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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 6

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 14.5k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, unprotected p in v sex)

Summary:

“Fine, you want honesty?” Astarion's voice takes on a desperate, forlorn quality. “I ache for you down to my very soul. I feel as if my heart is clawing its way out of my chest and I’m powerless to stop it. Love is a sickness and you have infected me and for that, I despise you and I despise myself for ever being so weak.”

He sounds half like he’s accusing you and half like he’s exalting you.

“I have experienced the worst forms of torture and yet, this past week without you has made me wish my suffering had a tangible wound,” he continues. “My heart does not beat and yet I feel it flutter in my chest when you are near. I do not need to breathe and yet I feel as if I am suffocating when we are apart. You are stubborn and impudent and reckless. You are lovely and clever and kind, beneath it all. I fear I will spend the rest of my life trying to fall out of love with you.”

Trying to fall... out of love with you. Which means... he's currently in love with you.

Read on ao3 here.

You hardly ever see Astarion anymore. It feels as if you’re simply going through the motions of your life, trapped in a haze.

Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!

You shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. It wasn’t even true.

In reality, you greedily took every scrap of affection that Astarion was willing to offer you. But he had been cutting at your heart so painfully and the only way you knew how to make it stop was to make him hurt, too.

You miss him.

You hadn’t noticed how Astarion had managed to become such a fixture in your life in such a short amount of time. You hadn’t realized how accustomed you had become to his presence until you were forced to feel its absence. It seems every corner of the manor is tainted by Astarion’s ghost.

You sit by yourself at meals, eating but not tasting. You stare at books in the library without really reading. You take yourself on walks in the garden that are meant to cheer you up but end up making you cry when you see how the moonflowers had been trimmed back for winter. The bush was almost unrecognizable. It felt like some disgusting metaphor for the state of your marriage, which Astarion had cut and brutalized into something hideous.

Halsin finds you that afternoon- crumpled in a heap on the ground, hands caked in dirt from where you had been digging the plant out by the root. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into his warm arms and lets you sob into his shoulder, dampening his shirt until you run out of tears.

The comforting embrace of sleep does not offer any reprieve from your anguish, either. Without Astarion, sleep eludes you and you spend your time twisting and turning in the sheets, craving Astarion’s cool touch.

Even the bed in your room feels foreign to you. After spending so many nights together in Astarion’s, your room feels empty and lifeless. It’s yet another reminder of how suddenly Astarion had cast you aside. Another reminder that he didn’t need you- that he had found someone better, someone who wasn’t so desperate.

The days and nights blur together, endless and unrelenting. Time is determined to sweep you along in her current even if you’d rather drown.

Shadowheart forces you to at least rise out of bed and get dressed every day. You can tell she’s growing concerned about how little sleep you seem to be getting. The circles under your eyes are growing darker with every passing day.

About a week after your fight with Astarion, you find one of his shirts folded in between your chemises. When you look at Shadowheart inquisitively, she just shrugs her shoulders. You know this is her way of acknowledging that she has done this for you, that she has slipped you one of his shirts from the wash in an attempt to help you feel better.

When you’re alone that night, you lift the white muslin material to your nose and the sweet, familiar smell of bergamot and rosemary sends you into a tailspin. He has forever ruined those scents for you, they will forever be tied to him.

You clutch onto the fabric like a lifeline, holding it against your chest as if that will miraculously ease the aching in your heart. As you rub the soft material between your fingers, your thumb catches on a patch of raised thread at the hem of the shirt and you find small, evenly stitched letters lining the bottom of the shirt in pale red thread. It’s masterful work. Had Astarion embroidered this into his shirt himself?

You recall your wedding dress, with the shimmery gold embroidered flowers and how Astarion had seemed so concerned whether you liked it or not. Had that been his work, too?

It all terrifies you- to think you were in love with someone and to realize that you hardly knew them at all. And how well you thought you knew him, too... All your careful studying was for naught.

You finally focus on the words sewn into the shirt. Clearly, they must be important to him if he felt the need to sew them into his innermost layer of clothing.

Lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums.

The words are beautiful and fill you with a deep melancholy.

Oh. Is that how Astarion saw you? A late season plum with no taste, the unwanted scraps given to the poor.

He had cast you aside because he felt he deserved better than some foolish girl with romantic dreams and clumsy hands. You were bland. You were desperate. He wanted someone experienced, someone with taste- a ripe, juicy pear that would satisfy any autumn picker.

Lamentable is poor Astarion, you sneer to yourself, for being content with a boring, easy wife who dared to love him.

The words are a second gaping wound to your already damaged heart. It feels as if they had cut down to your very bones. And still, you curl helplessly around the shirt in bed, desperate for sleep to claim you so that you could have a momentary reprieve from this suffering.

The more Astarion avoids you, the more your sadness begins to turn into a familiar anger.

Does he truly respect you so little that he would so callously remove himself from your life? Who is he to pretend these past few months meant nothing to him?

For when you were wrapped together at night, did he not caress you so softly like you always imagined a lover would? Did he not kiss you with the reverence of a man worshiping his deity?

Even Astarion is not that good of an actor.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can continue like this,” you whisper to Shadowheart one morning, when you hardly recognize your haggard, pained reflection in the mirror. It had not even been a fortnight since your fight and the prospect of living with this heartbreak much longer seems exhausting.

“You still haven’t even told me what the two of you are fighting about,” Shadowheart says, rolling her eyes. “Who can stay away from each other the longest? Which one of you loves the other more? There are never any winners in those types of games.”

“Astarion isn’t capable of love.” You repeat the words to her that have become your mantra, “You have to have a heart to be able to love.”

Shadowheart huffs out a laugh, “Please. I’m not stupid. Anyone with half a brain can tell he loves y-”

“Stop,” you interrupt.

You must remind yourself that she doesn’t know what he has said. Although Astarion’s words seem to repeat in a vicious loop in your mind, you didn’t dare speak them aloud. You were still too embarrassed by how cruelly he had thrown you aside, too ashamed of how desperately you still needed him.

She doesn’t know that her words are yet another reminder that even if at some point Astarion did hold some scrap of affection for you, he had grown tired of you since then.

“The Lord’s been miserable, too,” Shadowheart says, attempting to comfort you.

“He doesn’t get to be miserable. Not when he-” you cut yourself off. Not when he was the one who ripped the beating heart out of my chest and crushed it into dust. Not when he was the one to replace you.

“Well, Gale said the wine cellar has been decimated,” Shadowheart offers you a friendly smile, as if she’s just offered you up a salacious bit of gossip.

It just makes your skin crawl to know they’ve been talking about you behind your back- that her and Gale have been comparing notes about your and Astarion’s misery.

“Glad to know he’s been drinking himself stupid while I’ve been miserable,” you scoff.

“That’s not what I meant.” Shadowheart sighs in frustration. “Gods, you two are perfect for each other. You’re both prideful idiots.”

—------------

You nearly run over Astarion a couple days later as he trudges down the hallway with his shoulders hunched and a haunted look on his face. Other than Shadowheart’s report from Gale that Astarion had been drinking through his collection of expensive wines, you’re not sure what he’s been up to since your fight. He spends nearly all his time locked away in his study.

And admittedly, Astarion looks as bad as you feel when you see him. It’s a rather stark transformation for someone who normally takes so much pride in their appearance.

When was the last time he bathed? His beautiful curls are all askew, greasy and unwashed. And he’s obviously starving. His skin is pale and ashen, the dark circles under his eyes are too prominent. That lovely pink undertone to his skin that appears after he’s fed is missing. Gone are the days of pretty flushed cheeks as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

He told you that he didn’t want to drink from you anymore. Had yelled at you that he had found someone else, someone better, as he nearly chased you out of the room.

So then why did he look this miserable?

You’re unsure what to do, torn between reaching out to pull him into a hug and that anger burning in you that’s a little bit satisfied at his suffering.

You know Astarion can see the shock on your face. And after so long of dedicated study, you know his mind almost as well as your own and so you know that he’s probably interpreting your surprise as pity.

He growls at you, baring his fangs in warning as he shoves past you. The sound of his study door being slammed hangs heavy in the air while you stand frozen, skin still tingling where his shoulder had brushed against yours.

Your body still calls out to him, even now.

Your feet move seemingly of their own accord, taking you to the study. You try the doorknob, but it’s predictably locked, so you raise your hand to knock at the door. When Astarion doesn’t answer, you pull a pin out of your hair and wiggle it into the lock. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Get out!” He growls at you when the door swings open.

You think he might throw the book he’s holding at you. It makes you waver- this man who is so similar to you, who lashes out when he’s scared and feels small. It’s the same response you had that first morning after you were imprisoned, when Shadowheart had entered your room.

You wilt a bit under his gaze, his fiery red eyes looking at you with something akin to… hatred.

Ignoring the way your heart feels as if it is freezing inside your chest, you square your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intensity of his stare.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You say and Astarion rolls his eyes in disgust.

“Oh, don’t act like a child,” he sneers back at you.

You cross your arms in the most unchildlike way you can manage and resist from stomping your foot on the ground in frustration.

“I am not the one who has been acting like a child here.”

“Gods, what do you want from me?” Astarion yells.

His response nearly makes you laugh. Since when has he ever cared what you wanted? He didn’t care when he forced you to marry him. He didn’t care when he rejected you right after you had opened up to him. Even now, as he asks you directly, you doubt he will truly listen to you.

No, Astarion is only capable of caring for himself. It doesn’t matter how many people he has to hurt to get what he wants.

But you watch as he deflates almost immediately, his anger turning into fatigue as his hands come up to massage at his temples like he’s got the worst headache in the world. When he speaks again, he just sounds like a broken man, “I told you that whatever was between us is done.”

“I want you to stop pretending like I don’t exist! I want you to be honest with me for once! I want-” You cut yourself off, chest heaving.

I want you.

The truth that you cannot ignore, the truth that doesn’t dissipate even in your darkest moments.

“You want honesty?” Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been honest with you!”

You bristle.

“You lied to me when we first met! You chased me down and threatened me and then didn't kill me. You run around all the time whispering in the shadows with strange people that don’t work here. You go on weird business trips and come back on the brink of death. You tell me you hate me and want me gone from your life and then mope around like I’m the one who broke your heart. Everything you do is a lie!”

“I never said that I hate you,” is all Astarion says in response.

“That’s the only thing you got out of everything I just said? That was like the least important detail!” You shout back at him, incredulous.

Of course, he continues to evade all the very real issues you have just mentioned. You decide that you will offer him one last chance to be honest.

“Tell me the truth,” you spit out through gritted teeth. “Or at least tell me to my face that you never want to see me again and I’ll be gone by morning.”

Please, you think, say the words. Then, you can be gone from this place and can somehow try to salvage a life without Astarion. But you cannot stay here any longer and suffer. You cannot bear to continue to live as a ghost. You cannot watch as he gives his happiness to another.

But you know Astarion. You know when you’ve caught him. There’s that momentary shock in his face before his jaw locks in frustration.

“You’re a nuisance,” he says, but his words don’t hold the usual fervor.

“I am,” you agree. “So why didn’t you just kill me the night we met? You could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

“It would have been a crime to take your beauty away from the world,” Astarion says, but the answer seems too rehearsed. You doubt you’re the first person to hear this line.

“No, I want a real reason!” You demand.

“What do you want me to say?” He cries out, palms slamming loudly against the desk. He’s nearly frantic as his red eyes bore into you- desperate, pleading. “That perhaps you reminded me of myself? That perhaps I am indeed very lonely and you’re the first interesting person I’ve met in years? And here I was, presented with this opportunity to have you. Only a fool would say no to that.”

“I’m a person, Astarion. I am not something that can be kept.”

“And you never let me forget it,” he says, chuckling darkly.

“Fine, you want honesty?” His voice takes on a desperate, forlorn quality. “I ache for you down to my very soul. I feel as if my heart is clawing its way out of my chest and I’m powerless to stop it. Love is a sickness and you have infected me and for that, I despise you and I despise myself for ever being so weak.”

He sounds half like he’s accusing you and half like he’s exalting you.

Trying to fall… out of love with you. Which means… he’s currently in love with you.

“You love me?” You ask in disbelief.

Although your heart is singing in your chest, chirping and trilling how it always does when Astarion grants you any affection, your mind is clouded by anger. You can tell by the shock on Astarion’s own face that he half-expected you to be placated by his words and did not anticipate that you would turn on him.

“Then what the fuck was the other night about?” You shout. “Because, remember, it was you who pushed me away. It was you who told me that you had found someone new and cast me aside like I was no better than the dirt under your boot. It was you who called me easy and shamed me for my desires.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Astarion crumples in on himself, head hanging in his hands. “And then there were all the times I took advantage of you in your compromised state. I’m sorry. There will never be enough words to tell you how sorry I am. You should hate me for what I’ve done to you.”

He’s practically on the verge of tears. And although Astarion deserves to suffer your wrath far longer, you rush to wrap him in your arms because you are weak and cannot bear to see him in pain. He sags into your embrace immediately.

“I should have never said that. I’m sorry, Astarion. I assure you, I was a very conscious, very willing participant in all our evenings together. You just- you vex me.” You huff out a frustrated breath. “You’re like a puzzle with pieces missing. And every time I think I’m starting to see the picture, someone comes along and messes it all up again. I feel as though I’m being driven to the point of madness.”

With your hands on his cheeks, you move his head from where it is tucked against your chest, forcing him to look into your eyes. You need him to hear what you are saying, to feel the words down to his very bones. “You must know I never meant it when I said that I wasn’t clear headed.”

“I just…” you take a deep breath, attempting to collect your thoughts. Astarion’s eyes are desperately searching your face. You cannot tell if he is more scared at the prospect that you are telling the truth or that you are lying.

You speak, gently tracing your thumb down Astarion’s sharp cheekbone. “It felt as if you had frozen my heart inside my chest and I needed you to stop talking, to stop reminding me that I don’t mean as much to you as you do to me. The only way I knew to do that was to make you hurt, too. But you must know I treasure every moment we spend together, every book we read, every night we share. Whenever you…” you trail off, a bit shy. “Touched me, I was painfully, blissfully aware of every moment. I asked for you to share yourself with me because I wanted you. I will always want you.”

“If anything, the blood loss just made it all the more exciting,” you place Astarion’s hand over your chest so he can feel the beating of your heart. “Had my heart racing nearly as fast as it is right now.”

Astarion breathes out a breathy, astonished laugh and you’re sure he can feel the way your heart stutters in response.

“You are my north star, Astarion,” you say with a soft smile on your face. “You are the gentle light that guides me home, that helps me remember myself in the dark.”

“You really mean that?” Astarion asks, looking up at you with adoration.

“I love you. Every beat of my heart is for you.”

And, in fact, perhaps you had loved him since the moment you first danced with him. Love and hate are very similar emotions, indeed.

Astarion’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, a wide smile on his lips. He’s radiant, like the stars in the night sky- something whose beauty could never be captured by something so mundane as oil on canvas, something who’s beauty could only ever be experienced.

“Are you going to be insufferable now that I’ve admitted that?” you ask and Astarion tips his head back to let out a loud laugh. It’s perhaps the hardest you’ve ever seen him laugh.

“Absolutely, my love,” he murmurs, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. He continues peppering your face with kisses between each word as he says, “Completely and utterly insufferable.”

“I need you to promise me something.” You catch his face between your palms again so he is looking into your eyes. “If- if you still want this to work, if you still want me, I need you to promise that you’re going to be honest with me from now on. About everything.”

He frowns for a moment and you can see him thinking. Apparently, you had found the dealbreaker in his love.

“I swear on my life,” he finally says with a little smile.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re not technically alive.”

“It’s a figure of speech, darling.” He rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s a bit disappointed he didn’t get away with it. Damned lawyer. “I swear, full honesty from this point forward.”

“Thank you.”

“But I need you to promise me something in return,” Astarion says, turning serious.

“Anything,” you promise.

One of Astarion’s hands comes up to cup your own cheek and his cool skin sends a little shiver down your spine. “In the future, if you ever do decide you want us to be intimate again, we save my feeding until after. It’s important to me that you’re able to think clearly. That you’re able to say no.”

Okay, well, you hate that idea. Apparently he had also managed to find the one condition you were unwilling to agree to.

“I don’t want to agree to that because I like it when you drink from me. It’s… exhilarating.” There’s nothing quite so electrifying as the feeling of your lifeblood being pulled from your veins, knowing that it will be used to nourish Astarion’s own body. You attempt to negotiate, though you are sure Astarion will be unimpressed with your skills, “So, I propose an amendment- we check in with each other before we do anything? Just so I can assure you that I am a level-headed, very willing participant.”

“Those are terms I can agree to.”

Astarion’s finally pulls you down into a kiss. Your lips slide against each other’s and it tastes faintly salty, though you’re unsure if the tears belonged to you or Astarion.

“I love you,” you murmur against his mouth and he’s descending again, hungrier. Your hands move up to curl in his hair and Astarion has wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to straddle him on the chair.

It’s one of those toe-curling kisses that has you feel like your very soul is leaving your body, that has you feel like the very essence of your beings are singing together in harmony.

“Say it again,” he commands in a low rumble. And, oh, you like that low, commanding voice he gives you. You can feel your thighs tighten around Astarion, feel the way his hand claws at the fabric of your dress.

“I love you,” you say before your lips press against each other again. You let your tongue trace along one of his fangs, snagging just enough so that you can taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood. Astarion becomes ravenous as he licks into your mouth.

You kiss, over and over again, until you are satisfied that Astarion is assured just how willing and enthusiastic of a participant you truly are.

“I love you, too,” he breathes and you can feel how his lips curl up into a smile.

When you finally part from him long enough to see his face, he looks all wrong as you push his greasy curls off his forehead.

“You need a bath.” You wrinkle your nose and Astarion chuckles.

“You’ll join me?” He asks in a rich, deep voice as he gives you a devilish smile.

You stand up and hold out your hand to him, “Come, pretty boy, let me take care of you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you will,” he says and his arm wraps around you from behind so he can catch you, playfully nipping at your neck. You laugh as you detangle yourself from his arms.

The servants swarm to set up a bath in Astarion’s room and you watch in the corner with him, a bit embarrassed that all the servants know you will be bathing together.

When you are finally alone, you help Astarion out of his clothes first. He doesn’t really need help, but it’s nice to take care of him for once. A little shiver runs up his spine when your fingers ghost against his stomach as you help him pull off his shirt.

When he turns around to check the water, you see the huge scar on his back. It’s massive, spanning the entirety of his back. How have you never noticed this before? You had seen Astarion naked. Evidently, he had taken great care so far as to not let you see the scar. You can’t help but wonder why he had been hiding it from you and why he suddenly was allowing you to see it?

Your hands reach out to trace the patterns and Astarion jumps, but lets you continue. You’ve seen this pattern before, on the drawing you found in his study the day you broke in. And because Astarion cannot see his own reflection in a mirror, that must be the only way he knows what his scar looks like.

“How did you get this?” you ask, horrified by the pain he has suffered. You try to keep your fingers light against the jagged tissue, unsure of how sensitive the skin is.

You can see the wheels turning in his head and you know a lie is about to spew out of his mouth.

“Honest,” you make him promise.

He swallows hard and nods. “The man who turned me was cruel. This is a relic of that past. I don’t like to talk about it.”

