddie plops down beside him, immediately making himself comfortable in the sparse space Steve has left him. “Yeah, but yours is better. And you wouldn’t starve a man of his rightful summer afternoon nap, would you, Stevie?”
Steve closes his eyes, not letting go of the frown. “Stop yapping or I’ll throw you into the water again.”
“Will you carry me to the shore princess style this time? Because—Hey!” He finally shuts up when Steve elbows him.
When Robin wakes him up again, Eddie’s on his side, so close to Steve he can feel his steady breaths on his shoulder. Eddie’s both arms are thrown over Steve’s chest—because of course, even his side sleeping must be cat-like.
“Wake up, tiger,” she says, barely holding back a smirk. Steve knows this face too well.
“What are you…” Robin points at the sun and then at his chest. Steve’s brain is still a little hazy from his nap, so it takes him a while to understand what she means. When it hits him, his eyes get so big Robin can’t contain herself anymore. She lets out a loud cackle that soon transforms into a full laughing fit. Steve can’t even blame her for it.
Eddie stirs beside him. Slowly, he sits up and yawns. While he’s rubbing his eyes, Steve looks down at his chest in agony. It’s all red and scorched – all, aside from two pale stripes where Eddie’s arms were lying across his skin.
He sighs at it in disbelief while Robin cackles some more.
*
Overall, Steve quickly finds out that he really doesn’t mind the fact that Eddie includes him in his every nap when they’re together. In fact, he learns that he enjoys it so much he can’t imagine napping all by himself at this point.
But it’s all okay. And it’s not that unusual, right? They’ve all gotten really close since Vecna—even Nancy and Robin have some kind of secret proximity contract going on between them, it seems. It’s the magic of shared trauma and shared secrets that keeps them together and pulls them closer to each other every day.
At least that’s how Steve explains it to himself. That’s how he explains the comfort and sense of safety he gets every time Eddie’s back is pressed to his chest, when they’re breathing evenly and in sync. That’s how he sees it when he absent-mindedly reaches for Eddie’s hand when they’re falling asleep on the Munsons’ worn-out sofa. That’s how he feels when Eddie’s arms pull him closer.
Deep down, he knows it’s not usual at all. He’s had enough dates and romances to recognize when things cross the line, but he purposefully closes his eyes to that for the time being, letting himself enjoy the comfort and the safety of it all.
He learns the hard way that while both him and Eddie decide to stay oblivious, not everyone else does. And the fact that they never talk about it doesn’t help.
As per usual, when their monthly movie night with Nancy and Robin – the original Upside Down Bat Squad – comes, Steve and Eddie squeeze themselves into one loveseat. Eddie’s head drops to Steve’s shoulder almost immediately and he folds himself into a small human ball, pressing his side to Steve and going to sleep instantly.
Steve would love to take a nap himself, but the movie is just interesting enough to keep him in the half-dazed lethargy between sleep and consciousness. When he finally drifts off, it’s not for long.
He opens his eyes again when he registers the sudden lack of warmth beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie leave through the glass door in his living room. He wants to call after him, but before he does, he finally notices the muffled talk in the corridor. Nancy’s voice cuts through the silence first.
“...yes, but isn’t it kind of… Strange for them to be like that without acknowledging it in any way?”
It’s quiet for a bit, as if the conversation is being actively processed by both participants. “You mean the, uh… The closeness, or…?” Robin tries to keep her voice steady and neutral, but her cover blows a little bit more with every word.
“Yes! You clearly can’t be this intimate with someone if you don’t care about them deeply. There’s always a reason to be so close to each other, right? And you’re Steve’s platonic soulmate, so it’s definitely not like that between them.”
So many things come to Steve’s mind so suddenly he has to close his eyes—things concerning not only him and Eddie, but also Nancy and Robin. Things they were all too blind to notice.
“You mean, um,” Robin swallows so loudly even Steve can hear it. “To be as close to each other… As we are, sometimes?”
He gets up, then, deciding that he’s heard enough. Robin will tell him everything either way.
When he opens the glass door and catches the sight of Eddie, sitting on one of the lawn chairs and smoking, he realizes that they’re both going to have a lot to confess to each other at work tomorrow.
He sits down on the chair next to Eddie’s and lets the silence envelop them for a second. Eddie passes him the cigarette and he takes a prolonged drag.
“Robin and Nance woke me up with their babbling. Sorry for waking you up too,” Eddie says without looking at him.
Steve doesn’t really know how to approach it. It would be difficult enough if only one or two of them were having a revelation this evening, but since it’s all of them—well, that complicates things. He’s only a little bit surprised that his revelation doesn't hurt him at all, though. It’s not making his stomach churn or his eyes water. He still feels safe within it. When he glances at Eddie again, he can’t help but hope, even though their situation has more layers than either of them has had a chance to discover.
“It’s alright,” he reassures, passing down the cigarette. “I wasn’t really sleeping.”
Something sour flashes on Eddie’s face, but it’s only temporary. He smiles again, then, although his eyes stay dim. “Bet you don’t get good sleep at all when I’m all over you.”
“Actually,” Steve says, making sure to time it perfectly. When he reaches out to take the cigarette from Eddie, he lets their fingers stay pressed together for long enough to make some ash fall to the ground by itself. “It’s the other way around. I like it. I like when we do that.”
Eddie frowns, but his expression is as far from sour as possible. “You do?”
“Yeah. It’s just… It’s calming. I feel safe. Far away from the monsters and shit.”
Eddie smiles and huffs. He lets go of the cigarette gently. His fingers drag down along Steve’s skin. He’s not too willing to admit that, but this simple gesture gives Steve enough goosebumps to last him for life.
“Monsters and shit,” Eddie says, smiling. He turns and presses his knee to Steve’s.
“Yeah, exactly,” Steve presses back. “Monsters and shit.”
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heqvenlymoons · 29 days
Text
I Gave You Immortality, I Can Take It Back Anytime
Daminette One Shot | Soulmate AU | AO3
Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always known she was immortal. Maybe not always. 
But there had been multiple instances in her life that proved she was. 
Like when she was four, she and Nino had been playing catch when the ball he threw at her bounced and rolled onto the road. Seeing no cars in sight, Marinette had rushed onto the street to grab the ball when a car seemed to have spawned out of nowhere and sped towards her. 