And because you are trying to trust him, you respect him enough to not ask about the past he had just told you was too painful to bring up. Though, if he’s answering questions, you might as well try to get at least some new information out of him.

“And the trips?”

His words are careful when he speaks. Like he’s being honest, but not giving you the full truth. “Just business. Sometimes we go to dangerous areas. I take Karlach, Lae’zel, or Wyll with me for protection.”

You’re satisfied enough with that answer and thoroughly distracted when Astarion’s fingers begin to slowly undo the buttons down the back of your dress. Unfortunately, you still haven't been able to master those slippery little devils. Astarion seems content with taking his time on the task- letting his fingers trail teasingly along your spine and occasionally dropping soft kisses along your shoulder. It’s maddening.

Your corset somehow manages to take twice as long as the buttons on the dress. Astarion seems perfectly happy to let the bath water grow cold as he runs his fingers over every inch of the satiny ribbon that ties the garment to your body.

When you’re finally undressed, Astarion steps into the tub and settles back in the hot water, resting his head on the edge of the tub with a sigh.

It’s awkward- you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to position yourself in the large bathtub. Sitting in his lap seems too direct. But you need to make up your mind quickly. Even with the warm fire burning in the room and the steam rising from the hot water of the tub, your bare skin is growing cold the longer you take to decide.

After you step into the tub, you sit on the opposite side, facing Astarion. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you chew on your lip. You’re nervous- partially because you’re a bit new to showing so much skin around a man and partially because you aren’t sure how much you’re allowed to touch Astarion. You aren’t used to this level of physical intimacy. You had only seen Astarion’s body once before and you had been so caught up in the haze of how silky soft the skin of his cock had felt against your hand and how his eyes were screwed so tightly shut with pleasure that you hadn’t really gotten that good of a peak at what said cock actually looked like.

And that night had ended… poorly, to say the least.

“Gone shy, pet? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Astarion says with a cheeky smile.

You love him, your heart sings. He’s reverting back to that easy banter, trying to help make you more comfortable. Gently, Astarion tugs on your arm and guides you into his lap.

“See,” he leans his forehead against yours, “much better.”

“Much,” you agree, knocking your nose against his before you remind him, “you need blood.”

“Are you offering?”

“Always,” you tease. Astarion’s eyes are hungry as he watches you tilt your neck to the side for him.

“Devilish woman.” His eyes crackle dangerously, all crimson and fire. It’s a total contradiction to how softly his hand cradles the back of your head as he leans down to your neck.

He presses a long kiss to your skin. The simple act nearly brings tears to your eyes. For weeks, you had let Astarion drink from you. For weeks, he would kiss you so gently before he dug his teeth into your skin- an act of apology, an act of worship. An act of love.

So much had changed this evening. Your worldview completely shifted, yet again, as you grew accustomed to the idea that Astarion loved you. With every heartbeat, you are reminded- he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. And yet, that one little habit remained the same.

The soft cold of Astarion’s lips gives way to that familiar sting, to that chill that seeps down to your very bones. You fight to orient yourself for a moment, inhaling deeply to focus. The coldness fades. The familiar lick of desire burns bright within you.

Astarion’s cool tongue swirling against your skin does nothing to tamper the heat growing within you and the arm he has wrapped around your waist tightens, dragging you in even closer. You feel him everywhere and still, you need more- it’s not enough.

Too quickly, always too quickly, Astarion parts from the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving one last kiss on the hollow of your throat.

When you look at him, he’s got that gooey, drunk look in his eyes like he always does after he’s fed. The pinkish tint has returned to his cheeks and the tips of his ears now that he’s got some blood in his system and you feel a sense of pride bloom within you.

I did that, you think, that was me.

Astarion reaches his thumb out to swipe up a stripe of blood that must have been leftover from the bite mark on your neck, runny like blood always is when mixed with water. His pretty pink lips close around his thumb as he lewdly sucks it into his mouth. Your mind goes blank as you watch him, entranced.

“Delicious,” Astarion says with a wicked grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“I’m not too bland for you?” You ask, repeating his words from the fight back at him. You’re teasing him, mostly, but that jealous, insecure part of you deep down is looking for his reassurance. “I’m not the late autumn plum that you lament picking?”

“What are you talking about?” Astarion looks at you, brow furrowed in confusion. It takes him a moment before his expression clears and he laughs. He has the audacity to laugh at you. “That’s not what that poem’s about at all, darling. How did you even know about that? Is that why my shirt went missing?”

“That’s not… important… right now…” you say, feeling your face heat up. Astarion’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, tracing his thumb gently over your cheek bone.

“Do you want to know what that poem means?” He asks, in perhaps the quietest, shyest voice you’ve ever heard Astarion speak with. “For many years, I had nothing except my hunger. My own body didn’t even belong to me. What’s lamentable is someone who is content with that life, with living on scraps of rats and insects. The poem is a reminder to me that I had to keep fighting, a reminder that I refuse to be broken.”

Astarion leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You remind me so much of myself, little flower. Your will and your determination, even in a losing fight. That’s what drew me to you that night we first met. In the face of certain death, you couldn’t resist telling me I was wrong.”

You laugh. He’s right, of course- you do love telling people when they are wrong.

“In truth, your blood is the best I’ve ever had. I fear I have tasted perfection,” he says, letting his nose dip down to trace along your neck. You shiver, keenly aware of how your cunt is resting tantalizingly against one of Astarion’s thighs. All it would take is a little roll of your hips to provide some sweet relief.

But Astarion still needs a bath and your neck still stings a bit. You know from experience the stinging of the twin bites on your skin will last a while longer, so you distract yourself by wetting a hard bar of soap in your hands. You run the soap over Astarion, working it into a lather on his skin.

It’s an excuse to touch him. You know this. He knows this. Neither of you are complaining.

You take a moment to stroke along the muscles that run from his neck to his shoulders, chasing away some of the knots and sore spots that had developed after so many days hunched over a desk. Astarion lets out content little hums as you work, his eyes slowly falling shut.

You move to his arms, which he’s draped elegantly over the side of the tub as if in preparation for your work. Moving the soap, you trace along those beautiful, pale blue veins all the way down to the inside of his wrist. Bringing his hand to your mouth, you press a soft kiss to each of his fingertips before repeating the same pattern on his other arm.

When you wash his hair, Astarion practically melts into your hands. It reminds you of Tara how he purrs when you let your nails scratch gently against his scalp.

“Tilt your head back,” you instruct him. You let the water run through his white curls and wash the soap away.

When he comes back up, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment before you’re falling together. It’s one of those hungry kisses that leave you wanting more. All teeth and tongue crashing against one another. One of Astarion’s hands palms at your ass, pulling you closer to him. You tug on Astarion’s lower lip with your teeth and you feel the growl reverberating in his chest.

Astarion’s length is hard where it presses against your stomach. You move your hand under the water, aching to touch that satiny soft skin again. Astarion deftly catches your hand, intertwining your fingers with his own.

You huff, frustrated. He always did this. It was as if he thought he didn’t deserve pleasure, too. Or thought you were inexperienced and incapable of giving it to him. You wanted to learn how to please him, desperately, but he was always batting your hands away.

“Are you truly so cruel you would deny your wife this simple pleasure?” You ask, trying your best to pout in that way that always makes Astarion cave and give you what you want.

“You’re dramatic,” Astarion brings your entwined fingers up to kiss the back of your hand. “And I’m not cruel. I just refuse to let the first time I have you be in a lukewarm bath. I intend to savor every moment and for that, I will need much more space.”

Astarion speaks in that husky, arrogant voice that sends a shock of electricity straight to your cunt and has you clenching around nothing.

You try to move a bit and end up banging one of your elbows painfully into the side of the tub. Okay, maybe he has a point. More space would be good. Even if you ache to feel him inside and don’t want to wait.

He helps you out of the tub and your legs are a bit shaky, which puts a self-satisfied smirk on Astarion’s face. He finishes towel drying his hair, curls messy and beautiful as the wet locks lay flat against his skin. His towel drapes around his shoulders and you use it to pull him down for a kiss, your tongues sliding against one another. You feel Astarion’s hands against the back of your thighs and he’s lifting you off your feet so you can wrap your legs around his waist. You’re keenly aware of how your cunt rubs against the thatch of hair at the end of his navel as he walks you over to the bed and gently sets you down on it.

Astarion kisses down your stomach and you know where he’s going. You cup your hand around his cheek, guiding his face up to look at you.

“Need you,” you practically whine. It’s annoying, how Astarion is able to turn you into this needy little child, how your very being is addicted to him.

“I know just what you need,” he gives you another kiss above your hip bone and you whine again.

“No.” You’re trying to pull him back up now, hands grabbing at his shoulders and arms, trying to settle his weight on top of you again. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Oh? How can I refuse when you beg so sweetly?” He has that sinful look on his face that makes you ravenous for him. “But you’ll have to wait,” Astarion says, moving to settle between your thighs. “You need to be ready so it won’t hurt. And besides, I’ve missed your taste. You won’t deny your husband that, will you?”

He probably has a point. You had barely been able to fully wrap your hand around his cock when you had touched him. And the most you had ever taken inside yourself was, what? Two of Astarion’s beautiful, dexterous fingers? And those already had you feeling stretched to a point where you thought you might shatter.

Astarion’s tongue swirls on your inner thigh, tracing over the faint bruise left from the last time he bit you. He blows cool air over your cunt that has you nearly jumping out of your skin. It forces you to be painfully aware of how wet you are. But Astarion quickly takes pity on you and his cool mouth presses a soft kiss against your cunt before his tongue is darting out, licking so wonderfully.

Gods, the miracles he can perform with his tongue are sacrilegious.

Astarion eats you out like his very life depends on it. And when he slowly slips one, and then two, and then three fingers into you, your worldview shrinks to red eyes looking up at you hungrily from between your thighs.

There’s that familiar warmth rising in your stomach as your trembling hands clutch onto Astarion’s damp hair like a lifeline. A distant part of you laughs about how his normally perfect curls will be a mess when his hair dries.

With Astarion’s lovely fingers curling inside you and his tongue dancing against your clit, you settle into the warmth that seeps into your bones.

"So good," you manage to pant out when his tongue moves in a particularly delicious way. You feel the coil tightening in your belly before it snaps, waves of pleasure rolling over you as you climax.

When you’ve finally started breathing normally again, Astarion crawls up your body like a fucking predator and you’re practically drooling over him. As he moves, his leg catches yours and he hooks your knee over his thigh, draaaging your leg up with his own.

You’ve never been this aroused in your life. You feel like putty in Astarion’s hands- his to mold and move and control how he wants you. And you know Astarion’s noticed the effect it’s had on you, too. You see that arrogant gleam in his eye that lets you know you are dangerously feeding into his already inflated ego.

And he knows what he’s doing. In this position, he’s opened up your cunt that much further and his own hard cock is pressed against your center. It’s wet- gods, it’s almost obscene how wet it is. And the way Astarion’s cool skin rubs against your most sensitive spots sends a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Astarion-” you manage to choke out. “If you don’t fuck me soon, I think I’m going to die.”

“Perish the thought, dearest, I’d never let that happen.” He says in that cocky, teasing tone that lets you know he’s enjoying this too much.

He stops moving and grips your chin with his hand. You mewl, letting him force you to look at him. His eyes have softened and his face is so open and loving that you think your heart might very well flutter out of your chest and settle inside Astarion’s own rib cage.

“You’re good?” He asks, voice gone soft with concern.

“So good,” you try to roll your hips against his, ignoring your confusion at his complete change in tone. But at this point, if you don’t have him inside you in the next minute, you think you might spontaneously combust.

“Not what I meant,” Astarion chuckles darkly, his grip on your chin tightening just a bit. “You’re clear headed? You promised me we’d check in.”

Oh, that’s right, the promise.

“All clear,” you say, tapping the side of your head, trying to ease his concerns with a bit of humor. It seems to work based on the gentle grin that tilts up one corner of his mouth. You focus on committing this moment to memory. “How are you?”

A look of shock passes over Astarion’s face for a moment, so quickly that a lesser trained eye might have missed it completely. It makes you wonder if you’re the first person that has ever bothered to ask Astarion if he’s okay.

“I’m going to remember this forever,” Astarion reassures, like he’s reading your mind. He gives you one more serious look. “Any point you want to stop, tell me and I will. No questions asked.”

How could this man exist? He seems unreal. Your guardian angel perched above you.

“Same goes for you,” you tell him, turning your head a bit. Astarion loosens his grip on your chin to allow for the motion and you press a kiss to the inside of his palm. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he leans down and kisses your lips, soft and sweet. “You ready?”

You nod and he shifts his weight onto one forearm so he can grab his cock with his hand. He runs the tip along the length of your cunt teasingly and oh, it feels wonderful against your wet folds. Slowly, he starts pushing into you.

You hiss at the initial sting and Astarion pauses immediately, just sitting with the tip of his cock inside you. He’s kissing all over your face, whispering about how ‘you’re doing so well,’ ‘you feel so good I can hardly stand it,’ and ‘think about how good we’re going to make each other feel, my love’ that has the part of you that feeds on Astarion’s praise soaring. When you start to get used to the stretch, you nod again and Astarion presses in a bit further.

It takes what feels like a small eternity before he’s fully inside you. And oh, the stretch, the fullness has you feeling like you’re ready to shatter at any moment.

“Gods, your cunt is perfect. Like you were made for me,” Astarion says, through gritted teeth. It causes liquid fire to shoot through your veins and your cunt clenches around him. You think you actually manage to catch his brain short-circuiting as he lets out a strangled noise that’s a cross between a growl and a moan.

“Tight… s-so tight. And wet,” Astarion groans, his mouth nearly hanging open.

You feel a spark of pleasure deep within yourself over seeing this man- who acts so confident and above everyone- nearly disintegrate into a babbling mess from just the feel of your cunt around him.

And then, Astarion begins to move and it’s you who becomes a babbling mess. The pressure stings a bit at first, but it doesn’t take long for the sweet feeling of pleasure to overwhelm you completely.

His pace feels torturously slow, as if he’s determined to make you feel every wonderful inch moving in and out of you.

“More,” you plead, trying to move your own hips to speed up the rhythm. “Faster, please.”

Even when he picks up speed, it feels like he’s holding back.

“I won’t break,” you tell him, hooking one of your legs around his hips to urge him that much deeper inside you.

Astarion listens to you then, finally, and begins thrusting into you at a rhythm that has your mind spinning. His hand snakes down between your bodies, moving to trace tight circles over your clit.

You feel as if you are ascending to the heavens. It should be impossible to feel this good.

And you’re so close to the edge, so close to that precipice of pure bliss.

“So close, Star,” you manage to gasp out. “So good.”

“Let go, little flower,” he says. “Want to feel you.”

Your second orgasm is earth-shattering. The kind of orgasm that makes it feel as if your soul itself is fracturing like beautiful glass inside you. The kind that has you arching your back and digging your nails into Astarion’s skin as you desperately try to tether yourself to reality.

Astarion fucks you through it, rocking his hips into yours with a clinical precision that has stars dotting at the edges of your vision.

He slows for a moment and then stops, hard cock still nestled firmly inside you. You let out a pathetic whine that makes Astarion give an involuntary little buck of his hips. You chase after him with your own, but he rests more of his weight on top of you, effectively trapping you underneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight when you come. I need- I need a minute,” Astarion says, eyes screwed shut.

“Why?” you ask, pushing a lock of messy hair out of his face. It’s a good thing he can’t see himself in a mirror, he’d be distraught at the state of his hair. “What are you waiting for?”

“Need to- fuck, need this to last. Never want this to end.”

It sends your heart soaring- the fact that Astarion is so determined to try to make this moment last as long as possible. Perhaps, beneath all his layers of pretend smiles and barbed wire guarding his heart, he’s secretly a romantic.

“Doesn’t have to end,” you murmur, nails scratching lightly at his scalp in the way you know he likes. “We can do this forever.”

And then, the most glorious thing happens. Astarion whimpers.

It’s one of those involuntary sounds that worked its way up from the back of his throat. You think you could grow used to the surge of power you feel inside you at forcing Astarion to lose his carefully practiced control. You want him to whimper again.

You use your grip on his hair to move his face towards yours to kiss him and you speak against his mouth, “Let me take care of you for once.”

You feel his nose rub against yours as he nods and you grin wickedly in triumph, gently pushing him off you so he’s laying back on the bed. Astarion looks confused for a moment before you settle on his lap, moving to guide him back inside you. You’re still so sensitive after your last orgasm, you feel every wonderful ridge and vein of his cock inside you.

You lean down, biting his ear before you whisper, “You deserve to not have to do all the work for once.”

And then you move, rising and lowering yourself against his cock. This new angle has him hitting impossibly deeper, has him pressing against some secret, sponge-y spot that makes your toes curl every time he’s fully inside you.

So, this was what all the fuss was about. Why men waged wars and forsook religion. For what gods can compete with the way that Astarion moved inside you? And what cruel gods indeed if they forbade this act of your salvation. You felt as if you had been born anew atop Astarion’s cock.

You bite your lip, trying to dampen the barrage of noises that threaten to spill out of you.

“No,” Astarion nearly cries out, his thumb coming up to pull your lower lip out from between your teeth. “Need to- fuck, need to hear you.”

Oh, he’s desperate in the best way possible. You stop holding back- let out every gasp and moan and curse. Astarion’s hands come up to your breasts- kneading and squeezing them and pinching your nipples and he’s looking at you with such awe that you think you could tell him you were an angel sent from the heavens and he would believe you.

Your thighs are starting to burn when Astarion’s hand moves from your breasts to curl around your throat and you mewl at how perfectly his hand fits around your neck. His thumb traces gently over his bite mark from earlier, his eyes getting even more desperate and hungry, all fiery red like he’s going to consume you alive.

Astarion is not subtle about his obsession with the marks and bruises he leaves on your skin.

You think that animalistic, instinctual part of him is proud of the idea that everyone knows he was the one to give you those marks. And you have never tried to hide them, even if particularly nasty marks on the column of your throat sent Gale’s eyes skittering to look anywhere but you and caused Shadowheart to make snide comments about them as she helped you dress.

You toss your hair over your shoulder, displaying the bite even more proudly, still rolling your hips against his own.

Astarion uses his grip around your neck to pull you down against him and press his mouth to yours in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. One of his fangs must catch on something because there’s that wonderful metallic taste of blood being shared between you two.

“Where?” He pants out against your lips.

And because you’re a little dizzy with the influx of new sensations, your brain can’t quite decipher what Astarion means. “Where what?”

“Where can I come, darling?”

Oh. Oh.

Although Astarion could have told you simply that the sky was blue in that husky voice and it would have caused your eyes to roll back in your head, those deliciously racy words out of his mouth have you practically turning into mush.

“Gods,” you breathe out. “Anywhere you want. Inside?”

Because the idea of being separated from him for even a moment seems unbearable. And that was the right answer based on the way Astarion’s hips start to buck into you with wild abandon.

You continue to move together, two inseparable bodies- unable to tell where one ends and the other begins. His cock pulses inside you before he lets out a strangled moan and you feel him come inside you.

Tired and spent, with aching thighs, you settle yourself on top of Astarion. You have laid your head on his chest many times and his lack of heartbeat will never get less foreign. Though, you do feel a sense of satisfaction that he’s also exhausted- panting beneath you and trying to catch his breath. Astarion’s cool chest feels wonderful against your flushed, sweaty skin.

“Where did an innocent thing like you even learn about this position?” Astarion asks and you can hear the delighted little teasing tone in his voice. “Here I was thinking I’d have all sorts of fun things to teach you.”

Despite the fact that Astarion cannot see your face, you roll your eyes. You know he thinks you naive and bashful because you are inexperienced.

“Married women whisper rather loudly if you know how to eavesdrop,” you tell him. “You can find out all sorts of salacious secrets- whose husband has a mistress or whose child might have been born a bit too early after the wedding. More interestingly, you learn all about what scandalous things happen in the bedroom between married couples. ‘Riding Saint George’ caused quite the uproar a few seasons ago.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” Astarion laughs and you feel his chest rumbling underneath your cheek.

“And I know all sorts of things,” you defend yourself to Astarion. “Most other ‘prim’ and ‘proper’ ladies would have balked the moment your head went between their thighs.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see the extent of your knowledge. And fill in any gaps that might arise,” he says in a low, seductive voice that makes you keenly aware of the fact that his cock is still inside you.

Propping your head up on Astarion’s chest, you look at him, giggling a bit at the way his dark, sultry eyes contradict rather comedically with the mess that had become his hair. He’d need a small fortune’s worth of pomade to tame it.

“We probably should have saved the bath for after that, huh?” you grin, reaching up to brush some of the loose curls away from his forehead.

When Astarion laughs, you use that as the opportunity to slip off of him, hissing at the dull ache between your thighs and the feeling of how desperately you already miss him inside you.

Astarion gets up to find the towel that had somehow ended up thrown over the folding screen in the corner of the room as the two of you had desperately clawed at one another and stumbled over to the bed. Astarion wets the towel and returns, gently wiping it in between your legs.

You hiss. Astarion looks at you worried, like he just committed the greatest crime in the world by hurting you.

“Sensitive, s’all,” you explain and he returns to carefully wiping away any residue of your coupling.

Astarion’s arm wraps around your waist as he settles next to you on the bed. He has a book on his bedside table that you grab and read aloud. It’s wonderful how easily the two of you settle back into your old patterns. You read until your eyes start to grow heavy and you instead shift your focus your attention to studying Astarion’s beautiful face. His eyes close and he relaxes as you gently trace your fingers over his strong brow, down his lovely nose, over the curve of his jaw.

“Can you turn into a bat?” You ask, half on your way to sleep.

“Why would you possibly be wondering that after I’ve just given you the most memorable night of pleasure you’ve ever known?” Astarion asks, eyes opening to look at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

You giggle and poke him on the tip of his nose. He playfully catches your finger in his mouth and gives it a gentle bite.

“I don’t know. I always thought they were cute when I was a girl. And I think you’re cute now. And you’re a vampire. My mind just connected some dots.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “I’m not cute, darling. Dashingly handsome or devilishly good-looking, maybe, but not cute.”

“I think it would be weirder if I called a bat dashingly handsome than if I called you cute,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

You had missed this- the easy back and forth that you always managed to find with Astarion. You had been so lonely without him, your best friend. Yet another reason why you love him is because he understands you innately, because the two of you have managed to dig your way so far under each other’s skins and find a home there.

“I’d rather you didn’t compare me to a bat at all,” Astarion says, still acting as if you have gravely offended him by daring to call him cute and like he doesn’t require your compliments as a basic necessity to survive. He lets out a sigh, as if you are greatly annoying him (you both know you are not) and finally answers your question. “And no, I can’t turn into one. As a general rule, I try to stay as far away from rodents as possible.”

Weird rule, you think.

“Pity, I’d bet you’d be cute. You’d probably be white, like one of those albino ones,” you tease, bringing your hand up to tug on his mess of white curls.

“I worry for your sanity, darling.”

You gasp, a big dramatic one that Astarion himself would be proud of. “Don’t tell me you just passed up an opportunity to make a joke about how you ‘fucked me stupid’ or something obscene like that.”

“I would never debase myself with such vulgarity.” He says in mock offense at your words before his lips twist up in a lecherous grin that you know means trouble. “Besides, it sounds so much better from your lips, my love.”

Astarion leans forward and kisses you on your vulgar mouth.

The two of you resume holding each other, wrapped in your little cocoon of love. But your mind is still elsewhere.

“I found one when I was younger, you know,” you break the silence.

Astarion hums. “One what?”

“A bat,” you remind him. “It was right after my mother died. The poor thing was injured. It had a broken wing and was just crawling helplessly on the ground. I brought it home with me, foolishly thinking I could heal it. When my father found it in my room that night, he made me watch while a servant killed it. He told me I shouldn’t be messing around with nature, that I was lucky it didn’t give me rabies.”

You shiver a bit at the memory of the bat’s tiny head caved in where your father had ordered a servant to take a shovel to the animal. You think of that poor man’s distraught face, how he had been unable to disobey if he wanted to keep his job, if he wished to be able to feed his family.

You continue speaking, “It felt like my father was telling me that caring about something doesn’t matter. But I disagree with that- I think we should try to help the things we love no matter what. Even if it is a stupid bat that might give you rabies.”

“I’d still love you. Foaming mouth and all,” Astarion smiles at you.

“Liar,” you say, poking his cheek.

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t say anything for a long time. You see him chewing on something in his mind but you give him time- you try to trust him to tell you when he is ready.

“You’re going to die some day,” his voice is grim when he speaks. “Unless…”

Well, that’s a bummer.

“Unless I’m a vampire,” you complete his train of thought.

And you can’t say the idea had never occurred to you. Especially as you had sat at Astarion’s bedside when he was injured.

At times, he had been thrashing and screaming so violently that he would reopen the wound on his abdomen. You had been frantic watching him like that. Shadowheart had to practically pry you away from him so that he didn’t accidentally injure you in his flailing.

You never speak of those memories with Astarion, no matter how deeply they haunt you. You know they would only serve to embarrass him, that he would only interpret your care as pity. You know this because you would think the same.

But as you sat and watched him, useless except for your blood, you had a long, long time to think about what would have happened if you were the one that was injured. Would Astarion have cared? Would he have sat at your bedside in anguish as you recovered?

No, you had realized. Because a wound like his would have left you dead.

“When I asked you if you’d ever want to be a vampire, you said you didn’t know if you would. That it would depend on the circumstances. Is that still true?” Astarion asks, searching your face for an answer you’re unsure you’re able to give.

Because it’s not that you don’t ever want to be a vampire. It’s just all too soon. You and Astarion had only been married for six months and you had just gotten back on solid ground after a very rocky two weeks.

And you know that you do want Astarion forever, but you also want to settle into this new life with him for a while longer. There was still so much he was hiding from you and you don’t want the memory of your turning to be tainted by doubts or hesitation. It should be a joyous occasion- the true union of your souls that you didn’t get at your wedding.

“I don’t know…” you trail off, a bit unsure of how to put your thoughts into words that will not hurt Astarion’s feelings. Instead, you choose to deflect, “Do you want to turn me? Is that why you’re asking this?”

“I can’t stand the thought of you being harmed. Of you dying.” Astarion laments, his eyes all blood red, reminding you of that monstrous gash in his side. “What a miserable existence that would be, not after I have known the ecstasy of being with you. Everything else just seems dull in comparison.”

And he’s right, the idea of a life without him seems hollow. Survivably, certainly, but lackluster. It reminds you of how Astarion can only see the gardens at night- still beautiful, still worth experiencing, but not nearly as vibrant or wonderful as you knew it could be.

“I know I want to be a vampire someday,” you say. “I dread the thought of growing older while you remain unchanged. I hate the idea of becoming a burden to you in my old age.”

“You could never be a burden. And that’s a long way off,” Astarion tries to reassure you.

Because for him, time isn’t running out. For him, time stretches and flows lazily like a river into the sea. And he had been like this for so long, had been a vampire many lifetimes longer than he had been alive. You can’t even begin to help him conceptualize what you mean, but you try anyway.

“A long way off for me, but that’s nothing for you, Astarion. It will pass before you even notice.” You take a deep breath and try to communicate the thoughts that you yourself are not sure you fully understand. Interlacing your fingers with Astarion’s, you guide his hand to your mouth so you can press a kiss to the back of it. “I do want this, I want a life with you. Forever. I’m just- I’m not ready yet. Let me enjoy being alive a while longer. Let me choose when and how it happens.”

With a gentle smile, Astarion says, “Of course, my love. Just say when.”

—----------

Astarion hardly even lets you leave his bed the next few days. Not that you’re complaining about it. He separates himself only long enough to tell Gale to bring your meals to his room for the foreseeable future. Astarion’s very specific about how Gale is only supposed to knock and how under no circumstances are you to open that door.

From your spot in the bed, linen sheets pulled up over your chest in an attempt to protect your modesty, you think you overhear Gale saying, “Under no circumstances would I want to,” before he leaves.

The next couple of months are a blur of sitting in front of warm fireplaces and reading and you and Astarion wrapped together, his cool skin only intensifying the burning desire within you. With the warmth in your heart, you wouldn’t even be able to tell it’s the dead of winter. The weather outside is dreary and miserable and you don’t even notice because you and Astarion are too consumed in one another.

And touching. Always touching. Astarion seems unable to ever let you be out of his grasp, even if it was as simple as your feet being pressed against one another underneath the table at meals.

The best part about winter is the long nights which allow you to keep the curtains open that much longer without fear for Astarion’s safety. He relaxes in the darkness, comes alive like those silly moonflowers you planted for him. In the dark, he’s less restrained, more confident (if it was possible to describe Astarion as more confident).

You come to realize that Astarion doesn’t like the cold based on how he’s unable to resist warming his hands when he sees a fire and the pile of quilts he stacks on top of the two of you in bed before you sleep. You would wake up stifling if not for Astarion’s cool touch beneath the sheets.

It’s wonderful how easily the two of you balance each other- hot and cold, alive and dead, sun and moon.

And although Astarion hates winter, with enough carefully timed pouting, you do force him to humor you one evening when there’s a particularly beautiful snow. He bundles himself up in about ten layers and grumbles the whole time he’s pulling on his thick woolen greatcoat.

“Enough layers,” you laugh, tugging on his hands to pull him outside.

“I’m freezing,” he says, stopping completely and tugging you backward by your interlaced hands when you’ve only made it about three steps out the door.

The sky is cloudy and there’s no silvery moonlight to highlight Astarion’s beauty tonight. You have to be content with the way the torches that line the entrance to the manor make his face all shadows and sharp angles.

“Poor star,” you say in a mocking tone. You step back toward him, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek as you promise in a low voice, “I’ll warm you up later.”

“I’d much prefer if you would warm me up now.”

“Patience is a virtue, my love,” you tell him and drag him out further into the snow.

He catches you around the waist, pulling you against him to whisper in your ear, “I’m not a virtuous man.”

And for a second, you do consider the merits of letting him drag you back inside. But it’s been so long since you’ve seen a snow this pretty and it’s getting late in the season and you aren’t going to let your lust-addled mind win out. Astarion could wait- you would have a lifetime with him. You need to appreciate fleeting moments as they come.

“Help me build a snowman,” you say, attempting to distract yourself from the flames of desire burning hot within you.

Astarion looks incredulous, “What do you take me for? A child?”

“I take you for a man who loves his wife very much and would make her very happy if he listened to her,” you say, looking up at him and trying to bat your lashes in that way he can’t resist.

He sighs, one of those big dramatic ones that is meant to make you feel like you’re the biggest inconvenience he’s ever encountered. Always an actor, your husband. You have grown to appreciate it now that you can understand the man beneath the performance.

“The last thing I want is to ruin my beautiful nails,” he says with a frown.

“You’re wearing gloves,” you point out, laughing at his theatrics.

“It’s the principle of the thing, darling,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll supervise. That suits my talents far better.”

And so, Astarion sets to work micromanaging you like his life depends on it. Over a stupid snowman that he called childish.

You can hardly even pack a bit of snow into a ball before Astarion is complaining about it being lopsided or that the ratio between the different snowballs is off and making the thing look ugly. It takes entirely too long to complete.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You look at the completed snowman for a second, feeling a sense of accomplishment in your work. And then, you reach out to kick it over.

“See,” you grin up at Astarion. “That’s the fun part.”

“Gods, you’re ridiculous,” Astarion says, leaning down to kiss you.

But you also know he’s secretly disappointed he didn’t get to kick down a snowman.

“C’mon, I’ll build another one for you,” you tell him.

When he isn’t looking, you roll a ball of snow in your hands and throw it at his back. He stiffens and turns, shooting you an angry glare over his shoulder. Trying to hold back your laughter, you reach down to collect another bunch of snow in your hands.

“Don’t you dare-” Astarion starts to say, but is interrupted by the snowball that strikes him directly in the center of his chest. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, you insolent little-”

You let out a little shriek as he starts to chase after you. With your feet sinking into the snow, you aren’t able to run very fast and Astarion somehow manages to move so deftly and sneakily, as if the snow itself was helping to hold him aloft. He gains on you quickly. It feels so different than that first night in the garden, when you had been running for your very life. This time, you sneak peaks over your shoulder, admiring Astarion’s beauty and eagerly awaiting for him to catch up to you.

You’re a bit off-balance when his hands finally wrap around your waist. The two of you end up tumbling into the snow and you land on top of Astarion with a loud ‘oof.’

And although Astarion hates the cold, he settles into snow beneath him, wrapping his arms around you tighter and pressing your foreheads together as you both shake in laughter. He looks beautiful like this, underneath you. The tip of his nose is red from the cold air. He looks alive.

After your laughing fit subsides, Astarion says with exasperation, “Well, if I’m already down here.”

He starts moving his arms up and down in the snow and it’s a bit jarring considering you’re still laying on top of him.

Oh, you realize. He’s trying to make snow angels.

With a delighted giggle, you roll off him into the snow to join him, moving your arms and legs in time. With every stroke of your arms, you make sure to reach out so that your gloved fingers brush against his.

Eventually, you pull yourself up out of the snow, carefully brushing the snow out of the fur lining your coat and thinking about how Shadowheart is going to scold you tomorrow for getting the beautiful fur all wet. Astarion stays on the ground, elegantly sprawled and content to watch you. His pale skin and white hair would almost blend in if not for the rosy pink on his cheeks and nose. You feel a sense of pride simmering within you that it was your blood which gave him that lovely coloring.

“Help me up?” Astarion asks, holding his hands out for you to grab.

“No! You’re just going to pull me down again! You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are.”

Astarion pouts. You hate to admit that you are just as susceptible to giving him what he wants as he is to you.

“Spoiled little rich boy,” you huff, grabbing his hands to pull him up. You can tell he’s pulling back against you, trying to be difficult. “Come on, you’re making this hard on purpose!”

Astarion laughs and finally stands up, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against him. The wool collar of his coat is soft and a bit fuzzy where it brushes against your cheek.

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion says in a quiet voice, dropping a kiss along your hairline. “I haven’t laughed that hard in years. You help me remember what it’s like to feel young again.”

Oh, there goes your little heart. Thumping away like a racehorse.

“You are still young. Or at least, you still look young,” you tease.

“Not everyone can age as gracefully as me,” Astarion says wistfully, as if his beauty is some great curse that he is forced to live with.

“Like a fine wine,” you agree, playing into his ego.

“I do recall that you promised to warm me up,” Astarion murmurs huskily in your ear. It has your head spinning and your cunt aching. “I’d like to take you up on that offer now.”

You nod, breathless, and let him lead you back inside. The two of you strip out of your wet clothes, spreading out on a blanket in front of the fire and you thoroughly warm Astarion by sinking to your knees and using your mouth on him.

You curl around one another after, Astarion’s head against your chest as you cuddle together underneath a blanket.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” Astarion says, interrupting the comfortable silence.

“Have to?” you challenge him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “And let me guess- I can’t come. That’s why you humored me tonight.”

“You know I worry too much about your safety. So no, you cannot come. Not while you’re still human.”

“I don’t appreciate you using my humanity as a bargaining chip,” you hiss back at him.

You know he doesn’t mean to make you mad. You know that deeply, down to his core, Astarion is terrified of losing you and that fear will always be present until you ascend past the confines of mortality.

Astarion takes a deep breath, shifting his weight onto his arm so he can hover over you and see your face. His voice softens as he looks down at your angry, furrowed brow, “I apologize, little flower, that’s not my intent. I just- I would be too worried about you, it would jeopardize everyone else’s safety and they don’t deserve that.”

He’s right, of course. And you appreciate him listening to you and reframing his words in a better way. That is what love is- challenging the other person to do better.

But you can’t help feeling that you could be of use if Astarion would just tell you what’s going on. You have your own anxieties. You worry greatly for his safety, too. And it just feels a bit like he’s prioritizing himself over you. It doesn’t feel equal.

When you’re still silent, Astarion drags his thumb gently across cheek, “We can take another trip when I get back. Just the two of us, anywhere you want to go.”

You smile at him. You really do see and appreciate him trying.

You do not know Astarion’s romantic history, but you are sure he must have had many, many lovers based partly on how skilled he is at sex, but based mostly on how wonderful he is. Who wouldn’t want to be around him? Who wouldn’t fall in love with this man immediately? He was snarky and funny and somehow still managed to be impossibly sweet and gentle.

But you also had a feeling that Astarion was not very experienced at being in love. There were times where he seemed so unsure, times where he seemed almost clumsy with his love, and many times like this where it felt like the two of you were speaking different languages. You were both still learning how to work together and how to compromise after so long of only looking out for yourselves.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“To the Underdark,” Astarion says. And he must expect your displeased response because he rolls to lie next to you, so that he is looking at the ceiling instead of your upset face.

“Why on earth would you be going to a place like that?” You ask, surprised. The Underdark was a lawless, dangerous place. It was where criminals and lowlives congregated and festered. You can see the wheels in Astarion’s head turning, trying to come up with some lawyer-y answer that doesn’t answer your question at all so you use the promise. “Honest.”

And so far, he has respected that promise. Usually, his answers were purposefully vague. But sometimes he gave you answers that were actually useful. You had finally learned who the strange people he was always whispering with were. Astarion had even introduced you to them over dinner the next time they had visited.

Karlach you had met previously, when Astarion was injured. You didn’t like to think about that time. It was much easier to pretend you first met Karlach over dinner, where she was all big smiles and boisterous laughter. You got along with her easily, but she seemed like the type of person that everyone got along with.

Lae’zel was the mean-looking lady and she was from very far away, Astarion had explained. Her homeland didn’t have the same restrictions for women, so she was raised and trained to be a warrior before they met in Baldur’s Gate. She didn’t say much at dinner, just chewed her meat angrily.

And Wyll was the man with the two differently-colored eyes. He was very polite and very cordial- the perfect gentleman. He promised to dance with you at the next ball after Astarion had made a mocking comment about his fancy feet.

But tonight, Astarion’s voice is measured when he speaks, each word carefully chosen. “I’m looking for something. And I just got some new information that leads me to believe I’ll find what I’m looking for there.”

Humming in acknowledgement, you choose not to pry further, no matter how desperately you want to. You respected Astarion enough to use the promise of honesty sparingly. He deserves the opportunity to tell you things of his own free will.

But really, you could have guessed he was looking for something. At least now you have confirmation. Now, you just need to figure out what he’s looking for. And why.

“How long do you expect to be gone?” You ask instead, turning your head to study his profile.