She had frozen in fear, not able to move when the car miraculously broke down just as it was about to hit her. Her parents hadn’t let her out of their sight for a while after that incident. 
That night, she remembered seeing a boy about the same age as her with green eyes, tanned skin and a permanent scowl on his face as he crossed his arms and looked at her with an air full of superiority as he snapped, “Be more careful.” 
She had thought the dream was weird and never saw the boy again until when she was six. She somehow contracted pneumonia and was sent to the ER for a life-threatening emergency. 
She slept at the hospital that night, afraid and alone, her parents weren’t allowed in the room as the sickness was contagious. 
She saw the green-eyed boy again, this time looking older than he was when she last saw him. His scowl was the same, looking down at her with disapproval as if she had sought out the sickness on her own and gotten sick on purpose. 
“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault,” She snapped, unhappy with his disapproving expression. 
He looked surprised but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared, the scowling expression slipping back like it never left in the first place as he spat, “It is your fault! If you never went near that sick person in the first place, you would not have contracted the disease.” 
Marinette stomped her foot, unwilling to let the boy talk to him like that. “It’s not my fault I’m sick! Everything hurts! I’m scared and alone, I don’t need to add you yelling at me to the mix.”
By the end of her rant, she was struggling to contain her tears, the frustration of everything she had been holding back while she had been awake came tumbling out.
The boy’s face softened slightly and he shifted, looking uncomfortable at the girl looking so close to tears. He gave a hesitant gentle pat to her head as he said, “Get better soon.” 
The following morning when she woke up, her pneumonia had been cured. 
Since that night, the mysterious boy appeared more often on days when she got hurt or injured, and with her clumsy nature, she saw the boy every few days.  
“I just realized I don’t know your name,” Marinette asked one day as they hung out in the dreamscape. 
They were both doing their own thing, with the boy focused on his sketchbook and Marinette working on some colouring book. 
He grunted, not happy with the interruption. “That is not important.” 
She closed her colouring book and got up to snatch the sketchbook from his hands. 
“Hey!” he glared at her, hoping to intimidate her but she was stubborn, not giving in. 
“It’s important to me. I want to know who my friend is,” she said, referring to his earlier statement. 
“We are not friends,” he grumbled, looking away. 
She stuck out her tongue. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me, you always appear when I sleep.” 
The boy stubbornly avoided her gaze, focusing on some shelves behind her instead. 
“Just tell me your name. Please?” She whined, putting on her best puppy doll eyes, his scowling expression faltering as he all but melted at the adorable expression she was making. 
He huffed, trying to act like he was unaffected by the look but Marinette knew better. She had come to figure out his weakness as her puppy doll eyes and she used it to her full advantage. 
“Damian. Damian Al Ghul,” he said, glaring at her. 
Her smile was bright, his glaring eyes softening immediately and she was happy she had finally got him to tell her his name! He was going to be her best friend, it would be the last thing she did even if he continued to be stubborn. 
At 13 years old, she was given the ladybug earrings and became Ladybug, the heroine of Paris. 
That came with a price. She was injured more often, her meetings with Damian in the dreamscape every few days turned to every day. 
He had somehow known her identity as Ladybug as soon as she saw her the night after the first Akuma and he had thrown a fit about it. 
At 16, the akumas had escalated. Before, when the Akumas avoided killing and only stuck to injuries now weren’t afraid of taking more ruthless measures.
Multiple times when Marinette thought she was about to die, something miraculous happens to change it like the universe was being warped to make sure she doesn’t die and in a way, avenges her while it was at it. 
About to get lava sprayed and incinerated from an Akuma? The lava gun runs out of lava fuel, allowing her and Chat Noir to catch him off guard to break the akumatized object.
A car getting thrown at her by an Akuma and about to crush her? It missed, somehow ricocheting off a building and hitting the Akuma square in the face. 
That one battle where Hawkmoth himself shows up and has her cornered, about to grab her earrings? He gets attacked by his own Akuma. 
An Akuma that absorbs the powers of miraculous holders and cataclysms her? Oh would you look at that, the Akuma gets sidetracked at the last second— courtesy of Chat Noir— and the wall behind her disintegrates to dust instead of her. 
She could go on. It was absurd and a bit (utterly) ridiculous if she was being honest but at least her life never really seems to be in any real danger. 
She had thought maybe it had something to do with her donning the ladybug miraculous and it was giving her insane luck, she even consulted her kwami about it. 
Tikki had debunked that theory, looking confused as she did. “I’m not sure what’s happening to you, Marinette, but the ladybug miraculous isn’t the reason. The ladybug miraculous can give you a little luck at times but there must be balance, which means you would also have bad luck days. All those circumstances weren’t the outcome of lady luck and not to mention, you never seem to have any bad luck days. Even when you do, the event always somehow gets altered at the last second.”
Marinette had brought up her theories to Damian but he always looked uninterested and avoided the subject so she stopped bringing them up in the dreamscape. 
She had a hunch on why this was happening but she denied it and pushed the possibility out of her mind. Damian never said anything about it, so she wouldn’t either. She was good at denying things, it was how she never figured out Chat Noir’s identity. 
Now at the age of 17, Marinette was still contemplating if she was somehow immortal when Scarecrow broke in while her class was given a tour of Wayne Enterprises.
“So this is the famed Akuma Class, you people are the perfect test subjects for my new and evolved fear toxin! I wonder what fears you all have… Oh well, I’m about to find out.” Scarecrow announced, looking around in excitement like a kid in a toyshop for the first time. He pointed to Lila. “You! You look the most scared… Wonder what you’re afraid of, hmm?”
He looked to his henchmen. “Bring her here!” 
Marinette rubbed her temples. She might not be Lila’s biggest fan— an understatement— but her hero complex won’t let her stand by and do nothing. 
Even when it was completely Lila’s fault that Scarecrow had taken an interest in them— you can’t go around saying how you knew the Waynes and not expect any kidnapping attempts for ransom. 
No matter, Marinette can take Scarecrow’s attention off Lila and make him focus on her instead. Marinette knew death avoided her like the plague at this point and if she wasn’t immortal, then maybe she was just insanely lucky. 
“Let her go,” She said in a tired voice, not putting much energy into shouting but her voice rang clear in the quiet room as everyone looked fearful. 
Scarecrow looked delighted by the prospect of someone volunteering. “Oh, a volunteer I see?”
He waved his henchmen off and they dropped Lila, causing her to tumble to the ground with a gasp, the henchmen moving to grab Marinette instead. 
Marinette let herself get manhandled towards Scarecrow as he grabbed his syringe, the pointy tip of the needle gleaming in the light. 
The fashionista in her wanted to protest at the sack-like mask he was wearing and she bit her lip to keep from saying anything to anger him. It’s not like she’s seen worse, Hawkmoth has a worse fashion sense if she was being honest. 
Of course, her mouth didn’t stay shut for long and spat the words out without her permission, the need to critique his fashion overpowering her self-preservation. 
“Nice mask,” She quipped, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm off her tone even when her very life was on the line. “Are you participating in the next potato sack race or are you trying to start a new fashion trend with that?”
Scarecrow’s eyes flashed with anger at her remark and he moved forward, pushing his henchmen out of the way, about to stab the syringe into her bloodstream when she acted on her instincts as Ladybug and sent a roundhouse kick to his face, catching the mad scientist off-guard as he lost his grip on the syringe and fell backwards. 
The syringe seemed to have flown in the air in slow motion, the tip of the needle stabbing into the arm of the fallen villain and injecting the fear toxin into his bloodstream, making him get a taste of his own medicine. 
Marinette allowed her lips to twitch upwards at the sight, her guardian angel had struck once again. Her slight smile faded away at the thought, not wanting to come to terms with the facts. 
She turned to see that Batman, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing had arrived, looking dumbfounded at the scene. 
Red Robin stepped forward, looking cautiously at the screaming Scarecrow before addressing her. “Miss? How did this happen?”
Marinette hummed, looking nonchalant. “You can say he got a taste of his own medicine… literally.” 
The Batboys burst out laughing at her pun while Batman looked unimpressed. 
“What you’re saying is, Scarecrow was hit by his own syringe?” Batman asked, looking suspicious. 
She shrugged, looking towards her class to see they were being ushered out by Ms. Bustier. 
“I did a roundhouse kick to his face,” She admitted, making eye contact with Ms. Bustier who waited for her at the exit. “It caught him off guard and the syringe was knocked out of his hand before the pointy tip landed on his arm.” 
The suspicion in his eyes didn’t clear as he responded, “You must have been extremely lucky. This happened too conveniently, don’t you think?”
Batman was prodding for something but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the interrogation or to quell his suspicions. “Mr. Batman, I was just in a traumatic situation and now have PTSD. If you don’t mind, I would like to join my class and spend the rest of the day at the hotel to get my mind off of the traumatic experience,” 
She could see Red Hood trying not to laugh at her reply as his shoulders shook and she turned away without waiting for how the Dark Knight would respond. 
She walked away to join the rest of her class as she heard Batman tell Red Robin to get the cure for Scarecrow.
──────────
As she went to sleep that night, she pushed the day’s events from her mind, and the fading laugh of Scarecrow dissolved into the quiet stillness of the dreamscape. 
Damian was already in the dreamscape like usual and was glaring at her with his arms crossed and looking annoyed. 
Marinette sent him her brightest smile, hoping to soften his annoyed look at her recklessness. 
It worked, his eyes softening, although he didn’t uncross his arms as he pinned her with the look he had on every time she did something that injured or almost killed her.
“I know you did that on purpose. What theory did you think you were trying to prove?” Damian asked, unhappy with her lack of self-preservation. 
Her eyes were wide, looking the epitome of innocence. “Did what?” 
He scowled, the soft look in his green eyes gone as it glittered with annoyance. “Tt. Don’t you take that tone with me. You know exactly what you did, don’t make me say it. It is getting increasingly harder for me to save you every time.”
To his horror, tears were glistening in her eyes and he tried to backtrack but the damage was done. 
“You died, didn’t you? Before we met? You were so young,” Marinette whispered, the tears falling as he didn’t respond. His silence was enough to confirm she had been right all this time. 
She looked away, unable to look at him as she came to terms with the facts she had been deadset on denying since young. 
Damian reached out a hand and looking hesitant, he moved forward to hug her from behind, his arms going around her waist and causing her to freeze at how he was initiating physical contact.
“Angel, I was never sure how to break the news to you… but it seems like you’ve always accepted the fact, albeit subconsciously. I did not mean to keep that fact away from you.” he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. 
He was right, even if she was actively denying the fact that he was dead, her subconscious had long already accepted. 
Since Damian had died before they met, their soul bond activated upon his death, the universe gifting them with the dreamscape and making it so that they would never be apart, even in death.   
There was a catch— she could only meet Damian in the dreamscape if she was injured or came close to death and he warped the universe to ensure she would avoid death. 
It was why she had always been clumsy, her heart knew he would be waiting for her in the dreamscape and wouldn’t be able to see her unless she was hurt in some way even if her mind hadn’t accepted it. 
Marinette voiced her thoughts out loud and he tugged her to face him, his green eyes meeting her blue ones with an intensity that made her breath hitch. 
“I don’t wish to see you hurt, Angel. I do everything I can to make sure you don’t die by saving your life at every turn. You need to stop with your recklessness,” he said, trying to look stern, although he didn’t look very convinced he was going to get through to her. 
She was stubborn and he knew it. 
He reached out to wipe her tears away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Thank you, Damian, for everything,” she whispered, the weight of her unspoken emotions palpable in the air between them.
With a trembling smile, she tried to lighten up the mood even as her heart felt heavy. “You know I won’t. How else will I see you every night to make sure you aren’t feeling lonely without my company? Besides, I know you will always watch over me.” 
Marinette knew her response held some truth to it, she didn’t like the thought of Damian feeling lonely in the dreamscape. She wouldn’t stop being clumsy, if only so she could see him every night in the dreamscape. 
He softened at her words, though he still didn’t look happy. “I gave you immortality, I can take it back anytime.”
She went quiet at that, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you?”
His brows furrowed, a rare show of his confusion. “What?”
She elaborated. “Why don’t you? Take away my immortality that is.” 
His brows deepened, not understanding why she was asking him such a thing. “You deserve to be happy.” 
Marinette shook her head, stepping closer to him. “What if my happiness is with you? Why do you save me every time when you could’ve let me die to be with you?”