“A few days. A week at most. I’m going to take both Lae’zel and Karlach with me. The only thing I want to repeat about my last trip is to see you welcoming me home, full of blood for me to drink.” Astarion turns his head to give a mischievous little grin.

You know he is trying to deflect, trying to lighten the mood with playful banter. But you can’t help but feel your heart stutter in your chest as you picture him, bloody and wounded, bleeding out in front of you. You tear your gaze away from Astarion, back to the ceiling so you can close your eyes, willing away those horrible images.

“I’ll miss you,” you tell him and you feel his pinky finger brush against your own. It makes you smile. Touching. Always touching. You sigh, “I get bored when you’re gone. And it’s winter, so I can’t even work in the garden to keep me busy.”

“I fear what happens when you grow bored,” Astarion teases. He’s probably right to fear considering the last time you were too bored you had broken into his study.

Astarion presses himself up again to lean over you again, eyes hungry and redder than blood. “You’ve given me such a lovely memory tonight to think of when my time on the road grows dull. Perhaps I need to give you one, as well.”

He leans down to give you a lingering kiss. You savor the way his lips glide against yours, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. Astarion’s hand begins to trail up from your hip slowly, over the curve of your waist, heading toward where your hardened nipples press against his own chest.

“Not tonight, too tired,” you yawn and Astarion’s hand dances back down over your ribs, instead, his thumb moving in little circles over your skin. You give him your own imitation of one of his signature sinful smiles as you say, “And I have plenty of those memories already, but they’re a poor substitute to actually being with you. My hands just aren’t as adept as yours. Makes me miss you worse.”

“It’s true, I do have wonderful hands.” Astarion lifts one of his hands up between the two of you to admire it. You bring your own hand up to meet his, pressing your palms together and appreciating how his hand compares to yours.

Astarion twines your fingers together. The fire crackles and glints against his gold wedding ring.

His wedding ring.

Which had been noticeably missing from his ring finger since the night of your wedding.

“You’re wearing your ring,” you point out, a thrill of pleasure running through your veins. You continue moving his hand, watching how the firelight twists and shines off the gold.

Good, you think, let the world know that this perfectly imperfect man is mine.

“Have been for weeks, pet. I thought you noticed it already and just didn’t say anything.” Astarion says with that soft voice reserved especially for you.

You detangle your hand from his, sliding the ring off his finger as you go.

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, trying to pull it back out of your grasp so he can put it back on his finger.

You push Astarion off you and sit up and Astarion looks utterly lost about what’s going on. You’re content to let him sweat for a little bit because you feel he didn’t make a big enough deal about the fact that he had started to wear his ring again.

Pulling your hair over your shoulder, you turn to look at Astarion. “Help me.”

Astarion- dutiful, devoted husband that he is- sits up to help you unclasp the necklace chain which holds your own ring. You slide the delicate gold band off the chain for the first time since you had put it there and press the ring into his palm while you hold onto his own.

“Let’s try this again. Do you, Astarion Ancunin, take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?” You ask in a low voice, trying to be serious in what feels like a childish, silly moment.

You are worried that Astarion will laugh at you for being foolishly sentimental but when you look at him, Astarion is gazing back at you with a matching goofy grin on his face, like you had just hung the sun and stars in the sky for him.

“I do,” he says and his lovely, beautiful voice lilts through the air and dances its way into your heart. You slip the ring back over his finger, cherishing the way the gold looks nearly incandescent against his pale skin.

Mine, you think, now and forever.

You motion with your hand for him to go next.

Astarion clears his throat. “Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you choke out in a whisper and Astarion slips the ring onto your finger, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. You think you might have seen tears welling up in his eyes and your own vision is starting to go a bit blurry. It feels like the wedding you never really got.

“Where’s Gale to tell you to ‘kiss the bride’ when you need him?” You ask with a watery laugh.

“I think I can manage that perfectly well by myself,” Astarion huffs. “And knowing Gale, we’d be here all day before he got around to saying the important part.”

“Who’s the one being wordy now? Just kiss me already,” you tease.

And he does. Over and over and over again until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning.

“I’ll miss you,” Astarion murmurs against your lips.

His words tear you back to reality, force you to remember a world outside of this perfect moment, which has wrapped around the two of you like a warm blanket.

“You don’t have to miss me if you take me with you,” you point out, nudging your nose against his.

“Cute,” Astarion says. “But not going to work.”

You pout in that way that always makes Astarion give you what you want.

Astarion kisses the tip of your nose. “That won’t work either.”

Alas, that’s all the dirty tricks you have left in your metaphorical pocket.

“You better bring me back something really good, then,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

Astarion laughs- all golden and shimmery and filling the room with the warmth of the sun.

—-------

Astarion wakes you up with a gentle kiss the next evening, when the sun is just about to slip past the horizon into night. He’s kneeling beside the bed, dressed in what can only be described as armor. It’s concerning, to say the least. The Underdark is dangerous, certainly, but the implication that whatever he’s doing is dangerous enough warrant armor has you even more worried.

“Goodbye, my love. I’ll be back in a few days,” Astarion’s voice is soft and his fingers run gently through your hair. It would be the perfect way to wake up if he wasn’t leaving.

“Be safe. I love you” you tell him, feeling hopeless at your lack of control over whether he will return home safely.

“I love you, too. Go back to sleep,” he urges you, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

There’s something gnawing at you as you watch him slip silently out of the bedroom door. It still feels like he’s not telling you the truth.

------------------------

Notes:

Yay! Everyone is happy (for now…)

Not going to lie, I had a whole blowjob scene written for this chapter and decided to cut it because this thing is already monstrously long without it and I honestly didn't feel like it was contributing anything new to the story. So I'll probably repurpose it for a later chapter or I might post it as a separate little side fic because it did have some dialogue that I thought was funny that wouldn't work later. We'll see…

Fun fact, the 'lamentable is the autumn picker' poem is something that Astarion did have sewn into his shirt in early access and as a poetry lover, I think it is one of the loveliest lines I've ever read. He's also got a funny little line sewn into his underwear in the game that makes me laugh: 'If you're reading this, you managed to bed or behead me. Either way, you got lucky.'

Another fun fact, 'Riding Saint George' was actually a regency era slang term for riding a guy. It comes from the story of Saint Georgy and the Dragon, where the dragon looms over St. George. So the phrase essentially means that the woman (like the dragon) is on top during 'amorous congress.' I heard about this term in a different regency era fic I read forever ago and I thought it was so funny and I'm so happy I finally got the chance to use it somewhere.

I'm going to try to have chapter 7 out at around the same time as normal next Sunday but I am in grad school and going to a conference out of town next weekend so it depends a bit on when I can sneak away to post. Fair warning, the next two chapters are going to be very plot heavy and then we will be back to more fluffy, smutty goodness for the final two chapters.

I love you guys so much!!! I wish I could give all of you little kisses on the foreheads! It makes my day every time I read a new comment and I felt like an evil overlord all week feasting on your suffering from last chapter lol. Thanks for sharing this crazy journey with me- it makes it all the more fun!

As always, hugest thank you to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #x reader #my writing #til death do us part

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afictionaladventure16 · 1 year

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hi!! maybe a fic where pedro has been away from his daughter for a while due to filming and just before a few days before he’s supposed to come home, he calls her saying he has to stay for a couple more weeks. she gets upset and maybe rebels and acts out in some way. the eventual reunion could either be a angsty or fluff depending on what ur goin for!! love ur writing btw!!

Broken Promises (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Word Count: 4,516

A/N: First of all, thank you for your kind words! It means a lot! <3 I live for angsty requests! This one was fun to write! I kind of took what you asked and did some twists... I hope you like it, though!! Requests are open to anyone who wants to send something in! Also, I don't know if Pedro's older sister has a husband so, i made it up. ALSO, 4.5 k words! This might be my longest one yet. I stayed up till 4:30 am writing this one....

You anxiously looked over at the clock that was mounted on the wall, “The more you look at it, the slower it’ll move,” your tia commented as she noticed you looking at the clock for the seventh time in the past five minutes. “He said he’ll call before he got on his flight, his flight isn’t until Seven. Hours away, so would you please finish your homework before your father kills me because your grades slipped while he was away.”

You groaned, “It’s killing me that he hasn’t called to let me know he made it to the airport, not even a text!”

“He’s a busy man, Y/N. Plus you know how he is, he forgets where he places his phone like ever single minute, that’s why he’s so attached to that damn iPad,” Your tia commented as she continued to chop up vegetables for dinner. But she had a point, he could have let his phone in his carry on, or some obvious place that was in plain sight.

You knew your dad too well, sometimes you thought you knew him better than he knew himself. Sometimes it was true and it scared you. Why? Maybe it was because he was everything to you and you were everything to him. It had just been the two of you since your mother passed and it was as if her passing brought the two of you closer. You bonded over her death in a morbid way.

His mother passed when he was young, so he knew how to be a shoulder to cry on.

He knew the right things to say and the wrong things to say.

He knew the things you would want to avoid, the people you wouldn’t want to see. Overall, he just knew the pain you would go through. Ever since you were just this dynamic duo.

When he was away filming, you missed him dearly, but it gave you time to spend with your cousins and family you don’t get to see as often.

“Any plans for his return home?” your tia asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“Well, I do have my tournament coming up, which is out of state and papi said we can go on a road trip. Take the scenic route and do all the stops.”

“He did mention that, he sounded pretty excited.”

“Yeah, plus this tournament is a pretty big deal, the top four teams will be competing to go to championship,” you explained. You wouldn’t say that soccer was your life, but you did love playing soccer. There was something about being on the field and just leaving everything on the sidelines, leaving all your trauma and past for a few hours and just being free.

You had gotten into soccer when you were fairly young. You remembered your parents always cheering for you in the sidelines and then it was just your dad, then sometimes it would only be your tia who always had her phone up with most likely, your dad on the other side of the phone. Slowly the emptier the sidelines got, the reason for you to play grew, the more you wanted to just be free from your mind.

The sound of your phone ringing interrupted your thoughts, you jumped up and ran towards your phone that sat at the kitchen counter. “Papi?” You said as you answered the call.

“Y//N,” he began to say.

“About time you called, I was beginning to worry you had missed your flight or something. Are you at the airport already?”

“No,” He sighed.

“You’re kind of cutting it close, you know that right?” you glanced at the clock, six thirty, it had read.

“Cariño, I need you to listen to me,” he sighed.

You sat back down at the kitchen table, “What’s wrong?” you asked. Your mind was quick to race to certain thoughts, someone could be dead, you thought. Who could it be? You had been with your tia Javiera for the past month and she was the oldest. Usually she was the first to know everything.

“I’m sorry, Cariño,” he began. Your heart began to race, an uneasy feeling crept over you like storm clouds. “I’m gonna have to stay here for a few more weeks.”

“A few more weeks? B-But you’ll be here for our road trip right?” You were met with silence, a sinking feeling took hold in your stomach, “Right?” you asked again.

“Mija,” he muttered. Pedro spent the whole day putting off this phone call for this reason. He had gotten your hopes up and he knew you weren’t going to take it easy.

“Did you tell them no?”

“I can’t tell the directors no,” he answered.

“Did you even try?” Your voice choked with disappointment, he couldn’t be doing this. He promised he wouldn’t become that parent.

“Mija, I can’t say no, I have to stay here and do reshoots.”

“But our road trip!” You exclaimed.

“I know and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Just like you promised to take me on this road trip?”

“Mija, por favor, Don’t do this to me,” he said, Pedro felt his heart heavy, he knew he was disappointing you and as much as he wanted to tell the directors to shove it and say no, he knew he couldn’t.

“Or like how you promised you’d never do this? How you promised you wouldn’t become that person.”

“Y/N,” When the first name came out, you knew he was beginning to get upset.

“Mija, give me the phone,” your Tia stepped in. She knew someone might say something they might regret and she didn’t want to see either of your hurt. But she forgot to realize you were her brothers daughter and just like him, you were stubborn too.

You held onto the phone, “You promised,” disappointment written over your voice, tears began to well up in your eyes.

“I know,” he whispered. If you had only seen how torn your father was at the moment, maybe you would have been okay with situation. Or maybe things would have turned differently, but you could only hear his voice and although, you heard the disappointment in his voice, you couldnt be bothered to care about it. All that mattered to you was that he had broken his first promise and you didn’t know if this was going to be the first of many and if so, what was next?

Would you be one of those kids that grew up only seeing their parents on the holidays and eventually writing a book titled, “My Parent, the Mandalorian, and the neglect I endured.” You never wanted to be one of those kids and when your dad first began to get bigger roles, he had promised you that you wouldn’t. That he wouldn’t become one of those famous parents.

You remained silent, hoping it was some kind of sick joke and maybe he’d say something along the lines of ‘Gotcha!’ or maybe he’d say ‘I’ll be there tomorrow, don’t worry!’ But seconds pass and he didn’t say any of it. “Okay,” you finally said.

“Mija,” Pedro began to say but you handed the phone to your tia.

“Pedro, it’s Javiera,” your tia said, a somber look fell on her face when she had heard him apologizing when she first took the phone. She felt bad for her little brother, but she also felt bad for you.

“Is she still there?” Pedro asks

Javiera looked at you, you wiped away tears that were managing to escape. You groaned to yourself, irritated with everything around you, you left the room. “She just left,” she replied.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“How do I fix this?” Pedro pleaded. Ever since your mother passed away, Pedro called his big sister for any little thing on parenting, he felt like every choice he made was the wrong one. Most of the time, it wasn’t, he was just overthinking it.

“There really is no way out of the reshoots? No way to reschedule?”

“Directors call,” he sighed. “I really fucked up, Javiera. No me va a perdonar” (She’s not gonna forgive me).

“No mas nicesieta tiempo. Let me talk to her, but for now… give her some space.”

“Are you saying not to call her?” Pedro questioned.

“Or text… just for a couple of days. If anything send her a goodnight text, but let’s not anger her more.” He let out a small sigh, Pedro always texted you. Even if he went the whole day without responding, he made sure to send a goodnight text every night.

“Alright,” he muttered. “I’m gonna need you to get in contact with the school, she’ll have to go with her team to the tournament.”

“I’ll contact them, and Pedro?”

“Mande?”

She let out a deep breathe, “It’s gonna be fine.”

Pedro tried his hardest to give himself a smile, to reassure himself that it would be fine and eventually it’ll pass, but he couldn’t. At the moment his heart was utterly broken, he had broken a promise, what felt like a sacred vow and now he had disappointed you. It probably wouldn’t be the first, but he sure as hell, hopes it wouldn’t become a habit.

Over the past week, you only left your room to go to school and shower. Your cousins dropped off your food in your room every day, you felt like they were somehow on your side. Your friends eventually began to blow up your phone, not only had you been distant with your family, but you’ve also been distant with them.

You felt your phone vibrate beside you, you groaned at the thought of getting a phone call from anyone. Picking up the phone you realized it was one of your teammates, Cassandra, “Yeah?”

“Finally you pick up,” Cassandra muttered. “Look, a bunch of us are going to go on a drive later tonight with Justin’s brother, he just got his license and we wanted to know if you want to join.”

“Can’t.”

“Oh come on, Y/N! You’ve been so distant and what will it hurt? You’re dad isn’t home anyway so he can’t say anything!”

You let out a sigh, she had a point, “I still have curfew.”

“So? Sneak out.”

You had to admit that Cassandra was a bad influence. She wasn’t your best friend, she was one of the girls in your soccer team. She was part of the older group in the varsity team, but she always invited you out. Part of you felt like she only did it because of your dads social status which is why you always declined her offer. That and because your dad didn’t really approve of you hanging out with her, he could always tell when someone was a bad influence. But Cassandra was right, he wasn’t here.

“Fine.”

“Really?” Cassandra asked taken back by your response.

“Like you said, my dad isn’t here, so it shouldn’t matter right?”

“Trouble in paradise?” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, “What time should I be ready?”

“We’ll pick you up at midnight, we’ll shoot you a text when we’re down the block,” Cassandra said before she hung up the phone. You felt your nerves beginning to get worked up, you had no idea what you just got yourself into, yet something inside you felt carefree.

If your dad were home, you knew he wouldn’t approve of you going out so late. He definitely wouldn’t have approved of you going on a joy ride with someone you didn’t even know and had just gotten their license. He wasn’t here though.

You remained in your room while you waited, your Tia Javiera came to check on you before she went to bed. Soon after you heard your phone vibrate on your desk, for a moment you thought it was Cassandra but it was still an hour away from midnight. You glanced at your phone,

Goodnight, Mija ♥️

It was a message from your dad. You rolled your eyes and put your phone away. You spent the rest of your time getting ready, you wore something simple, but made sure to cover up from the cold. A few minutes past midnight you received a text from Cassandra saying that they were waiting down the block. You began to quietly make your way out of the house.

“Where you going?” you heard someone whisper.

You turned around to see your cousin Pedro in the middle of the kitchen, “Pedro, what are you doing up?”

He held up a sandwich, “where you going?”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, “I’m only going to be gone for an hour, it’s just a drive around the block with some friends.”

He chuckled, “I don’t care what you do, Y/N. I’ve been there before. Have fun and if you go to McDonalds bring me some fries, kay?”

You rolled your eyes, “whatever.” You playfully flipped him off before walking out of the house. You made sure to close the door softly behind you. Once you were in the clear you booked it down the street. You spotted Cassandra waving you down from a dark green Tahoe.

“This car is a piece of junk,” you commented as you got into the Tahoe.

“Hey, no disrespecting Hilda!” The driver who you assumed to be Jasons brother, exclaimed.

“She’s a piece of junk but she’s Marty’s piece of junk,” Jason commented.

“Correct!” Marty said. “Now let’s get this party started!”

Pedro woke up in a startle to the sound of his phone ringing, at first he had thought it was just his dream, but the sound slowly began to get louder and louder until finally he woke up. He groaned, “who the fuck is calling so early?” he muttered to himself.

“Hello?” he answered in an annoyed tone.

“Pedro?” he heard his sister on the other line, her voice sounded strain.

“Javiera?” Pedro quickly sat up.

“Pedro,” Javiera’s voice trembled, there was some ruffling sounds on the other line.

“Javiera?” No answer. “Javier, que te pasa?”

“Pedro?” Javiera’s husband had taken over the phone.

“Augustine? Que esta pasando?” (What’s happening) Pedro was no sitting on the side of his bed, he no longer felt drowsy.

Augustine sighed, “Pedro, no se como dicier te. Y/N snuck out a few hours ago,”

“Shit,” Pedro let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His mind had been racing to a million scenarios. “Well that’s a first,” he chuckled.

“Pedro,” Augustine said softly.

Pedro closed his eyes, the way Augustine said his name, he knew what it meant. “Is she okay?” Pedro asked as his voice trembled.

“She was in a car with a bunch of her friends and some drunk driver, he was driving over a hundred miles, the kid didn’t have a chance to react.”

“Augustine, is my baby okay?” Pedro was beginning to get ansty.

“She’s in the ICU,” Pedro could hear his sister crying in the background.

“Is she okay?” Pedro asked again.

“You need to get here as fast as possible, Pedro. She’s at Saint Mary’s Memorial Hospital, you know where that is?”