Damian’s eyes held sadness but no signs of regret at his repeated decision to save her. “You deserve to live the life I could not. You have dreams to fulfill and many things to discover in life. It is not your time yet.”
At her shocked silence, he continued. “You don’t know how hard it is to let you go every time. I am afraid that one of these days I will no longer be able to find it in me to let you go and bind your life to mine in the afterlife forever.” 
The tears she had managed to keep away started to come back at his heartfelt confession. 
“Please, I beg of you, don’t try to die anymore. Live your life, the life that I did not have the chance to live. If not for yourself, then do it for me,” he looked desperate, his stoic mask cracking, allowing her to see every emotion he was feeling. 
Her lips quivered, the tears flowing from her eyes and dropping to the white smokey ground, the droplets absorbing into the void like it was never there. “Will I ever see you again?”
Damian allowed himself to smile if only for her sake, the muscles feeling strange at the unfamiliar expression. He could see her eyes dropping to his soft smile and how her eyes were tracing his features, committing it to memory. 
“When the time is right. I will always be here when you need me, mon ange. This is not goodbye,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. 
Marinette closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in his presence before it was time for her to wake up. 
She would live her life and fulfill her dreams. 
For him. 
19 notes · View notes
robinsdearest · 2 years
Text
Three Steps Back (Part 2)
Jason Todd x Reader | Dick Grayson x Reader
Part 1
It had been six weeks since the alley incident. Six weeks since Jason returned to your world. He had reappeared in your memory where you were still lost from his. Your encounter had essentially ruined most of Jason’s progress. More than just a few steps back. 
He lost his older brother: Dick declined Jason’s calls, he refused to join the rest of the family in stakeouts or takedowns, and he has not been seen at Wayne Manor since.  Jason wasn’t positive Dick was avoiding him specifically until the devil spawn approached him after a night on patrol. Damian said Dick wanted space, but Jason didn’t think he had meant the whole damn galaxy. He just wanted answers. He wanted to speak to someone that could provide information, but he refused to speak to you. 
You had flooded his thoughts after that fateful night. His dreams were filled with the photos from his phone, now turned to moving pictures- they felt like out of body experiences, Jason now watching you and circus boy in his place. A third wheel, unwanted and forgotten. Is that how you had felt?
Maybe this was for the best. After all, Jason seemed to remember everything else. Or so he thought. 
Jason tried to go back to the small basics to see if you truly were the only missing piece. He walked his old neighborhood to find the alley where he first took the Batmobile wheels. He instantly knew the route to his favorite cheeseburger diner. He followed the path that led to Dick’s old apartment- the fire escape still creaked on the third step. Jason even borrowed Tim’s bicycle to make sure he at least remembered the simple mechanics. It took him a whole week to go through different parts of memory lane. 
Jason’s head hit the pillow back at his apartment. It’s been an exhausting time- he hasn’t taken any mercenary jobs since meeting you again. It was early in the morning after a particular long patrol night. He just needed a clear head. Jason’s memory held true for even the smallest things. But you were no small thing.  His mind crawls to the saying from one of those cheesy romance movies Stephanie made him watch with her last week.  “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” Yeah, what a piece of shit. Jason feels sick. 
The phone ringing brought Jason to his senses. He answers with a grunt.
“I want to talk.”
Jason shoots upward from his position, sitting tall. 
“Dick?” Silence must mean compliance. “Sure. Name the time and place.” 
The older man speaks softly away from the phone. Jason can’t make out what was said, but assumes it was with a third person for confirmation. 
“B’s cave. Tonight.” 
And before Jason could ask for more specifics, the line drops. It’s two more steps forward at least. 
With no direct scheduled meeting, Jason arrives to the cave late in the evening. Nerves ultimately kept him home, even if the vigilante convinced himself otherwise.  Tim and Dick are standing by the weapons vault, Dick smiling at something Tim had said to him. The smile fades quickly when he hears Jason. 
“What’s this “oui” bit, French man?” Jason attempts his own joke to ease the tension. “I thought you said it was just you.” 
To Jason’s delight, Tim snickers in response. Dick’s frown tightens. There’s a vein on his neck that could pop at any moment.  
“Timmy’s here for mediation.” Dick nods in the aforementioned kid’s direction. “I don’t have much to say to you in all actuality.” 
It’s Jason’s turn for a vein to pop. “Then why the hell did you call me all the way out to the manor? I’ve got cases to follow.” Lies to cover his own turmoil. 
Dick puffs air through his nose. He can probably see through the lies. “Whatever.” Dick finally turns to face Jason, scowling at his brother. Jason gulps, not expecting the intensity of his gaze. “I want you to know that nothing you say will change their mind. They’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’ve been chosen.” The last word has more venom than anyone would care to admit. It’s said with malice: a choice was made. The ferocity of his voice surprises even Dick. He swears under his breath, putting a hand on the back of his neck. He apologizes quietly.  
“They just want to clear the air. Get closure.” Jason finally registers that circus boy is speaking about you. A twinge of pain has Jason desperately searching for words, but all he can do is nod. 
Dick takes Jason’s response in stride, gliding right past him. From somewhere behind him, Jason can hear Dick lower his voice.  Tim turns to follow Dick, motioning Jason to follow. As Jason turns, his breath is stolen from his lungs. 
You’re sitting at one of the data tables. Your leather jacket is thrown across the back of your chair, and your cheeks are tinted pink- from crying, Jason can finally tell. You’re even more breathtaking than the night he first saw you.  He sits in the chair next to you, there is still a safe distance between your bodies. Jason wants to give you the room to run if you wanted, but he can’t help but need to be close. He wants nothing more than to remember everything. Remember you. 
Dick and Tim both leave the cave for now. Dick is calm as he gives you one last glance before the door shuts; the exes are left alone for the first time. 
You’re refusing to look at him. He cranes his neck to meet your lowered eyes and whispers your name, an easy tenderness rolling off his tongue. 
“It really is you.” Your lip begins to tremble. Jason doesn’t initially understand the feeling in his rib cage. “I was in denial for so long.” Your hands shake with your voice. “I mourned you.” A tear finally falls, and Jason can’t breathe. Guilt. Inconsolable guilt. 
“If it’s any consolation, it’s not exactly what I wanted.” Jason mentally kicks himself. This is not a good time for humor to fill the void of uneasiness. You scoff, causing Jason to flinch. 