“Saint Mary’s, yeah,” Of course he knew where it was. He could never forget, it was the same hospital you were born at and now you were there again, but in different circumstances. Pedro was quick to hang up, calling his Director in the middle of night was something he would never do, unless it was something like this. Something like his daughter was hanging on by a thread and he didn’t care about anyones sleep, he just needed to get on the first plane back to New York.

The directors were understanding of the situation, they even helped Pedro get back to New York within the hour. He had never received treatment like that, but he was thankful for it.

Pedro had just a carry on, leaving most of his luggage back at the hotel with his assistant. He didn’t need much anyway, just the essentials.

Once he got out of the airport, he flagged down a taxi. The ride to the hospital seemed to be the longest ride ever. Pedro was anxious to get there, anxious to see you and to make sure you were okay. She’s in the ICU, Augustine’s voice kept repeating those words in his head like a broken record player. The sound of his sisters cries over the phone brought back memories he had thought he buried.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the brief halt of the car, Pedro looked out of the car window to see that he had arrived to his destination. “Thanks,” he said to the cab driver as he handed him some cash before bolting out of the car and into the hospital.

The sun was beginning to rise when Pedro finally arrived, he rushed over to the front desk. “May I help you, sir?”

“Uh- my, my daughter,” Pedro let out a shaky breath.

The receptionist knew that look too well, she had seen it so many times. “What’s the name?” she asked softly.

“Y/N Pascal.”

SHe was quick to type the name in, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was wait any longer. “Take the elevator to floor three.”

“Thank you!” Pedro ran over to the elevator, punch the button for floor three.

He ran out of the elevator once they opened.

“Pedro!” He heard his sister exclaim.

Pedro let out a sigh of relief, he ran over to her and gave her a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“It’s alright,” he looked over at his nephews, they both were distraught of the situation. “You boys okay?”

Young Pedro looked over at his uncle, tears in his eyes, “I should’ve stopped her, Tio. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he pulled his nephew into the hug. Pedro didn’t know why he was trying to comfort everyone at the moment, maybe a part of him felt like it was his responsibility because he felt so much guilt. “Where is she?”

“The doctors have her in surgery right now, she had some internal injuries they hoped to repair.” Pedro choked back the tears, he sat down on one of the chairs nearby. “They said by the looks of the crash site, she got the worse of it. She was sitting in the spot the car impacted with.”

Pedro pinched the bridge of his nose, “How bad is it?”

“The doctors said something about possible physical therapy,” Javiera added. “It’s still all unknown at the moment.”

“This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that, Pedro.”

“She isn’t that kind of kid, Javiera! She would’ve never done this unless she was really mad at me,” Pedro let out a shaky breath. Javiera placed a comforting hand on her brothers shoulder. “I can’t lose her, Javiera,” Pedro sobbed.

“I know,” she whispered. She let Pedro cry into her shoulder and he cried for a while. After about an hour, he began to calm down, everyone sat in silence as they waited for the doctors to come out. Hours passed by when finally a doctor walked out of the doubled doors and to the Pascal family.

“Family of Y/N Pascal?” the doctor nervously figeted with his hands.

Pedro stood up quickly, “How is she?”

The doctor cleared his throat, he never like this part of the job, speaking to the family. “There was a lot of damage and we did the best we could,” Pedro felt a sob make its way into his throat, he tried his best to hold it back, it wasn’t bad news yet. “But she’s steady now.” Pedro let out a deep breathe. “This isn’t the end of her journey yet, she has a long road of recovery. She’s lucky to be alive.”

Pedro had tears falling from his eyes, his baby girl was okay. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor, “Can I see her?”

“Of course, I’ll take you to her.” The doctor led Pedro through the doubled doors, “She’s in the post Surgery, we’ll be moving her back to the ICU later today.” The doctor stood beside one of the doors, “She’ll have a lot of wires surrounding her, it may look scary but it’s what’s keeping her alive. She might not wake up right away, if anything we don’t expect her to wake up for a few days. It’s common in severe crash victims,” the doctor explained. “The tube in her throat will be taken out once she can breathe on her own.”

“Can I touch her at least?”

The doctor nodded, “It’s like handling a newborn, you have to be a bit careful.” The doctor tried to give Pedro a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” he said softly before opening the door. The doctor was right, the way the wires surrounded you scared Pedro. “Oh baby girl,” he said softly as he walked up to the bed. “I’m sorry,” he let out a sob. He sat on the chair beside your bed, taking your hand into his, he placed a kiss on the top of your hand. “I’m sorry I broke our promise, but you need to wake up for me okay?” He slowly moved a strand of hair out of your face, careful to not touch the tubing and wires. “Te quiero mucho, Y/N. No puedo vivir sin ti.” (I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t live without you).

As the days passed, Pedro stayed beside your bedside during the day and during the night. He never left your bedside, not even to shower although he was beginning to get remarks about how he smelled. He didn’t care, he wanted to make sure he was there when you woke up.

It had been a full week and you still hadn’t woken up. The doctors were beginning to worry, they started to do more tests to make sure they didn’t miss anything before or to see if anything new showed up.

“Pedro, you need to go home and at least shower,” Augustine said as he placed a plate of food on a small table nearby.

“I’m fine,” Pedro said as he kept his eyes on you. Augustine sighed, it was no use, there was really nothing that was going to convince Pedro to leave the room.

“Come on, Cariño,” Pedro said softly. “You need to wake up.” he squeezed your hand gently. Pedro was about to let go when he felt you squeeze his hand, his eyes widen and he squeezed your hand again. Few seconds later your squeezed his hand, “Yes!” he exclaimed. He got up from his chair, “She squeezed my hand!” he yelled out to the nurses that were outside the door. They came rushing in, beginning to check your pupils and your vitals.

“Get the doctor,” one of them commanded the other.

The doctor was ecstatic to see the vitals go up, “Y/N, if you can hear me, squeeze your dads hand.” You squeezed your dads hand again. Seconds later your eyes fluttered opened, you winced at the brightness of the room. You felt something lodge in your throat, you lifted your arm to touch it, “no, no we’ll take it out for you, dear.”

“She’s awake,” Pedro said in disbelief.

“We’ll need to get the tubing out,” the doctor said. Pedro got up from his spot on the bedside, let the doctor take the tubing out from your mouth. “Your mouth is gonna feel dry for a couple of days, it’s common,” he began to say as he checked your pupils again. “Do you know where you are?”

“The-” you coughed, a nurse handed your cup of water. “The hospital?”

“Good, what year is it?”

“Twenty Twenty Three.”

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“And who’s that?” The doctor pointed over at your dad.

“My dad,” you said softly.

The doctor smiled, “We’ll run some more tests later,” he said to your dad, “I’ll leave you two alone for a now.”

Your dad thanked the doctor, he waited until they all left to go back to his spot by the bedside. You bothe remained quiet for a few minutes, one waiting for the other to speak. The other trying to get the courage to speak.

You let out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry,” you whisepred. “It was really stupid.”

Pedro shook his head, pulling you into a warm embrace, “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “All that matter is that you’re here and you’re alive.” He let go of the embrace, holding your head in his hands, “that’s all that matters to me right now, okay?” You gave him a nod, “I thought I was gonna lose you,” he choked out.

“I’m sorry,” you trembled.

“Que paso, Amor? How did it happen?”

You shrugged, “One second we were heading back and the next thing I know, I heard screaming and it was dark,” you sniffled. “Is everyone else okay?”

Your dad nods, “You got the worse of it. Cassandra was pretty shooken up, but they all got minor scratches and concussions.”

“Lucky me,” you said sarcastically. Your dad kissed the top of your head, “I really am sorry about everything.”

“No, I’m sorry, I broke a promise.”

“I overreacted,” you confessed.

“I don’t think you did,” he said softly. “I mean, I get it, we had a promise I wouldn’t break promises or cancel on you for work, especially with thing like your tournament. I wouldn’t let you become one of those kids with a book on how their parent was the worst parent ever.” you chuckled, causing your dad to smile, “I broke that promise and it scared you, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you and I’m sorry I overreacted and landed myself in the most expensive place on earth that isn’t Disneyland.”

Your dad let out a laugh, “Forgiven.”

“Forgiven,” you repeated. “Now, how bad is this?” you gestured to your broken leg, “Is my soccer career totaled?”

“Soccer career? I thought you wanted to become an actor like your old man?”

“Well, acting wasn’t my first choice, but depending on this, it might just become my first choice.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, “Well, you’ll have physical therapy for sure, but let’s talk about it when we get there.”

“Alright, but can we talk about something else?”

“Dime (tell me).”

“Can you go shower?” you scrunched up your nose, “I’m pretty sure your B.O. is what woke me up!”

Pedro rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright, I’ll call your tia over to be with you while I go shower.” Pedro watched as you covered your nose in exaggeration, usually he would say something petty, but right now he just wanted to admire you and the fact that you were still alive. “Te amo, mija.”

“Y yo a ti, papi,” you gave him a smile, knowing that everything was going to be okay and that if you did write a book in the future, it’d probably be about how you grew up blessed to be Pedro Pascal’s daughter.

Pedro Pascal Taglist: @Sophieelizabeth01 @tracysnookok @cilliansangel @change-the-world-someday @graciegoeskrazy

To be added CLICK HERE

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freckles-a-constellation · 3 months

Text

The Doctor is a tragic character in the best Greek tragedy tradition.

So y'all know how the most common driving factor for intelligence to develop in species is if they're social? (Octopi aren't very social but let's ignore that real quick, the Doctor's a vertebrate anyway so invertebrate intelligence can probably be dismissed as irrelevant) Because after a point, more intelligence isn't really needed to avoid danger or gather food. But more intelligence does make it possible to communicate more efficiently, form more complex social bonds, eventually develop culture. Cue why social species tend to be more intelligent than solitary ones of otherwise comparable lifestyle. And cue why humanity is the way it is.

Now look at Gallifreyans. (I am purposefully ignoring the Timeless Child thing bc I don't rlly believe it and besides, even assuming it's true, The Doctor is similar enough to Gallifreyans to have flawlessly believed himself/themselves/herself to be one for 13+ regenerations, so anything that can be concluded to be true from analysis of Gallifreyans has good basis to be presumed true about the Doctor, whatever the fuck semantics you wanna use) So, Gallifreyans. A species much more advanced than according to DW canon humanity will ever be. More intelligent than humanity. High levels of education and not on the basis of private tutoring. Lives in cities. Has complex language and technology capable of instantly translating pretty much any language of any other species to be understandable to them. (Hell the TARDIS consistently still translates shit to English for the companions while they're outside it.) Complex social structure. That's one fucking social species.

And it gets better. The TARDIS is meant to be operated by a team of six. And even if River was joking about six, it's still clear that it should at least be more than one. Compare the Doctor steering the TARDIS alone to when he was with Susan. I mean, even those two looked like they could use an extra hand. Have you ever seen a human private use vehicle designed with 2+ pilots in mind? Definitely a species more social than humanity.

And the telepathy thing? Hello? Insanely, mind-boggingly social species.

Now take a being this fundamentally social and do something to them so that they see no recourse other than to take one (1) same-species (as far as he was aware disclaimer ig) companion, steal a ship they have little to no clue how to pilot, leave everything and everyone they've ever known and run without ever stopping for breath, no matter how much they miss home, no matter if it hurts. (And I do believe something must have happened to make him run like that, since the beggining, way before the Time War) Have them be scorned, judged, punished, mistreated and rejected by their species, again and again, for ages. Have them love, again and again, only to always lose everyone they've cared about, through abandonment or death. Have them essentially be forced to exterminate their whole species and believe themselves to be the last of their kind, only to be proven wrong by the whole Master situation, which alright is better, but also in some ways is worse. Have them, once again, form deep bonds with companions and once again lose all of them in various varyingly tragic ways until they have no hope left that anyone can ever truly stay for any amount of time even close to satisfactory, that love can for them end in anything but loss and pain. And they can't even avoid love altogether in an effort to spare themselves the inevitable agony of losing loved ones, because they're incapable of not growing to care for those around them. And they can't be without company either, because their sanity goes straight to hell in a handbasket within like,, 5 minutes of being alone.

Let me remind you this is not a human we're talking about. It's a member of a species much more inherently social than humanity. My point?

The Doctor is literally more lonely than the human brain can comprehend.

#*shoves this at any and all unfortunate people*#doctor who #the doctor #classic who #nuwho #doctor who meta #or at least i think it is?#first doctor #war doctor #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thoughts tm

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hard-core-super-star · 8 months

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Hiya, may I request something for Kate bishop.

(Peter could be rs cousin or something.) Reader (who is spiderwoman and dating Kate), Kate and Yelena help Peter Parker (T. Holland) with the villains from the other earth's and as a result green goblin ends up killing aunt May and she seeks out revenge for may and almost kills green goblin but Yelena and kate stop her. (Oh, and Peter is the only one who is forgotten)

no such thing as good grief [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x parker!reader

summary: you always knew being a superhero came with a long list of dangers but it turns out you weren't quite ready to deal with someone else suffering for your mistakes.

warnings: major character death; heavy mentions of blood + injuries + grief; a huge serving of angst with a side of hurt/comfort, a dash of humor, and a sprinkle of plot; weird descriptions of fight scenes

wordcount: 3.2k

a/n: i probably should have rewatched no way home for this but shhh. any inconsistencies are just part of this other timeline because i said so and the MCU timeline is incredibly messy anyway. i very clearly got way too attached and wrote way too much but whoops, hope you enjoy <3 [also yes, may is R's mom in this but somewhere along the way, i resorted to just calling her 'may' instead 'mom' because I didn't want it to get too repetitive]

* * * * * * *

Nobody ever said being an Avenger was easy.

Especially now that most members are either dead, retired, off-world, or just simply unreachable. Nobody wanted to address the fact that the safety of planet Earth now rests solely in the hands of a bunch of college students and a Russian ex-assassin.

Of course, there’s still Dr. Strange and his merry band of sorcerers, including Wong, but it seems the only thing that man can successfully protect is his massive ego. It’s harsh, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

Although, maybe you’re just bitter that Stephen’s soft spot for your cousin ultimately got you tangled in a mess you had no business being in.

A crack in the multiverse is bad enough but it being caused by one of Stephen's failed spells is even worse.

And of course, Peter's seniority when it comes to being part of a superpowered team means when he calls, you answer. There’s also the fact that he’s family and your mom would absolutely lecture you if you ignored him…again.

You really wanted to sit this one out but there was no way your girlfriend was going to let you. You tried all the tricks you knew to convince her but ultimately, her and Yelena ended up dragging you out of your apartment to help Peter fix his multiversal disaster.

“So, your plan to defeat these villains is to…not defeat them?” You question. “In what universe does that make sense?”

“Don’t be a jerk, y/n/n,” Kate mumbles.

You playfully roll your eyes at the archer’s words, biting back a comment about how rare it is to see her actually attempting to focus on forming a plan. She’s gotten a lot better at not rushing into situations but old habits die hard.

“Actually, it’s May’s plan,” Peter says. “I know it’s unconventional but I think it could work. We’re the good guys, right?”

Yelena shoots you a look but you just shrug in response. Fighting with him will only lead to more problems that you’re not sure you’re qualified to solve. Actually, none of you are qualified for any of this.

Webs, arrows, and strong punches are not going to get you out of this one.

You swallow down your hesitation and give Peter a small nod. “Right. What do you need us to do?”

Step 1, according to your annoying Spider-Cousin, is to pick up a few materials for him while he takes the misplaced villains to Happy’s condo. You don’t love the idea of being an errand girl but you already agreed to help and there’s no way Kate will let you take your words back.

Her loyalty is as admirable as it is annoying. But at least you get to spend time driving around New York with your two favorite people. And by driving you really mean sitting in the backseat with Kate while Yelena complains about how much harder it is to drive a car than a motorcycle.

Step 1 takes about an hour to complete and it’s not until you’re all heading to Happy’s place that your girlfriend decides to question you and your lack of trust in Peter’s plan.

“Since when are you so cynical?” She asks, her arm loosely wrapped around your waist.

“Me?” The question catches you off-guard and you turn your face away from the car window to look at her instead. “I'm not the one shooting arrows through people’s limbs.”

“It’s not like I’m killing people.”

“Neither am I,” you reply with a shrug. “I'm just saying to send them back to their universe.”

“So they can die,” she says, her tone making her statement sound more like a question than anything else.

“Well…yeah.”

It sounds brutal when said out loud but it’s the logical choice. Keeping them in your universe isn’t an option and there’s no telling what kind of damage Peter’s plan will have on those other timelines.

“And you don’t think that’s cruel?”

“Should I?” You look away from Kate’s eyes before you get distracted from the conversation at hand due to the puppy-dog look they’ve been carrying the past few minutes. “Yelena, you wanna help me out here?”

“You’re gonna get the heartless Russian assassin to help you prove your point?” She asks with a chuckle.

“Ex-assasin,” the blonde corrects her. “And I am not heartless. But y/n is right. What is that stupid saying? Something about a circus?”

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so if you’re so against this plan why did you agree to it?” Kate finally asks the million-dollar question.

The answer is a lot more complicated than one would think and you’re not in the mood to explain why the plan being your mom’s idea means so much to you. So, you take a page out of the archer’s book and reply with a stupid joke instead.

“You think May would have been fine with me letting Peter run around on his own?”

Yelena’s reply is just as witty as yours. “I am only here because someone has to babysit you while y/n babysits Spider-Boy.”

“You guys are jerks.” There are notes of humor in her voice that she tries to wipe away with an overdramatic pout.

You chuckle and lean in to kiss her, ignoring Yelena’s complaints about how annoyingly in love you two are.

The moment is a welcome respite from a chaotic and difficult situation.

A situation that only gets worse with every minute that goes by.

The three of you finally arrive at Happy’s condo and are led inside by your overly chipper cousin. You try to ignore the way the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the mere sight of the supervillains scattered all around the living room.

You’re probably just being paranoid. That’s what you tell yourself until Peter lets it slip that he’s not the only person watching over the time-scattered villains.

You grab a hold of his arm and lead him away from Kate and Yelena, more for his sake than yours if you’re being honest. “What do you mean my mom is here? Why the hell would you bring her into this mess?

“I didn’t do anything!” He responds. “She wanted to help. You know how she is.”

If you had a nickel every time he used that excuse you’d be as rich as your girlfriend.

“This is different, Pete! It’s not just her bringing us snacks while we fix our web shooters, this is serious.”

“Which is exactly why she should be here. We need all the help we can get to do this. You have no problem with Kate being here, why is May different?”

It takes you a second to be able to reply, your brain not fully computing his audacity to make such a flippant comparison. “Because she’s not a superhero, you dimwit! She’s the only family I have left, I am not letting her get hurt because you convinced her to help us.”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, relax. She can take care of herself.”

All you can really do is groan since it’s obvious no amount of arguing will get him to change his mind and help you convince May to go home. There’s also the fact that she probably wouldn’t listen to you even if you managed to get Peter on your side.

“Fine. Just tell me what to do so we can wrap up this shitshow.”

You ignore his very obvious sigh of relief and focus on lending the helping hand you promised earlier. Help that makes you ignore your growing unease and leaves you unprepared for the violent turn things take.

You’re not even sure how it happens.

One second you and Kate are arguing about how Sandman’s powers even work while Yelena and May help administer Dr. Ock’s cure and the next you’re watching Green Goblin turn the rest of the misplaced villains against all of you.