“No. Nobody wanted it.” Your tears are flowing faster now. Jason can’t help but feel empathetic. He doesn’t know you, but he feels for you. He hasn’t felt anything for a long time. 
You’re still refusing to look at him directly. You use your T-shirt sleeve to wipe your nose. Adorable, but gross. His eyes refuse to leave your face, searching for anything to help him remember more. 
“You were itchy.” Your sudden confession causes Jason to choke on his spit. He coughs a few times. 
He speaks when he finds his tongue. “Hold on. Itchy?”
Your teary laugh bubbles through him- he can’t help but smile. 
“People say everyone has an itch they can never scratch just right.” You look up at Jason through wet eyelashes. A deep breath in. “You and me.” A deep breath out. “We scratched all our itches. We joked about it all the time actually. How we thought we were perfect for each other. Everything you did for me was just so perfect, even when we were that young. We melded. We scratched each other’s itches, made everything feel just right. Itchy.” 
The way the last word rolls off your tongue burns Jason’s heart. It was said with such familiarity, so many memories embedded in just a single word, an unfleeting feeling. 
“Do you really not remember anything about me?” Your eyes are shining, boring a hole through Jason’s heart. He can’t lie to you.
“I see glimpses.” You nod, letting him continue. “Dreams of possible memories. I don’t know if they’re real.” You wipe your nose again. He stumbles on his next words. “I wa- I want.” Breathe, for crying out loud. “I want them to be real.” A confession of his own that Jason didn’t know he needed to say. He mindlessly thinks he’s going crazy.
You were left with everything when Jason was killed. Jason was left with nothing. You were forgotten from Jason’s memory and from his heart. Jason continued to leave scratches in your life, now turned to painful scars. 
Your thumbs are kneading into your palm. A nervous tick that has Jason’s own hand flexing in response. The action reaches a part of Jason’s mind he didn’t know existed. Is this remembering? It almost surprises him how badly he wants to hold your hand. 
Almost.
Jason reaches forward, attempting to close the space between the digits. Your mouth drops only slightly as you watch his hand inch towards yours. 
A voice stops Jason’s movements, only a few centimeters away. 
Dammit. 
“5 minutes are up.” Tim was always going to keep up his end of the deal with Dick. Damn replacement.
Jason throws a look at his younger brother that the evil genius seems to ignore. Tim shuffles awkwardly on both feet as he watches you gather your things.  You reach down to grab Jason’s hand. Yours seem much different than his: small, gentle, soft. But it fits so perfectly in his own. Itchy. The breath in his throat catches when you squeeze his fingers. 
“Take care of yourself, Jay.” 
As you walk away, the smell of your perfume trickles around Jason’s nose. Almost comically beckoning him with a cartoon finger to follow you. The nickname sticks to his ears, making them ring. Maybe Jason really is going crazy. 
Tim nods in your direction after you place a hand on his shoulder with a simple thanks. The two men watch you exit the cave, eventually out of sight but never out of mind. 
Tim whistles a small tune after a beat of silence. 
“Dick suggests you forget about it. Everything. The photos. Everything about the two of them, the two of you. Move on; move forward.” 
Jason knocks the table a few times in contemplation, giving an apathetic hum. If he is going crazy, Jason will need help.
“And what do you suggest, Timmers?”
Jason rolls his eyes when he’s met with silence. Tim whistles a long, low trill, almost as if he’s giving himself time to think. Jason dares to look towards him, yet the younger man is doing nothing but grinning ear to ear. 
“You’ve never been too keen on following direct orders.” 
185 notes · View notes
synthhorror · 1 year
Note
what are some names Primo and Eliza have thought of when they’re ready to have kids? After plants? Demons? Anti saints(if that exists)? Or after saints as an inside joke, to piss off seestor and nihil?
FYI, love your art and it always makes me smile when I see you’ve posted something new!
Thank you so much!!! I'm so happy and honored to hear that my art makes you happy 🖤
So the name of Primo and Eliza's baby is actually fairly significant in the AU's story, so I thought it would do better formatted as a full-blown fic!
The short answer to your question is that they actually came up with a name pretty early on. Primo was definitely wanting to name their baby after a flower for a hot minute too lol.
They didn't do it for their baby, but I can totally see them presenting baby ghouls that spawn in Primo's garden by jokingly naming them after saints (Nihil and Seestor get so mad lol)
It's funny that you mention anti saints too since that's totally in the plot of a comic I'm working on 👀
CW!!!: Bishop! Primo x sister of sin oc, graphic descriptions of violence, injury, and blood. There is a death scene. Mentions of sex as well but nothing explicit. I PROMISE this is about baby names lol 🤭
Fic, "Guiding Star", Under the Cut!! Word Count: 4,224
Bishop Emeritus Primo stood at the altar, hands folded neatly in front of him, his eyes a dull red in the darkness of the room. The latin prayer slipped past his lips so easily and smoothly. Primo had ascended the ranks of the highclergy into a bishop by merely the age of 20. He would spend a large part of his life in this ranking before his next ascension, but he was destined for a great purpose in the Old One’s evil plan. 
Only two month prior, Lucifer had come to him in a dream. The fallen angel had chosen him to rear the antichrist. Having children was never something Primo had considered, being so focused on his studies and pleasing the expectations of the church and his own father consumed his early life. But it seemed that Satanas had his own expectations that he would need to meet as well. 
Primo had awoken violently from that very dream, breathing rapidly as sobs wracked his body. Prophetic dreams were not necessarily uncommon for the young Bishop to have, far from it actually. But what made this one so different was the fact that the dream had- well, terrified him. 
For context, usually Lucifer liked to make his dreams a bit of a light hearted mind fuck. Sure, there would be some intensity to them depending on what the message was, but humor was usually sprinkled in there some where or another. Contrary to what you might think, Lucifer was rarely serious for more than ten minutes at a time. The Right Reverend Stell even possessed a dry, dark humor than would make you crack up in the middle of a tense encounter, or grow even more disturbed by the man.
 Fucking Bishop Stell. 
That was what pissed Primo off about these dreams more than anything. Bishop Stell, Lucifer, was across the damn hallway in his own quarters. Yes, his presence was not always within the church, as he would be “attending matters else where”, yet rather than simply coming to him in flesh, Lucifer preferred to leave him sleepless with cryptic, baffling dreams Primo would have to spend hours deciphering later. The young bishop would wake with a groan and disgruntled italian grumblings, shuffling out of bed and throwing the covers off himself to write it all down at 3 in the morning, only to be greeted in a meeting full of bright eyed, happy Bishops.