Your one and only thought is on getting your mom out of here unscathed but it quickly becomes clear you won’t be able to just swing her to safety. There’s no plan, or even time to think things through, there’s only a tense atmosphere and an inkling that things won’t go well no matter what you do.

Green Goblin’s taunts ring in your ears right as Electro blasts Dr. Ock out the window. Kate shoots you a look you can’t ignore and you hold on to the silent promise that she’ll be okay without you.

You dive out the window without a second thought, barely managing to shed your hoodie and reveal the Spider Suit hidden beneath your clothes. (Peter can keep all his fancy little upgrades, nothing beats the classic suit in your opinion)

You manage to help Dr. Ock before he slams into the ground with equal parts teamwork and a staggering amount of webs.

He assures you he’s fine once you manage to get onto a nearby roof, not so subtly doing his best to get rid of a few webs that are stuck to his clothes. You shoot him an apologetic smile before jumping off the roof and swinging back to the now blacked-out building.

You ignore the swarm of cop cars and news vans that litter the front of the building and impulsively divide to crash through a window into the lobby, figuring it’ll be faster to find May and your team this way.

You jump onto your feet after your literal crash landing only to find Kate and Peter in the middle of fighting Green Goblin. A part of you screams to run and find your mom but then Osborn kicks Kate’s bow out of her hand and your body reacts faster than your mind can even comprehend.

“Hey, asshole!” You shoot a web at his leg and yank him backward. “Get your hands off of her.”

He stumbles but doesn’t fall the way you anticipated. Instead, he turns to look at you, that chilling smirk still plastered on his face. “What is it with you Parkers and your savior complex?”

Your first instinct is to run at him but you catch the archer’s look as she runs to help a badly injured Peter. If it’s a distraction she needs, that’s exactly what you’ll provide.

“It’s part of our charming personality.”

You shrug and shoot at him again, managing to pull his focus toward the barrage of webs you send his way.

You expect to keep him occupied until Peter and Kate catch their breath but instead, May rushes out of the stairway, a bleeding Yelena trailing behind her, and she injects the so-called cure into the back of Osborn’s neck.

The cure doesn’t work. All it does is send the Green Goblin into a fit of rage.

You urge May to run in between Osborn’s taunts directed mainly at you and Peter. She doesn’t listen and you’re too distracted to notice the deadly glider that hovers just outside the window.

By the time Kate warns you it’s too late.

The blast it creates when it crashes in sends you flying onto the ground. All the air gets knocked out of your lungs from the impact but you don’t get time to lay there and recover.

You somehow manage to get back onto your feet right as Osborn sends a bomb flying your way. You just barely manage to web it and throw it to the side before it goes off, sending bits of debris raining down onto all of you.

There’s the distinct sound of Kate’s boots running toward you, Yelena’s Russian curse words, and a part of you that tells you to go check on May. There’s no chance in hell that you’re letting Green Goblin get away though so you swallow down your pain from aching joints and bleeding cuts and run after him.

You arrive outside just in time to watch him throw another bomb that you’re too slow to stop.

The explosion throws you back onto the ground and you groan as you land on a piece of glass. You’re breathless and bleeding and it’s only then that the guilt crashes into you at once.

This time, your attempt to stand is far less balanced and you stumble onto a familiar frame. “Hey, hey, easy. There’s no rush, babe.”

You happily accept Kate’s embrace, the familiarity of her comforting touch soothing some of your pain. “You okay?”

“Yeah, nothing some band-aids and a nap won’t fix.”

Hearing the usual humor in her tone brings you back to reality…which brings your mind back to your mom and the way you so recklessly rushed outside without knowing if she was injured. “How about Peter and May? They okay?”

Your girlfriend’s silence never means anything good and in this context, it makes your heart drop to your stomach in an instant. You’re about to question her again when Yelena’s voice stops you.

“We need to get out of here before the cops arrive…again.”

You push your injured body away from Kate’s, searching for the answer you don’t want to hear. “Kate…”

“I’m sorry.” She avoids your eyes as she responds. “Peter tried but it was already too late. She’s gone, y/n.”

You don’t hear anything she says after that.

It’s strange the way the world slows to a stop around you while your overwhelmed brain tries to process the Earth-shattering information. Strange how a second ago everything seemed to make sense and now you’re left gasping for breath, reaching for answers you know don’t matter.

The how, the why, the what. None of that matters.

May is dead.

And there’s nothing you could have done to stop it despite the powers, and the gadgets, and the hours of training.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye before she-

“y/n, it’s not your fault.”

“Listen to Kate Bishop, she’s finally right for once.”

“Hey!”

Their attempt to comfort you turns into chaotic bickering but you don’t pay attention to their words. You can’t think about anything except the gaping hole in your chest that had once been full of May’s knowing looks and thoughtful words.

Kate’s right.

It’s not your fault. Or May’s. Or even Peter’s. There’s only one man to blame for this.

And you’re sure as hell going to make him regret his choice to mess with your family.

“y/n.” Kate’s voice manages to cut through the hate-filled fog that’s starting to cover your mind. “y/n, don’t.”

You don’t listen to her words, you don’t even take in the way she so easily knows what you’re thinking, you just do what you’ve always done: keep moving.

You successfully escape your girlfriend’s embrace and start running. You’re not sure where you’re going or how you’re going to find him but the plan will come later. Right now, you just need to do something before the grief consumes you.

Kate yells after you but there’s no way she’ll be able to chase after you. Especially once you start swinging from building to building.

The hours pass by in between blurs of rain, tears, and the occasional wall you end up crashing into. Your phone blows up with missed calls and countless texts but you don’t care.

The entire world could crash and burn without you for all you care. The light within your own world has already been extinguished.

Your search ends up leading you right to the Statue of Liberty where you’re not at all surprised to find a chaotic battle going on. Maybe you should have checked your phone to get caught up with the plan but that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that you’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for. And your mind is dead-set on your objective.

You ignore the rest of the fights going on, including the look of pain and relief on Kate’s face once she sees you swing past her, and hone in on Peter.

You're still bleeding and there's a sharp pain in your leg you can't ignore but your injuries don't matter. All that matters is avenging May.

You land next to Peter without a word, the venom in your eyes saying more than your voice could. You're both fighting for the same thing but you have no doubt he's still pulling his punches.

Something you have no intention of doing.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to join the fun,” Green Goblin taunts. “Too tired of running after your dead parents?”

“Shut your mouth,” you reply as you step toward him. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

That only makes him laugh. “Trust me, pain makes you stronger. You'll see, all I have to do is take away your pretty little girlfriend next and you'll understand.”

There's no hesitation left in your body once you hear those words.

You lunge forward, tackling Osborn to the ground. That stupid smirk doesn't leave his face even while you rain down punches on him.

“Come on! Is that all you can do? What's the point of two Spider-Idiots if one is too weak to fight?”

You know he's only taunting you. Trying to push your buttons and get you to break. Too bad that's exactly what you want to do.

Every time he pushes you back, you kick him back twice as hard. You stumble and get punched in the face enough times to make your ears ring but you don't dare stop.

You don't even think.

You just punch and punch and punch until Osborn’s on the ground, his witty mouth finally silent.

Seeing him like this only serves to remind you of what you've lost, of the pain that's taken hold of your every thought and move. You lift your hand to shoot a web at his forgotten glider when a voice stops you dead in your tracks.

“y/n?”

The mere sound of your name coming out of Kate’s mouth in that desperate tone is enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You already know what she's going to say so you speak up first. “I have to.”

“No, you don't. You've done enough, okay? You can walk away.”

You look down at your hands, at the bloody mess you've left behind, and the tears start falling before you can stop them.

The hand that pulls you up doesn't belong to the archer but it's full of an understanding only Yelena could be capable of. “Go on, Spider-Boy and I got this.”

You nod, too numb and overwhelmed to fully accept the weight of what you've done. Of what you almost did.

“Kate?” You call out as you finally turn around to face her.

“I’m right here.” She greets you with the same soft look and warm smile you fell in love with, nothing but compassion in her gaze.

You all but collapse into her waiting arms, your shoulders slumped as you finally give in to the all-consuming grief that lingers in every breath you take.

The sounds of the chaos around you fades into nothingness.

All you can hear is Kate's soft reassurances and the steady beat of her heart. You don't need anything else than that right now. Despite how strong the urge for revenge had been.

You just need your girlfriend…and a long nap.

Peter watches the scene with a small, albeit sad, smile on his face. There's a weight on his chest that even fixing his mistakes won't take away.

But at least he knows you won't be alone. The spell will make you and everyone else he loves forget about him but at least you'll still have Kate.

It'll be hard but he has no doubt you'll be able to rebuild and find the light inside of yourself that May always believed was there. Flickering underneath all the pain of your past.

Now you and Kate can shine together.

Without him and the chaos he unnecessarily brought into your life.

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop fic #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop #yelena belova #peter parker #hawkeye #black widow #spiderman #hawkeye fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #wlw fic #wlw #writing

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wren-kitchens · 7 months

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happy halloween! this is an idea me and stiff were talking about last night and of course I forgot about it until the very last minute soo

“your costume is stupid, by the way.”

jimmy squawks in surprise, almost falling over his own feet as he stumbles backwards from the voice. he knows even before he looks that it’s joel—who else would go out of their way to let him know that his ‘costume’ is stupid. he can’t decide whether or not to be offended by this—after all, it isn’t even a costume.

every halloween, jimmy has debated going as his true form- as a canary, and every halloween, jimmy has backed out and gone in one of the cheap costumes he found at the corner shop. after all, what if people found out that he is a canary? what would they think if they knew they had an omen of death in their house? maybe they’d connect the dots, just as jimmy has, and they’d realise that jimmy is more than just clumsy- than just unlucky.

but this halloween, jimmy confessed about being unsure whether to wear his ‘costume’ or just use the same dracula one that still has pizza stains from last year. joel being joel, of course, told him that it’s no use getting het up about some silly old costume, and that he should wear what he wants. (joel also said he’d look dumb either way, but it was said with love and jimmy is choosing to ignore it.)

and so.. here he is. in all his canary glory. big ol’ omen of death, ready to bring all his friends to their graves. this was a very bad idea.

“I thought you said to wear what I wanted?” jimmy says, with a distinct lack of the indignation he was trying to muster.

“yeah but- canaries aren’t scary.” joel (who has come as a werewolf this year—tail, ears and everything) is grinning. there’s a distinct fondness to it that seems entirely unconscious, and jimmy can’t exactly take the attempted insult to heart.

“yes they are!” jimmy scowls. that kind of thinking is going to get joel killed someday. “besides, it’s not like youroutfit is scary either.”

joel splutters, and jimmy can’t help the snort at how offended he looks. “wh- i’m a wolf! i’m so scary!”

“you look more like a puppy.” jimmy teases. “you’re less scary and more.. cute.”

joel’s jaw drops and jimmy laughs. it’s been so long, he realises, since he’s been able to laugh so genuinely about something.

“okay, mr canary.” joel says, folding his arms. “at least dogs can actually hurt you.”

the nickname of ‘mr canary’ hits jimmy like a smack in the face. “canaries mean that death is coming. they’re dangerous- more dangerous than a dog.”

joel scoffs. “lad- canaries stop death. they actually prevent danger.”

it’s as if all the air has been knocked out of jimmy’s lungs. “they- they what?” he manages.

“they stop death.” joel repeats, gentler. he’s clearly confused as to why this elicited such a reaction from jimmy, but he keeps going. “y’know they- when they’re in the mines, they warn the miners of gas, so the miners can get out before they all die. canaries stop death.”

and- fuck. he had it so wrong all this time. all these years of fearing for the lives of his friends simply because he was with them, all these years of believing that his very existence was a curse to those around him, all these years of hating who he was..

it was all a lie.

canaries stop death.

“so see, your costume is-“

joel doesn’t manage to finish his sentence because jimmy is upon him, burying his face in joel’s hair, wrapping his arms around him, tears pouring down his face. all this time, all this time.

“thank you.” jimmy whispers through his grief.

“‘course dude.” joel whispers back, his own voice breaking a little. what a sap. “I, uh- it isn’t a costume, is it?”

“how could you tell?” jimmy laughs a little, and he’s still crying, but he’s so happy.

“just- just a hunch.” joel jokes back, squeezing him tighter. “do you- do you wanna go somewhere a little more private, or are you cool to sob in front of the punch bowl a bit more?”

jimmy snorts as he pulls back and wipes his eyes. “the punch should be left alone in this time of crisis.”

#they’re so silly #there’s more to this idea but I didn’t have time GJDHD #it is tECHNICALLY STILL HALLOWEEN #I HAVE AN HOUR OKAY #if you guys want i’ll maybe make a part two :eyes:#wren writes #jimmy solidarity #joel smallishbeans #canary jimmy #(joel is a wolf but that’s not expanded upon yet)#trafficblr

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magnusbae · 5 months

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I mean, I can't NOT prompt "Emotions are a luxury I don't have time for." with Dreamling 👀

🤘 five-and-dimes

OKAY ADMITTEDLY it does fit Dreamling very well doesn't it—? I was going to give half an hour per piece and accidently digressed way too much with this one..... whoops...? Thank you for the prompt dear 🥰💖

Dreamling || 1,174w || lowkey hurt/comfort but with ~hope

▾▾▾

“Don’t you feel anythi— fuck.” Hob stops, forcing the words back down with a thick swallow. He cannot afford himself to speak in anger, no matter how badly it burns in his veins, no matter how scourged by Dream’s aloofness he is. It doesn’t matter that he should have the right for anger. Dream is simply not a being you could, or should, be angry with if you hope to keep him in your life.

Angry or not, justified or not. Hob wants him in his life, very much.

“Dream, listen.” Hob starts, running a hand over his own face, nails scratching uncomfortably over the side of his cheek. “I get it, okay.” He really doesn’t but this is not the point “but seriously, you do have feelings, I know that you have…” his voice wavers and he gestures at the space between them, unable to voice it lest Dream would flee again. “Please.” his voice strains with the burden of it all. Wanting so much, needing so much—being forbidden from even voicing it, let alone having it.

"Emotions are a luxury I don't have time for.” Dream’s voice is deep, booming, as aloof as it could possibly get. He sounds like he’s reading a ready-made script, like he’s following the lines long since prepared.

Hob recoils, physically takes a step back, wants a distance between himself and Dream’s rejection. He should have expected it, in fact, he assumed he might get worse and yet— “Bulshit.” The short silence that follows is pregnant with tension, both momentarily silenced by Hob’s boldness. Hob is as surprised by it as Dream, apparently is.

Dream comes around first, eyebrows knotting, storms cracking in the depths of his eyes. His lips thin, the corners tug down and then he opens his mouth to deliver what Hob is sure would be either a really bad reprimand or his final words to him.

He cannot have it. If only for the simple fact that he doesn’t only want Dream in his life, but factually needs him. He doesn’t know what’s life would be worth without knowing that in the end of every story there will be Dream to share it with, a confidant, a keeper of his journey.

“I think that you’re afraid—” the words rush out without a thought, he steps forward, hurrying to finish before this would blow out of proportion “—because I know that I am petrified.” The words burn true on his tongue, there’s a dull ache in his chest, his lungs feel too full and empty of air. “I am horrified that you might leave, I am terrified that you might not lo— accept this, I am…” he swallows, his throat is closing with the emotion of it all. He cannot stop, not now that he had finally started. “I get it Dream, I know that you are, that we are… different but…. “ His hand falls by his side, no amount of gesturing would express what he feels.

He runs out of words. He was so certain he had them all when this conversation started, now he can hardly even remember what brought it about. He didn’t prepare for it as well as he thought, he doesn’t know how to word it, how to phrase it in a way that would convince Dream to give this, them, a chance. Damn.

His chin drops and he stares at the ground, burning disappointment makes his hand tremor. He closes his fist.

He is no poet, no storyteller, no writer. He is no Dream to pick and choose the right words. He’s only a man. Only a man who loves a being beyond his comprehension, very, very much.

Fuck, fuck it all. Fuck. He is about to lose him, isn’t he?

The pain in his gut is a twisting thing, like a knife slicing through the guts. Shitty death, he’d know. He dares to glance up when Dream doesn’t speak, half expecting to see him gone. Instead, there’s something softer in Dream’s eyes when he meets them. For the first time, Hob’s attention is drawn to the unnatural void in those eyes, the glint of distant stats. This is…

“Am I…” his mind struggles through the spell of dizziness, his consciousness readjusting its grasp of the surroundings. The shadows are longer, the shapes are bent a little too far, the colors are not quite right.

“I am dreaming.” He understands when he finally sees the landscape for what it is, Dream, for who he is. “Oh shit.” His cheeks color red, he is aware of the incredibly uncomfortable material of the shirt he used to wear some few hundreds years ago.

“I yanked you into my dream, haven’t I.” This is, even more than before, not how he had hoped to confess. Not even close.

“Hob,” Dream’s voice bleeds to every fiber of the dream-scape, infusing it with power, making it feel tangible, more clear, in focus. “You dream very loudly.” There’s an odd note to his voice, if Hob was to attempt and pinpoint it, he’d have to admit it sounds like astonishment.

“Sorry,” he answers, abashed. “I, uh, suppose you can’t just…” he gestures at his own head with a motion that resembles wiping chalk off of a board. “Maybe…?” he adds, hopefully.

He doesn’t regrets his feelings. He would, though, like to at least be awake when Dream rejects him, It feels only proper.

The idea of simply not raising it up at all is one that had crossed his mind frequently, and yet he knows that sooner or later he’d slip again, that he wouldn’t be able to to continue pretending like this isn’t an integral part of who he is, like this isn’t something that he feels.

Sooner or later, he’d tell Dream of The Endless that he is helplessly, hopelessly, truly and deeply— in lov…

A finger again his lips distracts him from his thoughts. “Very loudly.” Dream scolds quietly, wistfully. He sighs then, the weight of it almost buckles Hob’s knees. Dream seems to ready himself, like he is expecting a great deal of suffering and is braving himself for it. He looks exhausted. Worn down. Won over.

Hob immediately dislikes that look, it speaks too much of Dream’s past. Too much of what had made Dream as closed off as he is. Too much of what hurt him so badly. Hob wants him to be…

“Very well, Hob Gadling.” Dream’s words distract Hob from his thoughts again “We shall speak of it further in the waking world, according to your wishes.” Dream looks away into the distance, his finger lingering on Hob’s lower lip, it’s cool. “I must go now, so long.”

He does not sat farewell. Hob’s mind centers around it. Between one eye blink and another, Dream is gone, golden sand scattering behind.

“What…?” Hob’s mind is already fuzzing into an incoherent haze of shapes and shadows, only distantly concerned with what just transpired.

Only vaguely he wonders if he should feel loss, or…not?