No, this dream had sent Primo into a panic, fighting to breath as he sat upright, eyes wide and full of tears as he actually considered going to Reverend Stell like a child that had a nightmare.​​ The thought that this could have been a product of his own mind did cross him, but it just didn’t seem likely. 
Primo was of course well aware of Lucifer’s fall from grace. The elders within the church droned on and on of it in the children’s ministry. It was tiredly preached by every priest that had ever held a mass. The Fall was the equivalent to the Gospel of Matthew around Easter, everyone knew it. The only time the story would be remotely intriguing anymore would be if Bishop Stell or Bishop Null would be leading the sermon. The most recent time, the Reverend had Free Bird playing in the background as he described the dissension as if he had actually been there- Primo wondered if anyone outside of his family and the ghouls knew that he actually had been. 
“What the scripture left out in this passage was how your unholy Father killed 27 angels, burned down seven monestraies in heaven, and fucked up archangel Michael significantly… before he did unfortunately get his own ass kicked.” Bishop Stell worded it as if he was describing a fight he was in 20 years ago at a college party. 
“When your mothers ask you if you would jump off a cliff if your friends were, your answer should always be yes. Belilal fell from heaven right after Lucifer, he wasn’t going to let his best friend embarrass himself alone. You shouldn’t let your friends get their asses kicked alone either.” Bishop Null would add in that happy, charming chirp he had, smiling with amusement. It was never something the Lords themselves would take seriously. 
This dream had been the most vivid, graphic experience of warfare that Primo had every experienced. He stood out of body, watching swords and weapons swing, wings fracture and bones snap. So much blood shed onto the white clouds. Heaven had turned red. 
He spotted Lucifer easily. How could be miss the great Seraphim? His destruction of the Heavens had not been exaggerate. Magnificent structures burned, angels were crushed and torn apart like prey, the dogs of Heaven dropped from the skies like dead flies as Lucifer let out an indescribable shriek- a harbringer of death. 
For a brief moment, Primo thought that Lucifer’s Order was going to prevail. He watched in a shell shocked awe, unable to move or look away. Though he was sure if he were to look down he would not see his own body. But, as he knew was inevitable, the Rebel Chief fell, dissolving into the body shaped like a man as angels swarmed and broke him down. The Prince of Heaven’s armies, Michael, locked into combat with the weakened Lucifer, backing him further and further towards the edge, until Michael’s spear plummeting through his chest and sent Lucifer in a rapid descent down from seraph skies- now chaos bound.
Blinking, Primo found himself in the Pit. The white goat beside him stood among the fires, exhaling puffs of sulfur. 
“Emeritus… eligit te.” It rasped. It happened too fast for Primo to register immediately, as Lucifer’s body plummeted and hit the ground only a few yards away. The noise upon contact made the young Bishop want to vomit. Satanas stood up on his hind legs, prancing and bucking wildly in celebration of the fallen angel, laying so sacred and profound on the floor of Hell… suffering. 
Primo remembered the day Lucifer had picked him up and held him during his dedication to the church. He remembered every whisper, every soft brush of phantom wings around him that had comforted him to sleep as a small child in the orphanage. Lucifer always answered his incantations and summonings, always held his head and directed his eyes to ground him in a vision. Primo didn’t want to turn and face him. He didn’t want to see the body. 
“Pater meus filius… imperia perdet… adducet plagas… rectores orbis terrarum.” Lucifer’s voice was forced and strained, blood filling his lungs as every word hitched in a choked sob. How could Primo not look at him? He suddenly possessed his body again, coming to his side and placing shaking hands upon him, daring to touch him. The fallen angel’s body burned, seering every nerve in his hands as he held them to Lucifers split open head. 
He accepted. “Etiam Domini.” Primo managed to speak, shocked to hear how his voice came out in a trembling whimper. Primo stared into the white, empty eyes of Lucifer as black started to seep into them through the edges. He was vaguely aware of the other bodies falling. 
Belial… Beelzebub…Asmodeus. 
“... The opening to Free Bird is pretty fitting right now actually.” Primo didn’t even think about his words, he just spoke. His eyes widenned at what he’d just said, but Lucifer actually smiled, blood seeping past the corners of his lips and down his cheeks. It’s a shame he won’t be breathing during that sexy ass guitar solo.
Hearing the unholy Father described as waiting in tomb was something Primo had always thought to be more metaphorical. He wasn’t expecting, nor prepared, to feel that burning heat turn stone cold. He stared at the slacked face in his palms, hearing mournful, pained shrieks and wails in the distance.
His Father just died in his arms. 
The scream of a woman that he some how knew was Lilith tore apart the trance Primo had fallen into. That’s how he found himself sitting up in bed crying. 
Sunlight creeped in through the curtains of his room as the muffled, some how still obnoxious music was carried by the morning.
He never thought he would be so happy to hear Mama Mia at 6 in the morning. 
*
Primo had gone straight to the children’s ministry to find a very particular sister of sin. The sight of her auburn curls peaking behind her habit drove him towards her. 
“Your Excellency?” Sister Elizabeth barely had time to greet her boyfriend properly before he was fully embracing her in a tight hug. She had put down some of the fruit she had been preparing to plate for the children’s morning snacks to wrap her arms around him, place a hand on the back of his head and running her fingers through the platinum blonde. 
“.... Primo.” The slight urgency in her hushed voice had forced Primo to pull himself away, enough to look at her at least. 
“Lilith came to me-”
“Lucifer came to me-”
They both stared at each other in shock. Eliza went first, telling Primo that Lilith has declared her to take the position as the next Prime Mover. Who her Papa would be was not mentioned. Primo then told her his dream, and that Lucifer has chosen him to father the antichrist, but didn’t describe who his Prime Mover would be. 
Another silence fell between them as they processed eachother’s words. Primo looked down at the little mobile crib that Eliza was keeping beside her. He recognized the one year old that had been dropped off at the ministry’s door not long ago after Sister Imperator had returned to the church, much to his father’s shock and delight. Primo stopped himself from thinking about that train wreck of a relationship as he just sighed at the sight of baby Copia- the only thing his mother had left him with was his name and a warm blue blanket. His youngest brother Terzo was only a few years older than him.
Eliza noticed Primo’s gaze and looked at Copia as well. Smiling softly, she went to pick him up, holding the bundle in her arms. Primo could help but think she looked gorgeous holding a baby.
“I think you’ll be an amazing Prime Mover, cara.” 
As Primo considered his future more after that, the young bishop would come to the children’s ministry to visit his Sister of Sin daily at the tail end of her duties. They’d only been dating for a little less than a year at this point, but Primo couldn’t think of anyone he would rather have a child with, especially one so important. Seeing her read to the children and make them laugh and encourage them in their little activities broke his heart each time. Her patience was seemingly endless, and her love for the children sang through her eyes and voice like a song only he could hear. He knew she would be an incredible mother.
One day, she had caught him watching her, fixed on the way she was rocking a little one to sleep. A smirk graced her lips, making her fangs peak past her lips in a way that made the Bishop feel as though he was going mad. The sister approached him quietly with the baby. 
“Sorella?” He raised a brow at her as she offered him the baby. 
“Would you like to practice?” She asks in light wry, earning a scoff from Primo. 
“I get enough practice wrangling mi fratelli.”
“Si, but I want to see what you’ll look like as Papa.” She practically purrs at him. The future Prime Mover seems to have chosen the father of her child as well. After that little announcement, Primo took her straight to his room, barely keeping his hands off her. 
It wasn’t until they were tangled in eachother’s arms, breathless and spent, did a thought come to Eliza’s mind. 
“.... what the hell do we name the antichrist?” She gasps softly, her head laid against her bishop’s chest, scarlet eyes blinking up at him widely. Bishop Emeritus stared right back at her with his own mismatched gaze. 
That was a good question. 
This would eventually lead to quite a few serious conversations between the young couple. The reality of marriage, the reality of having a child, the reality of raising one, regardless of its significance to the Old One’s plan, needed to be seriously considered. They were both very ambitious clergy members, involved in several demanding obligations and duties within the church, and to their own dark practices. Just managing to see eachother on a regular basis was some times a struggle. 
Primo was also actively involved with Secondo and Terzo, only six and three years old respectfully. He was aware how demanding it would be to raise a child of his own, along with his little brothers, as he was certain the significant absence Papa Nihil had with him would be extended to Secondo and Terzo throughout their childhoods. 
Starting a family would need to wait for the time being. This at least gave them time to consider a name though. Bishop Primo and Sister Elizabeth spent any night they had free walking the gardens that Primo was beginning to steadily expand himself. He would show her the names of the floral, occasionally mentioning how some of them could be potential names. 
“Leilani is beautiful.” Sister Eliza mused at the thought. 
“Si… Is that a name you would like, my Rose?” Primo asked her as she held his arm. 
“Mm… it’s definitely an option. Not too feminine?”
“That’s a good point… we should keep the name neutral.” Primo’s voice trailed off in thought as he stared at the plowed patch of this section of his garden. Eliza couldn’t help but brush the blonde hair off his creasing brow back into the rest of his hair, amused and smittened by how serious he looked. 
“What if our child rises from coal and ash like a feral fire ghoul crawling out of the depths?” She asks him, eyes glowing softly in the night. 
He gazed upon the gorgeous, hellish creature that was his wife to be with nothing by adoration. “... That would be metal as fuck.” he breaks the seriousness and makes her giggle. 
“We would have to off set some of their power by naming them something stupid… like Kevin.” Now Eliza was fully laughing. Her laugh was more beautiful than any song or hymn Primo has ever heard. 
They did eventually settle on a name. 
The prophet of the Morningstar took a deep breath as he finished his morning prayer and stood from the altar, putting out each candle one by one. Today would be the day he would present that name. 
*
Primo found himself growing anxious as he walked through the halls of the high clergymen. His arms folded behind him as his mind wandered past where his feet were taking him. It made sense to him and Eliza that if they were going to wait on having a child, even still after becoming Papa and Prime Mover, that they could at least designate a name for their future child as a promise to the Old One. 
Primo was torn out of his thoughts by the click of heels and a warm voice. 
“My, we’re quite grave this morning, aren’t we?” There stood the tall, deathly beautiful Bishop Mater. His anxiety lessened almost immediately as he bowed his head to her. “Reverend, fogive me, I’m just a bit… nervous.” He admits. 
“What could the unblessed Bishop Emeritus Primo possibly be nervous about?” She asks, serpent-like eyes gazing upon him, somehow holding the same softness you would expect from a mother looking proudly at her son. 
“... I’ve decided on a name for Lucifer’s child. I’m about to present it to the Bishops. I hope you’ll be in attendance at the meeting…” His words caused the other bishop to lose her smile, falling silent. Primo’s edge returned now tenfold. 
“... If you think I shouldn’t-” 
“No-” Her hands come to rest on the outer sides of his arms. “You should.” Mater’s reassurance did little for him now.
“... I want to show my gratitude towards Him for waiting. I want the dedication to be a promise and to prove that I’m committed to his will… but what if He rejects the name?” Primo’s voice dissolves. Yet Mater’s gaze softened with every word she listened to, her pupils dialating into round, doe-like orbs. 
“You’re not going to name his child a latin number, right?” Her smirk growing when Primo bristled up. 
“Absolutely not!” 
“Then he’s going to love it, sweetheart.” Her nose crinkling as she smiled. Mater kissed his ringed hands and then his forehead, making the young Bishop’s face scrunch up slightly as he tried to hide his smile, the feeling of her lip gloss sticking to his forehead. 
Primo continued his walk after that and entered the small congregation room of the Bishops, Mater trailing behind him silently, slipping past him and the door frame to move off to the side. The boisterous arguments and barking laughter had become a pleasant normalcy to Primo. It was such a stark difference to the other clergymen. He even found himself wishing Nihil would spend more time here like he used to, only drifting further away into his own obsessions with the Ghost project as he aged. At least he still smoked weed with Satanas from time to time. 
“There you are, you’re late.” Bishop Avarice huffed at him through his cigar, the large man reclined back in his chair lazily, just as if Beelzebub was in his own throne. 
“Reverend Carnalis isn’t here yet,” Bishop Null chides at him quietly.