#Listen I had no idea what I was going for as I started and didn't for the entire time. BUT STILL.#My only rule for tonight's write-in is to go along with anything regardless of my personal feelings about the matter XD #So here we are~ I hope you like it!! 💖💖💖#Dreamling #Dreamling fic #The sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream #hob #buns.w #buns.all #msg #I absolutely should stick to 200-300 words and no rewrites moving on though esgterhbrtdthrt #five-and-dimes

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fabled-lady-twilla · 26 days

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Hi, I'm Twilla and I'm currently in the process of writing a ShigaDeku Dystopia/Soulmate AU fic that no one, and I mean literally NO ONE, asked for! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why do I always join fandoms late and why do I always somehow end up loving/shipping the rarepairs in fandoms that barely anyone likes or wants to read about lmao? 🥺👉👈

I just finished reading the latest manga chapter, watched all six seasons, and binged all three movies. I am absolutely BURSTING with ideas of where I want this story to go. I want to at least post the first chapter by the time ShigaDeku Week 2024 is here next month. :)

In my fic timeline, the MHA canon story line doesn't happen until Class 1-A's third year, and since my story is set six years after their graduation, most of the main characters are in their mid to late twenties. My story starts after the Quirk Affliction, a strange illness that begins killing off Quirk-users all around to world, resulting in a massive a death toll that causes civilized society to collapse.

Anyways, here's the general synopsis:

The Final War was over before it had even begun. With the onset of the Quirk Affliction, a mysterious illness that disproportionately targeted the Quirks of heroes over the Quirks of villains, the world was left defenseless as it plunged into a new era of chaos and devastation.

It’s been six years since the onset of the Affliction and the death of All Might. Six years since the world’s heroes, and the society they desperately fought to protect, have crumbled into dust in Shigaraki Tomura’s hands.

From the ashes of this destruction, Japan’s new regime was born. The country was split into three territories, each with its own Grand Commander, united in nothing save for one singular rule: life for those who submit, and death for those who do not.

As Grand Commander of the largest and most plentiful of Japan’s territories, Shigaraki has lived the last six years reaping the fruits of his labors and taking pride in helping his Sensei accomplish his dream. But as of late, Tomura has been having strange dreams of his own: hazy memories of an abandoned park, of blooming wisteria trees, of laughter and freckles and forest green eyes.

Midoriya Izuku, now Quirkless due to the Affliction, has not stopped his pursuit of helping others, despite the world — and everything in it — turning itself upside down. Izuku dreams of a brighter future, and strangely enough, dreams of his long-lost childhood friend, Shimura Tenko.

The same Tenko that Izuku had unknowingly befriended as a young boy. The same Tenko who’d stopped him from jumping off the rooftop all those years ago. The same Tenko that, Izuku realized with horror, was now the monster known as Shigaraki Tomura.

Unfortunately, Izuku learns all too late that having a Soulbond with the King of Villains comes with a heavy cost. Shigaraki seems hell-bent on keeping Izuku as close to him as possible, believing Izuku to be his Soulmate, and thus, Shigaraki’s only true weakness, stirring up an ill-fated romance that neither has prepared themselves for.

As a new calamity encroaches upon them in the form of a mad man attempting to become a god, the heroes and villains must find a way to work together and solve the mystery of the Affliction before it destroys the world and everything they hold dear.

✨ P l e a s e ✨ let me know if you're interested in hearing about this by either, liking, reblogging, or sending me a PM. I'm working really hard to get the first chapter of this out by ShigaDeku Week 2024 in May!

Thank you so much for reading. 💚💚💚

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meyousing · 1 year

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𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: chrollo + prompt 9 “i’m going to show you just how much i love you.” 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: all you ever craved was a true lover; one who would act like the classic, chivalrous gentleman. perhaps you should have been a little more careful with what you wished for. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: yandere, clingy chrollo, sfw but very light nsfw at the end, power imbalance, major manipulation. love you to death is one of the best songs ever.

You always dreamed of having the ideal boyfriend, as anyone would, really. You wished to have a boyfriend who did things for you in a timeless way, like a true hopeless romantic would. Things like bringing you flowers before your first date, peppering polite kisses across your knuckles in greeting. Though you’d long wished that dream a bittersweet farewell, as the only men you had encountered nowadays would simply skip the greetings all together and get straight to the only thing they really cared about; asking for your nudes. When the amount of men that you were meeting with the same motives started to grow excessive, you simply stopped trying. You could get used to the discouragement if you persisted and held out hope for that one perfect guy, but that didn’t mean you wanted to keep dealing with the shitty ones. If having your true wants met meant holding off for a bit, you could live with that for some time.

But then, not too long after adopting this mindset, you met Chrollo. Chrollo, who always held the door for you, who always pulled your chair out before you sat down, who always gave you his coat when he noticed that your skin was starting to prickle with goosebumps. Your idea to stop trying–to stop seeking a boyfriend out so soon, was a blessing in disguise. You simply had to wait for the right person to come to you, and boy, did divine timing work its magic. Chrollo was that one perfect guy that you dreamt of.

You grew close and intimate with him very quickly, you felt comfortable describing your past woes to him; complaining about the types of people you encountered before, expressing how grateful you were to have met him and how he was a dream come true. Any time you talked about it, he would smile and kiss the corner of your lips, telling you how worthy of love you were, and how it made him so happy to know he was the one giving you that love. You never could have expected how deadset he would become on proving that to you.

Initially, you were not concerned. You knew that the honeymoon phase was a thing, the time where you two just wanted to be absolutely suffocated with one another until you couldn’t breathe, and maybe even beyond that point! But when Chrollo started visiting you every day, getting into your apartment while you were at work, when you hadn’t given him a key…you tried not to read too much into it at first, because you were delighted to come home to your boyfriend! It was something that felt so cute and domestic, something you had always wanted. He would routinely greet you at the door, bringing you into his warm arms and guiding you over to the living room to snuggle the night away. You’d persist in getting up eventually, because you had to get some chores done before bed, but he would only shush you, insisting that he would do them for you later.

But he never did. And you never got a chance to either, because your routine evolved into the same scenario. Every single day. You would wake up in Chrollo’s embrace, squirming around as you tried to gather your bearings, noticing how you were still laying on the couch, trapped beneath his body. You would try to sit up and stretch your neck, which always developed a knot through the night from sleeping against a surface harder than your bed. Of course, this couldn’t happen–every time you tried to move, Chrollo would stir.

“What are you doing, beloved?” he would ask, the arms encircling your waist moving to let his hands rub your back soothingly–lullingly. “Stay here, you deserve to rest. Let me love you.”

“I have to go to work soon” you would hum, lazily throwing your arms around his shoulders.

Well, he simply did not care if you had somewhere to go. He was stronger than you, and by laying on you, if he didn’t move; neither could you. You started to miss work, and not just literally. Work provided an escape for you, a short intermission away from all of the smothering from Chrollo that was starting to give you more anxiety than relaxation. You never got an opportunity to say anything formally to your boss, but with the sudden string of absences, you were sure that you had been fired at this point.

His hands roaming along your body no longer soothed you, they scared you. They reminded you of the control he started to exert; what he says, goes.

It was also the fact that his tone was so soft and sweet when he decided what you were and were not allowed to do, that you didn’t even question him.

He followed you around the house when he allowed you to get up, whether it was something as miniscule as making dinner, or as private as using the bathroom. Otherwise, you were condemned back to that damn couch for more cuddles.

It had been days of this. Maybe a week, maybe even longer. Days were starting to blend together, it was becoming harder to tell. The dishes you wanted to wash days prior had gone untouched, now with a larger pile on top of them since the last few meals you and Chrollo made. You were sure that with the lack of vacuuming, dust and debris were starting to accumulate all over the apartment, effectively creating a pig sty that you were forcibly ignorant to.

He had also hidden your phone, insisting that the only thing you needed to focus on was him, so as a result you hadn’t spoken to your friends or family at all since this began. They must have been wondering what happened to you, spamming you with texts and calls asking where the hell you were–had you been kidnapped? You could swear that, beyond the sound of Chrollo’s breathing next to your ear, you could sometimes hear the faint sound of your ringer elsewhere in the house. It was distant, but you knew that you could find it if you could get up, away from him. But there was no way that was going to happen.

“Chrollo?” your voice was small, buried beneath him.

“Yes?” his lips tickled your neck.

“...Can I have my phone? I want to text my mom”

“You don’t need to text your mom. Just stay here with me.”

Your heart ached for a moment. Him not caring about your communication with your mother was not very gentlemanly of him.

“I haven’t spoken to her in…what, days now?” You threaded a finger through his hair, twirling it around, softening him up like it was an incentive. “She’s probably worried sick. I want to tell her that I’m okay.” You tried giving a more valid reason this time, because he was an intelligent man. Maybe that was what it took for him to allow you to text your mother: a clear explanation with a solid reason.

“No, it isn’t necessary.”

“Why not?!” you asked with more anger in your tone this time, the hand that had been on his scalp moving to clutch onto his shirt, squeezing the material so hard you could have punctured holes with your fingernails. Your patience was waning, somehow taking this long–this many days–to do so.

“It’s because I love you, Y/N. And you love me too, don’t you?”

You hesitated. But when Chrollo lifted his head off your chest to stare directly into your eyes, his dim irises swirling with something ominous that felt like a threat, the proper reply came spilling out of your mouth in an instant.

“Yes I do.”

“I’m glad. Because you love me too, I should be the only one that you think about. I’m the only one who matters in your life now.”

“That isn’t true!” you snapped back rather quickly. “My family is probably thinking that I got kidnapped, or that I’m dead or something! Can you please just let me text and tell them that I’m okay? Just this once?!”

You didn't want it to be just this once. But perhaps compromise was needed to get your way.

“They don’t care about you. Not in the way that I do, Y/N.”

Hot tears brimmed your lashes, and you couldn’t tell if they formed from the frustration of not getting your way, or the utter cruelty in what he had just said.

“How can you say that? How could you possibly know?!”

He gazed at you for a moment longer, his face reading sympathy, before he lifted himself off of you (to hold his weight upon his elbows, he wouldn’t fully get off of you, of course). He reached a hand down to his pocket, and when it was back in your view, he was holding your phone.

He turned it on and showed you the screen. A screen that was completely blank; void of notifications.

“They haven’t reached out to you at all.” he gave a pitiful smile, yet to you it only seemed complacent, knowing.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, exerting your frustration into the force of the bite as if it could help you hold off longer on letting tears fall from your eyes. It didn’t work though, one cold tear made you shiver as it rolled down your cheek, watching Chrollo take his time as he scrolled up and down on your phone’s home screen to prove how barren it was.

“Y-you just cleared the messages” you whimpered, pulling your sleeve over your hand as you wiped the tear with it. Another one fell as soon as you did, but this time Chrollo beat you to it, lowering the phone and leaning forward to kiss the tear away. The silken touch of his lips made you inhale shakily, your eyes closing as he started to pepper wet kisses around your face, the last being an airy peck on your nose before he pulled away.

“I would never do that to you” he whispered, now brushing his lips over yours. You heard a thud as your phone fell to the ground, but Chrollo’s hands moving to cup your cheeks was an effective distraction from the sound. “You’ve always told me that you wanted a gentleman to be your lover, and I want nothing more than to be that for you. It starts with getting rid of those who don’t treat you the way you deserve.”

Get rid of?...

“What do you me–”

He kissed you hard, contradicting the softness of the tone he had been speaking such grim words with just a second ago. The kiss was suffocating, and not in that sweet honeymoon phase kind of way. You tried to push at his chest, his biceps, anything to have him be less smothering in a moment that was so conflicting for you. But of course, with everything that happened between you two now becoming objects of Chrollo’s dictation, he only let up after he was satisfied. Your breath quivered as he nuzzled his nose against yours, his hands sliding down from your face to your body so he could grab your hips. You jumped, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin as he pushed his hips into yours. You tried to ignore this, having a dreadful idea of where it could be headed.

“I love you so much, Y/N” he muttered, his hands sliding down to cup your ass and pull your lower body flush against his. You began to tremble like a leaf, screwing your eyes shut as if the darkness behind your eyelids could be a legitimate escape from what was to come. You felt Chrollo’s teeth nip your bottom lip, a delighted sigh leaving his lips as he pulled away, his next words being emphasized by a rock of his hips.

“I’m going to show you just how much.”

#✧meyou #✧musinghxhmasterlist #chrollo #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #phantom troupe #hxh #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh chrollo #hunter x hunter x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you

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xcalciumx · 1 year

Text

Family | Mitsuri Kanroji x Reader x Obanai Iguro

Word Count | 5.5k

Warnings | we good.

Summary | Weeks after your near-death experience, you are slowly recovering when you run into Iguro and Mitsuri. Will you finally realise your true feelings? Or in which you stop being a goofy ass.

a/n | ya'll thought I wouldn't do it. but here i am. i posted it. I'M SO SORRY.

part one | part two

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“Come on, princesses. My grandma can run faster than that – and she’s dead!”

Shinobu shot you an amused glance from across the room as you sat in your wheelchair, watching as the three boys ran their seventy-fifth lap. You grinned, averting your gaze as the blondie ran past, wide circle eyes staring at you desperately.

“Pleaseee, I can’t take – “

“Agatsuma!” Shinobu barked, “Thirty more laps and you’re done for today. Now shut up and get running!”

You giggled behind your hand. Ever since the incident, you had become prone to spending your days either sitting aimlessly in your room or watching the younger members of the corps train. Clearly, with both of your legs in casts and your torso swallowed in bandages, there weren't a whole lot of options. Because of this, you had been begging Shinobu to give you a couple of wood crutches; that way you could at least get around the mansion a bit easier. Alas, she had refused your request every time.

The woman in question made her way across the training space towards you, lips quirked up mischievously. As she came to a stop beside you, one of her hands came down to clasp your shoulder .

“Honestly, do you have anything better to do than distract these three?” she said, watching the boys. You cast her a long look, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t know if you noticed, Kocho…but I'm kind of crippled here. Not much else I can do.”

The insect hashira laughed at that, waving you off.

“How many times have I told you that your legs will be healed and fine in no time, hm? Trust me, you’ll be off fighting upper moons again before you know it.”

You grumbled at that, reclining further back in the wooden wheelchair.

“No thanks.”

At your words, Shinobu quirked a brow, turning to face you fully. “No? You’re not thinking of retiring are you?” The both of you sat in silence for a moment, her brows furrowing further as you refused to answer. “Hey…I mean I know you nearly died and all that, but it’s just a little hiccup in the road – like I said, you’ll be fine in a couple of weeks; it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

You let her assurance hang for a moment, a sigh leaving your lips as you thought about your reply.

“I’m tired, Shinobu. This life, this…” you struggled to voice your feelings. “Women our age are married. They have families. We’re out here cutting the heads off of demons and watching as ambitious teenagers are sent off to be killed on missions. And - and to what end, really?”

She pondered your words, a frown now tugging her lips downwards. When she finally spoke, she had averted her gaze to the jogging boys.

“Since the accident…sometimes you don’t sound like yourself.” she shot you a quick look, trying to gauge your reaction. “You know why we fight. You know why we lay down our lives. We save people. We work endlessly towards stopping Muzan. That’s the end goal and you know it.” Her words trailed off. On the other side of the matts, the trio began slowing down. “You know what Kanae told me, when she was still alive? She said that just because we’re demon slayers - just because we’re cursed with this miserable life, it doesn’t mean we can’t love. It doesn’t mean we can’t have a family.” A large crease appeared in her forehead. She turned her stare back to you, determination prominent in her eyes. “So, you need to stop acting sorry for yourself. People die, people get hurt. Tough luck, suck it up. I don’t know what happened that day or what went down between the three of you, but sitting here, acting like you’re gonna quit the corps? It’s dumb. You can be happy. You can be that woman who’s married and has a family - but you’re just choosing not to, you’re scared.”

A heavy feeling gurgled in your gut. You didn’t want to admit it, but Shinobu was right. You were scared, and you were acting pathetic because of it. The thought was confronting.

All the words that you had exchanged with Iguro and Mitsuri rushed back to you. The fear of death - the pain of never having lived a fulfilling, happy life…it had overwhelmed you. And as a result, you had pushed away some of the only people who truly cared for you. The people you loved.

It made you want to crawl into a dark cave and never come out.

Maybe that had been your last chance. Your only chance. Iguro and Mitsuri probably thought you were a big tantrum-throwing baby who couldn’t handle her emotions. They probably thought you hated them. And if there was one thing you knew for sure in this terrible world - it was that you definitely did not hate them. Not a single piece of your broken, banged up body hated them. Lord, even when Iguro had made you turn red from anger - you didn’t hate him. And Mitsuri, who could ever hate her? She was the sweetest, love stricken person you had ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on. Now though…now they probably hate you, if anything.

The thought had you clenching your fists tightly on the arms of your chair.

Shinobu looked at you with a knowing smile, opening her mouth to speak. Before she could, three panting boys stumbled up to the pair of you, tongues lolling out of mouths and sweat sticking their hair to their heads like a second skin.

Quickly, you righted the frown on your face.

“Done for today?” you asked. It was Tanjiro who answered, a beaming grin on his face despite the harrowing breaths leaving his lips.

“Yup, all done! Thank you for today's training, Kocho-Sama!” he directed his next words at you. “Would you like to go back to your room? I can take you!”

You contemplated for a second, eyes glancing between the three demon slayers in front of you.

“Actually, I was going to go out to the garden for a while. Get some fresh air. Thank you though, Tanjiro.” The maroon-haired boy smiled in response. On his left, Inosuke was rocking impatiently on his feet, whilst Zenitsu practically fell asleep standing up. Next to you, Shinobu shook her head at the younger boys with raised brows.

“Same time tomorrow, don’t be late.” Her command was met with instant agreement. Zenitsu even stopped blowing snot bubbles for a second to answer. Your laughter was cut short when she turned her gaze to you. “And you, we’re gonna have a real long chat tomorrow, so I better see your ass here as well.” she regarded you with a stern look. “Maybe I can even get you to start exercising your legs a little so you’re not so useless…”

Your offended look did not go unnoticed as she sauntered out of the room, waggling her fingers goodbye. You couldn’t help but mutter to yourself angrily.

“I’m still a Hashira too, y’know.”

A couple minutes later you found yourself being pushed down a long hallway. Despite your insistence to Tanjiro that you could make your way to the garden by yourself, he wouldn’t let up. So now, to your absolute chagrin, you were being accompanied by a boar who was jumping off the walls, a babbling baby who was trying to fall asleep in your lap and a kind, but obsessive boy who was pushing your wheelchair like his life depended on it.

For the eighth time, you pushed Zenitsu’s wobbling form away from you.

“You’re not sleeping on me, Agatsuma. Don’t even try.” He whined but backed off a little, stomping grumpily down the hall next to you. Behind you, Tanjiro was humming something to himself cheerily. A little ways ahead, Inosuke was trying to fight with a random Kakushi.

You had little doubt that the look on your face was pure exhaustion.

The Kakushi currently getting harassed began sprinting down the hall past the rest of you, Inosuke hot on his tail. You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to say something but deciding against it. As they passed, at the last minute you decided to stick your arm out. The Kakushi bypassed it unscathed, but Inosuke, with no awareness of his surroundings, ran right into your protruding limb, the force of the impact sending him sprawling backwards. In an instant, the Kakushi disappeared around the corner. The edges of your lips tilted up. Before you could blink, Inosuke was back up on his feet; boar eyes seemingly piercing into your soul and nostrils flaring with misty breath. You rubbed at the fading pain in your arm and stared back at him blankly. The entrance to the garden was only ten or so metres away, but Tanjiro tastefully chose this time to stop pushing you.

“Why’d you do that?” The feral boy growled out behind his mask, slinking closer. It was almost as if he was…trying to intimidate you? Tanjiro’s voice came over the top of your head.

“Um, Inosuke…she was just trying to help.”