“Carnalis is probably balls deep in a sibling right now.” He rolls his eyes, biting down on that cigar with large canines that looked a little too sharp. Bishop Null just grinned at Primo before he noticed the edge to the young man. 
“Seen something spooky, kiddo?” Null was far too sweet looking, far too kind, Belial only needed a small reason to snap. 
Primo controlled his breath and kept his eye contact with Null, reminding himself he wasn’t in a den of ghouls… yet. 
“I wanted to present something to you all.. If your excellencies are not otherwise occupied.” 
“Depends on what you're presenting to us, Emeritus.” There was the honey smooth voice of Bishop Carnalis walking through the door behind him. He sounded as attractive as sin itself, but behind that mask he wore was the flesh and blood of Asmodeus, dripping with carnal desire. 
Before Primo could continue, Bishop Mater stopped Carnalis, sliding her hand over his chest and pressing herself to him strategically. “I think we should all hear what Reverend Emeritus’ presentation is before Reverend Stell arrives. 
Now all eyes and ears were on Primo. 
“... I have decided on a name for Lucifer’s child.” He repeated what he had told the unblessed mother in the hallway. The background noise of Def Leppard on the radio some how ceased the moment the words left his mouth. Silence fell upon the room, Avarice’s cigar threatening to fall out of his mouth, Carnalis’ previously tight grip on Mater loosened, and Null looked almost scared. 
Primo felt like he was about to snap, barely managing his agitation at this point.
“Is that what you’re presenting to us?” Null asked as he came around the table towards Primo, seeming anxious himself.
“I’m started to question if I should now.”
“No no- just let us hear it first.” Null ushers, perhaps his vibrations were poorly masked excitement rather than anxiety. 
“Kid, if he hates it you’re fucked-” Avarice barely finished his sentence before the Reverend Bishop Stell opened the door and stepped in. 
“Who’s getting fucked now?” He asks, standing in the open doorway and looking over each one of them. “.... who killed the radio?” The Bishop’s suspion darkening his expression.
“Oh we were just-” Mater was cut off as Primo turned to face Stell. “I have an offering for Lucifer.” Defiance shining in his eyes, glinting red as he looking up at the older man. Primo rarely stepped out of line, and even more rarely did raise his voice to another high clergyman, or anyone for that matter.
“He was running it by us, but I believe it would be best if we spoke about it privately first-”
Null walked over to Stell’s side and touched his arm. Primo was not going to allow any more delays though. His nerves have twisted into anger and spite of the Bishops. Even Primo had had his reckless moments as a young man.
“Sister Elizabeth and I are designating the name of the antichrist.” Now Stell’s eyes were locked solely on Primo. Black eyes that held an emotion Primo couldn’t quite discern at the moment, one that he might find concerning if he wasn’t so pissed. 
Primo held Lucifer’s gaze, not daring to look away. He was waiting for the young Bishop to dare to continue. There was no backing out now.
“....Michael-.”
The door slammed shut so hard the hinges nearly tore out of the wall. 
“IT WAS A JOKE- I WAS JOKING!” Primo shouts just as Lucifer stopped right in front of him, barely contained rage being held back. Satanas’ laugh trickled in from the shadows in the back of the room like sand paper against a chalk board, mocking Lucifer.
Primo could practically see the flames of Hell threatening to erupt out of Lucifer’s mouth and eyes. “... Yeah, that was a good one, you little shit.” his snarling whisper promising violence if Primo didn’t pick his next moves very carefully. He could feel the tension from the other Lords around them. 
“... no it was, that was a shitty joke.” Primo admitted quietly as he moved his hands up slowly. He was very aware how weird and stupid this probably looked. However, he was trying not to die right now, so a bit of embarrassment could be forgiven. He placed both of his hands on either side of Lucifer’s head, just like he had in his dream. The prophet stared into his eyes with no fear or hesitation. Eliza and him were fully committed to their future child, and fully dedicated to the fallen angel. 
“I am dedicating the name of your child to you, Lord Lucifer. They will be named Astr, after my guiding star. I will love and guide them as their father, just as you have done for me.”
It was almost comical the way Bishop Stell’s shoulders fell and his brow lifted. And Primo would’ve laughed if he didn’t see the shocking, deep sadness that filled Lucifer’s eyes. It was like Primo told him the worst news of his life, and suddenly he grew terrified and scared again. He didn’t have time to say anything as the image of baby Copia flashed in his head for a moment, confusing the young bishop. When he focused back on Stell, he was smiling, like he wasn’t just about to start sobbing, hell he looked incredibly proud even. 
“I believe Lucifer would greatly approve of that name, Bishop Emeritus.” He purred, taking one of Primo’s hands from his head and kissing one of his rings. 
“I feel like I’m watching a fucking Hallmark movie.” Bishop Avarice groaned, earning a hiss from Mater. The tension finally lifted and the music finally came back on. Nothing Else Matters by Metallica played quietly in the background as the other Bishops approved and blessed the name, despite the jabs and sneers from the sappiness. 
The heir to the Emeritus lineage and the bloodline of the dark architect will be, Astr. 
Bishop Emeritus’ attention was pulled by Bishop Carnalis, playfully questioning if this meant Sister Eliza and him have been getting busy lately. While he was distracted, Null discreetly slid his arm behind Lucifer’s back, pressing a warm palm to the permanently fractured piece of his spine, then to his shoulder blades where rotting wings would connect to his body. He had caught that initial look. When Stell finally looked at him, he just smiled handsomely and winked at the other. Null returned it weakly, but he couldn’t maintain it as he whispered near his ear. 
“I heard what she named him… I don’t understand how you expect me to walk around here and not gut her for that kind of offense.” Null’s words were shaking slightly with anger.
“Babe, you sound really negative right now, you know that?…”
“... That’s because I hate seeing you in pain, jack ass.”
“And I love seeing you go batshit with a ritual blade… but we have to keep playing dress up for now…” Stell’s eyes met Null’s for a moment, just an inch away from eachother. Null stared at Stell’s lips for a moment before smirking, leaning into his ear once more. 
“I liked you more when you impulsively started wars with God… You’re boring now that you’re a daddy.” He nips the shell of Bishop Stell’s ear sharply, before pulling away and walking back into the center of the conversation with an innocent smile, ignoring the low growl and burning lust in the glare from The Devil.
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