He ignored that, coming right up to your prone form and leaning down into your personal bubble. The ends of his mask tickled your face. You coughed in response, trying to hide the fact you were about to burst out laughing.

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro admonished like a mother.

Before you could make a snarky remark at the animal-esque boy, two scrawny arms were pulling Inosuke away from you. You watched in confusion as Zenitsu restrained the trembling boar for a moment, his chin wiggling in fear.

“Stop!” Zenitsu cried out. “She did nothing wrong, you crazy buffoon!” Inosuke roared, shoving an elbow into his friend's face and breaking free from his grip. Red instantly began to stream from the lightning user’s nose like a broken faucet.

“Eh!? The hell you think you’re doing, Monitsu?!”

You nearly smiled at the defiant look in Zenitsu’s eyes as Inosuke set his sights on him. Key word being nearly. What he said next diminished any admiration you held for him.

“You can’t hit a girl, you psycho! Especially not one of my future wives!” your gaze narrowed instantly. “You’ll marr her lovely skin!”

“You’re a literal child,” you grumbled to yourself, going unheard by the rest of the boys. As you watched them bicker, all you could do was groan, leaning your head back to look at Tanjiro. He seemed to read something on your face as he stepped out from behind you to interfere. As he did so, you slapped a hand to your head in exasperation. You had wanted him to get you out of there, not make you stay around to watch these two bicker and fight.

As Tanjiro began trying to deescalate the situation, the hallway somehow became louder with more shouting and arguing. Now, the hall was consumed by yelling teenage boys threatening to beat eachother up. And here you thought you were having a good day.

You peered at the three, wondering if you should stop them as they began to tussle.

It only took you a second to decide. Nah, not your problem.

Reaching for your wheels, you began trying to navigate around the boys to get to the door. The wood of your wheelchair groaned as it slowly made its way across the floor towards the threshold. You passed the fighting group without a glance, readjusting your uniform nonchalantly. Your feet were practically in the sun as you reached the outside door. A gentle draft was coming in from the patio and you let yourself smile a little, rearing to get across the door frame.

Right before you could pop a wheelie and haul yourself across the little cylinder trimming blocking the entrance, a low voice echoed down the hall behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your spine instantly tensed, and you paused mid-action to whip your head around. Your heart freaked for a moment, thinking the voice was directed at you. Though when you assessed the sight behind you, you realised that - that wasn’t the case.

At the end of the hallway, where the four of you had come from, stood Iguro. His steely eyes were trained on Tanjiro, Inosuke and Zenitsu. At the Serpent Hashira’s question, the hall became deathly silent in a second.

You kept very quiet; he hadn’t noticed you there yet. Your eyes darted between the garden and the three boys who looked like they had been caught stealing. Breath caught in your throat, you were about to make a sneaky exit when Iguro began talking again.

“Seriously. How old are you? What’re your names? I’ll report you for insolence in a Hashira’s residence.” He scoffed, eyes roving the boys in boredom. You pursed your lips, looking once more at the boys who had grown extremely still. Reflexively, your gaze wandered back to Iguro.

When no one responded, the raven-haired male began stalking forward, his checkered haori swaying around him.

“Hm, so? Don’t wanna talk?” he cracked his knuckles creepily, Kabumararu coiling over his shoulders. “That’s fine. I'll make you talk.”

You had to forcibly stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his stupid threat. However, when you looked back to the boys, you realised they didn’t share quite the same amusement as you.

Zenitsu was sporting the typical deer-caught-in-headlights look, with big, wet tears starting to form. Instead of hitting Inosuke, he was now clutching onto him tightly, using him as a meatshield from the imposing Hashira. Inosuke himself had completely tensed up and you couldn’t quite tell if he was getting ready to try to fight Iguro or run away from him. Besides them, Tanjiro was looking awfully guilty. He, at least, seemed sort of alright with the confrontation.

You were now faced with a choice: slip out the door and leave these three to their possible demise or step in and tell Iguro to relax…One of the options was certainly looking better than the other.

Even so, you weren’t completely cruel and you were kind of the reason that this had happened in the first place.

You sighed, slowly pushing yourself backwards into the hall. The rolling of your wheelchair instantly caught everyone's attention and you cleared your throat awkwardly. As you came to a slow stop, you raised your gaze to meet Iguro’s. Before you could say anything, Zenitsu called out to you in what he must have thought was a quiet voice, his form trembling now.

“Hey, hey! Help us, please. Please!”

Now it was him everyone was looking at. His throat bobbed as he gulped deeply, shrinking under the scrutinising glare of the older man in the room. He shot one last desperate look in your direction.

You couldn’t help but sigh once again, cracking your neck and squaring your shoulders.

“Alright, Obanai. I think you’ve scared them enough.”

The boys sagged in relief. Iguro averted his stare back to you and you witnessed how his eyes seemed to soften as they took you in. Though it was totally a trick of the light, you told yourself. Surely you didn’t look very pretty, all dinged up and useless in a wheelchair. Despite this, Iguro changed his course of trajectory, walking towards you. The boys watched on fearfully, thinking you had pissed him off. You didn’t blame them, because you also thought you had pissed him off.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

As he came closer, you noticed the slight limp in his step and the numerous cuts torn across his face. There were some rips in his haori and a stain on his bandages that resembled blood. You raised an eyebrow. Before you could remark on it, he had stopped a few feet in front of you, eyes devoid of any emotion.

“You look better.”

There was an awkward silence. You glanced behind Iguro to where the trio seemed to contemplate their escape. Something that felt awfully similar to sweat pooled in your palms. You should say thanks, right? Right. What came out though was definitely not a thanks.

“You look like shit.” Instantly, you clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes widening. That was not what you meant to say. What the hell was wrong with you? Quickly, you held up your hands placatingly, “No, no - I didn’t mean. I mean - you look fine. You must have just got back from a mission? Yeah, you did…it’s uh. It’s fine. Wait, I mean - “ you tripped over your words, only to stop when a low chuckle reached your ears. You went completely silent when you looked up to see Iguro regarding you fondly, a warmness starting to blossom in your cheeks.

“Mitsuri and I just got done with a mission. We, “ he glanced back at the eavesdropping boys, “We were going after it. The upper moon.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words, a heavy silence now basking the hall.

“Oh.”

Iguro laughed again, shoulders shrugging.

“It was a trap though. We barely made it out…” his words trailed off. Your heart hammered so hard, you thought it might re-break your ribs.

“But - but you’re okay, right? I mean, where’s Mitsuri? She’s alright?” It was hard to hide the nervousness in your voice. Iguro seemed surprised but he quickly hid it, nodding his head.

“She’s fine. A little battered up as well, but fine. She should - ”

As if she was summoned, Mitsuri pranced around the corner, her pink locks flying behind her. She came to a stop as she regarded the crowded hall curiously.

“Oh! Hi everybody?” If the boys weren’t relaxed before, they certainly were now. With two other Hashiras around, they were decidedly protected from Iguro’s wrath. It was Tanjiro who greeted her back, waving a hand. She smiled sweetly, eyes wandering towards Iguro and ultimately landing on you. Her smile flickered for a second, shoulders seeming to curl the slightest bit.

“Oh,” she whispered this time. “Hi.” Unsure of what her body language meant, you smiled hesitantly back at her.

“Hey, Suri’...”

At the nickname, something in her eyes flared and suddenly she was skipping down the hall towards you and Iguro. As she passed by the boys, one of her hands reached out to pat Zenitsu on the head. Lovehearts literally shone in his eyes.

“Honey!” she cooed as she reached you. It was as if nothing had happened between you two as she grabbed your face with one hand, angling it up and down. She hummed under her breath. “Well, you’ve certainly healed well!” she stared at you with a soft, simpering smile - almost as if begging you not to push her away again. You didn’t. Rather, you laughed quietly, cupping the hand that was now resting on your cheek.

“Yeah…we all know Shinobu’s medicine works wonders. Don’t tell her I said that, though.” Mitsuri grinned at that, taking a step back. As she did, your eyes were drawn to the bandages peeking out from beneath her uniform. “Are you alright?” you asked her without missing a beat. She followed your gaze, then looked at Iguro sceptically. He nodded back at her.

“I’m okay, it’s just a cut. Um…” she looked at Iguro a second time, displeasure now causing her nose to scrunch. When she looked back at you, it became glaringly obvious that she was nervous.

“What, Suri’?” you asked. Her cheeks grew a little bit pink.

“It’s just that…I’m sorry. We went on that mission to take down the upper moon and failed. I - I know it meant a lot to you.” The smile on your face quickly vanished, but not for the reason Mitsuri seemed to think. As she raised her hands to apologise again, you interrupted.

“You’re sorry? Mitsuri no, you don’t need to apologise to me. I know how I reacted a couple weeks ago but I don’t - y’know, I don’t actually care. I mean, you don’t owe me anything…”

Her head tilted to the side, a pout coming onto her face. Iguro spoke up.

“You don’t…care? We’ve been away for weeks hunting that demon for you because we thought…we - “ Iguro paused, looking over at the trio of boys still listening to your conversation. “Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private.” Mitsuri nodded her agreement.

“No.” You all paused, staring at Zenitsu as he announced himself in a meek voice. Iguro in particular, stared hauntingly at him. This was enough for the blonde to cower back, looking to his friends for help. Indeed, Tanjiro came to his aid.

“No, he’s right. We were taking her to the garden before you interrupted. You can’t just take her away when she doesn’t wanna go!”

You blinked at Tanjiro repeatedly, trying to process his words. When you did, you nearly cried in exasperation. These kids were crazy. You went to explain, but was stopped by Iguro as he took a step towards the boys.

“Are you trying to say we can’t talk to our girl in private?” he asked darkly. Tanjiro paled but didn’t back down. Zenitsu, on the other hand, completely hid himself behind Inosuke. (Though you were pretty sure that Inosuke had fallen asleep at some point in all of this).

Mitsuri and you exchanged a look.

“Stop it, Iguro.” you groaned. “And Zenitsu, Tanjiro - for god's sake, I am going on my own free will. No one is making me do anything. Just go back to your room or something!” you snapped at them. For the first time since you had met, the boys seemed to remember that you were a Hashira, which meant you could look after yourself. It also meant that you were undoubtedly capable of dismembering them if they got on your nerves…which they had, many times before this. Their eyes widened but they nodded, scurrying off down the hall. You watched them go, casting a look at the now snoring Inosuke still standing there.

“Should we wake him?” Mitsuri pondered.

“No.” Iguro retorted, reaching towards you.

“What’re you doin - Yah!” All of a sudden you had left the discomforts of your wheelchair and were dangling idly in the air. With your legs useless, you couldn’t do much but glare at the Serpent Hashira. He peered down at you, shrugging.

“Easier to move you around this way.” he said simply. Next to you, Mitsuri giggled.

You had no choice but to accept it, grumbling to yourself as you tried to hide the slight flush creeping up your neck.

Outside, the sun was high in the sky. The sound of birds and running water echoed from the forest beyond the garden walls.

Mitsuri had directed the three of you towards a large oak, where you now sat in the cool shade. You had propped yourself up against the trunk, Iguro to your right and Mitsuri laying on her tummy in front of you two.

You all sat in silence, watching the calm scenery pass you by. Iguro’s head flopped back against the bark, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. Mitsuri yawned, legs kicking up behind her as she stretched out her arms. You just sat and watched, eyebrows drawn as you thought about what to say. Were you supposed to ignore what had happened three weeks ago? Were you guys just hanging out as friends now? Iguro had started saying something back inside but maybe he didn’t want to talk about it…

Your lips pursed.

Before you could dive deeper into your lair of doubt and confusion, a loud chatter caught your attention. All of you watched as a small group of demon slayers stumbled through the garden gates and made their way toward the mansion. As they joked around with each other, your eyes caught on their nichirin blades, shimmering like glitter in the sun. Your finger twitched beside you.

Your katana was long gone. After it had snapped into two on the mountain, it served you no purpose. Because of this, you had been blade-less ever since you woke up. Though Shinobu promised you that your swordsmith would bring you a new blade any day now, you were beginning to think she was lying to you to keep your spirits high. If you had it your way, you would’ve gone to the swordsmith village by now and re-equipped yourself; but no, apparently that wasn’t an option according to the Insect Hashira. Despite your argument that you could heal fine at the village and not have to worry about demons, you were ‘not permitted to leave the butterfly mansion until approved by a senior doctor.’ AKA, until Shinobu Kocho stopped being the bane of your existence.

Mitsuri followed your gaze, looking back at you with a small smile.

“You must really wanna get back out there after being cooped up in here the last couple’a weeks, huh?”

You shrugged noncommittally, eyes falling away from the blade as the slayers made their way inside.

“I suppose so,” you hummed, fingers tugging at the grass absentmindedly. Iguro grumbled from your right.

“Well I don’t want to fight another demon for the next fifty years after that last fight. Fuckin’ hell.”

MItsuri laughed, swatting at his leg playfully. At the same time, she nodded her head.

“It was…” she chuckled softly. “It was a lot.”

As you observed her a bit closer, you saw the dark shadows under her eyes and the purplish-blue where a bruise was beginning to form on her cheek. The numerous cuts littering her face was giving way to the warm swelling beneath. Glancing besides you, you noted that the same could be said for Iguro. Hot glue stuck your throat closed as you shut your eyes briefly. This was your fault.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke quietly. “You didn’t have to…I mean, you didn’t need to go after the upper moon. I - I’m sorry.” You couldn’t think of what else to say but apologise. You were the reason they had come home looking like crap. You were the reason they were probably aching all over right now. You. It was you.

“Shuddup,” Iguro suddenly barked, peering over at you. You stopped yourself from jolting at his unexpected demand.

“I-”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but we went after that upper moon on Ubayashiki’s orders. It had nothin’ to do with you.”

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing as you tried to find the words to respond.

“Iguro!” Mitsuri groaned, one hand slapping her forehead. Like you, she gaped for a second as she tried to find the right words to say.

“What? I’m just telling the truth.” He said calmly. Mitsuri glowered at him, one finger rising up to point at him menacingly.

“That is not the tru-” her eyes lit up with a sudden realisation. “You’re just grumpy because that demon called you ugly!” she accused.

“Huh?!”

“Huh?”

Both you and Iguro spoke at the time, although Iguro was sounding a little more outraged at her words.

“The demon what?” your question fell on deaf ears.

“I am not grumpy about that!” Iguro defended himself instantly. Mitsuri responded back with equal fervour.

“You totally are! I told you you’re not ugly! Why are you still mad?!”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

It took you a second to process the words being exchanged but once you did you could do nothing but clasp a hand over your mouth and stifle your giggles. Kaburamaru slithers over from Iguro’s shaking shoulders to perch on you grumpily. You reached your free hand up to stroke along his head gently, watching the two bicker.

It was only when Mitsuri’s wild eyes turned to you, did you realise that you should say something.

“You’re not ugly, Iguro.” You said, nudging the hashira next to you. The stream of words falling from his lips paused as he turned to look at you. “The demon was probably just trying to rile you up. In fact, you’re the least ugly guy I know.” you grinned easily at him and he seemed stunned for words. Mitsuri sighed dramatically, plopping back down into the grass with a huff. You bit your tongue to stop from laughing.

“That’s not true,” Iguro mumbled, head turning away from you. As you lose sight of his face, your face falls flat. Who knew that the Snake Hashira of all people would be so vain? Seeing the expression you bore, Mitsuri shook her hands at you, urging you to continue. You stuck your tongue out at her.

“Oh, Iguro ~ “ you murmur, hair falling in your face as you shake your head conspiratorially. “Really, you’re the most handsome guy I know. Don’t be such a baby about it, okay? It almost takes away from how stunning you are.”

You grin like a vixen when his head whips back towards you. With his face right in front of you, you can see the light dusting of red covering his cheeks.

“But I -”

“Oh good lord, Iguro!” you snapped playfully. “What is this? One of those cheesy love stories Mitsuri likes to read?” you ignore the yelped ‘hey’ from the bubblegum haired girl. “Don’t give me that bullcrap! I’ve literally seen you without your bandages and I still love you so what's the problem!?”

Your breath leaves you in pants as you contain a laugh. Iguro continues to stare at you, his pupils dilating. It isn’t until you turn to look at Mitsuri that you realise something is wrong. She’s gone silent, mouth dropped open.

“What? What did I say?” you ask hesitantly, glancing back at Iguro.

The squeals are all the warning you get before a solid force smashes into you. Slightly disoriented, you barely register Mitsuri wrapping around you like a toddler.

“I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!”

You groan, peeking one eye open to look at the Love Hashira. She’s already beaming down at you, hands cupping your face.

“I knew you loved us!” She rotates to talk to Iguro. “I told you she was just overwhelmed! I did!”

He goes to say something back at her but ends up just shaking his head. His bandages shift slightly upwards.

Listening to Mitsuri, what you just said dawns on you. Your face pales, lips parting slightly. Mitsuri catches the look on your face and jumps, about to clamber off of you. Before she can, you wrap a hand around her arm softly. Her face flushes but she stays where she is.

You wet your lips, trying to make sense of all the thoughts in your head.

“Hey,” Mitsuri whispers. “You know it’s okay if you didn’t mean to say that…I’m not trying to force you to confess your undying love for us if you don’t actually love us, y’know?”

You shoot a surprised look at her. “Huh? No! No that’s not it. I just…how? Why?”

“You're gonna have to be a bit more specific than that,” she giggles. The hold you have on her loosens slightly, your eyes casting towards the ground.

“How can you still love me? After what I said? How I pushed you away?” Tears hide behind your eyelids. “I was a total bitch. I mean, I thought you would never even talk to me again! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Mitsuri looks away and you realise that she’s mouthing something at Iguro. Suddenly, there’s a hand gripping onto yours tightly.

“Stop apologising,” Iguro’s gruff voice comes from beside you. You realise it’s his hand that you’re holding. “Suri’ kept saying that you were just overwhelmed, that you didn’t mean what you said. I realise now that she was right.” You can’t stop the tears that dribble down your cheeks. Mitsuri’s hold on you tightens. “I mean, you nearly died that day and here we were announcing our love for you? What the hell is up with that?”

You choke on a laugh, fingers curling into the palm of his hand.

“What I’m trying to say,” Iguro mutters, somewhat embarrassed. “Is that if anyone should be sorry, it’s us. We pushed you too far and didn’t stop to consider how you may have felt. So…we’re sorry.”

Everything goes quiet, your quiet sniffling slowing down. Mitsuri leans back to smile at you.

“Can we just stop all this sad shit?” she laughs. You echo her, reaching up to wipe away the remaining water in your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” You.

“Please. No more of this emotional crap.” Iguro.

All three of you begin laughing in earnest now. All the drama and tears getting carried away by the gentle breeze that sweeps through the garden.

As you calm down, you notice the soft look on Mitsuri’s face. Her eyes dart down for a second, a pinkish hue colouring her cheeks.

Before you can question it, she’s pressing her lips to yours, hands gripping at your shirt tightly. It starts as quickly as it ends as she pulls back, eyes twinkling with stars.

“Too soon?” she giggles.

“Not soon enough,” you murmur, tugging her back towards you. Iguro’s firm grip on your hand keeps you safe and warm, reminding you that they were your family - your priority.

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #obanai x reader #mitsuri x reader #poly!demon slayer #mitsuri x reader x obanai #x reader #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #love hurts #fluff

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