Now I Feel So Awful That Bea Is Definitely Going To Die Omg. Author Why Did You Have To Make The Couple

Wow this looks sooo good!! How do you think you'll include Matthew's Catholic guilt in this? Is he still a Catholic, and does he now believe he's unredeemable because he's a monster?

Those are random questions lol, but I'm curious if that will play a big part of your story. Either way I'm excited to see this story!!

Watching the AMC tv adaptation of Anne Rice’s “Interview With The Vampire”, I got back into the mood of writing for my series ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’, but since it’s been a while since I’ve written anything fantasy-related, I decided to practice my vampire writing a bit more with a little One Shot. I’m going to tease it before I post it. I’m too excited not to. This baby will be yours tomorrow, and I will use my Matt Murdock Tag List for this, but if you want to be tagged (and you haven’t filled out my Tag List Form), let me know and I’ll tag you for this! Anyway, without further ado, here is a little sneak peak…

Interview With The Vampire

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Vampirism, angst, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral sex, unprotected p in v (but it’s with a vampire, so not sure if that counts as a warning), blood play, biting, marking, scent kink, mentions of suicidal thoughts, violence, age gap, Dom!Matt, long One-Shot (it’s a word-count beast)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

ACTUAL SNEAK PEEK UNDER THE CUT

[…]

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him around, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

[…]

Author, fantastic chapter and if possible could be added to a tag list for this?

This is genuinely amazing, the last line? CHILLS

Gorgeous job, thank you! Take Care Author! <3

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.5

a/n: if you guys start suspecting i have a crush on madelyn stillwell, no you don't, you didn't see shit, forgive and forget. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Blood and Violence (fr fr), Homelander being a Fucking Asshole, Very Questionable Corporate Ethics, Plus Size Reader, Explicit Language.

Summary: You know a slaughterhouse, when you see it.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

A series of loud, demanding knocks startles you right out of your dreamless slumber. The borderline panicked, rapid thumping against your door, forces you to open your eyes, squinting with a groan at the morning sun streaming through the gigantic windows of your room. The mascara from the night before sticks in clumps over your eyelashes, and you blink a few times, until black pieces fall onto your cheeks, where they're promptly wiped away by the back of your hand. There's a taste of stale vomit in your mouth, your stomach feels strangely empty, and you don't really want to remember where you decided to dispose of its contents. As you make your way towards the door, your calf cramps up, making you huff a silent curse through your cracked lips. 

- Fucking Christ... Where's the fire? - you croak out, as you open the door, eyes falling onto a familiar head of ginger hair sticking out behind the screen of a tablet. 

- The fucking Internet - Ashley answers not missing a beat - Someone uploaded a bunch of videos of you from the party, including one where you, like a complete dumbass, decided to smoke a joint. And one where...

She cuts herself off, as her face finally rises to look at you, her expression freezing in shock.

- What the fuck happened to you? - she asks, and if you were any less hungover, you'd notice the sliver of concern lacing her words. 

- What do yo...?

Your eyes follow her inquisitive gaze down, and there, your left tit stares back at you, peaking out of an almost finger shaped tear. Huffing in exasperation, you try to amend the situation, pushing the fabric around to cover yourself, only to feel the last of the stitches give out. You catch your destroyed t-shirt at the last second, as it all but falls off of your body. 

- Shit, I'm sorry - you mutter, giving up on salvaging the shirt, and focusing on saving what's left of your dignity. 

Ashley blinks a couple of times, her eyes dragging themselves back towards your face, as she swallows thickly. 

- Miss, um... - she clears her throat, frowns - Miss Stillwell wants to see you in her office, as soon as you can.

You nod in understanding, still too dazed to be properly worried by this sudden summoning. 

- Give me twenty - you attempt to smile, but your face hurts, and your throat is drier then the Mojave desert.

- Take thirty.

With that, Ashley turns to leave, not before throwing you one last, strange look. 

 Closing the door behind her, you let go of the shirt, letting it pool in scraps under your bare feet. You don't remember much of the previous night, but you sure as fuck know, how you've managed to end up looking like you do. Thankfully, you remember the exact moment, when you slipped out of Homelander's penthouse, your memories fading well after entering the elevator. The mention of the videos from the party being uploaded, stirs some form of morbid curiosity within you, and you pace around the living area of your room, trying to find your phone, before remembering, that you did, in fact, lose it. 

Scratching at the back of your neck, you grab your costume from the closet, and decide to take a shower,  after sniffing at yourself and realizing, that leaving the room smelling like a waste bin would be criminal. An hour spent under the hot water and a thorough teeth-brushing later, you're standing in front of Madelyn Stillwell's office, fingers running through your still slightly damp hair. She lets you in as soon as your fingers thrum against the door, greeting you with that familiar, corporate smile. Despite that, you'd have to be completely blind, not to notice the tension between her plucked eyebrows. 

- Ah, Fireball - her voice is strange as well, a measured expression of something stirring just under the surface. - Take a seat, please.

Her office is just as much of an overstimulating mess, as you remembered, and this time you plop down onto the large couch, noting, that it's much softer, than the one in your room. Stillwell paces the office, filling a glass with water from a dispenser, and placing it in front of you. Then, to your surprise, she grabs her laptop from her desk, and puts it next to the glass, the screen facing you.

You stare at your reflection in the black, and you're not sure who's looking back. Was hangover the domain of Fireball? Or Smirnoff? Perhaps that secret third thing, which almost gave Homelander what he wanted last night. A fight, a struggle, a quick fuck. As Stillwell sinks into the couch right next to you, you start to wonder, if you're going insane. Most likely. There is none other explanation for the turmoil you were experiencing. 

- I'm sure you're aware, why I invited you here today - she says, her slender hand dancing on the keyboard of her laptop. 

She's about to show you the videos from last night, you think with a sigh, already trying to brace yourself for the inevitable stern talk you're about to receive. This, and another several hours spent in media training with Ashley, which, might as well kill you at this point. And then, the screen flickers to light, and your heart stops in your throat. 

There, a freeze-frame from a CCTV camera looks back at you. A washed out, pixelated image of yourself, t-shirt torn, makeup running, you're sneaking away from Homelander's room, holding the scraps of fabric to your chest. The wobble in your legs is visible even through the shitty quality, and your heart sinks with the realization, of how exactly this situation looks like. Of how close to the truth this assumption really is. 

You swallow thickly, as Stillwell presses play, and the video version of yourself springs into action. Supporting yourself against the wall, you begin to make your way towards the elevator. 

The video plays footage of the empty corridor for a moment longer, but before you voice your confusion, the whole image glitches. Your eyes blink rapidly, as you observe with a shocked expression, as the wall next to the door cracks, pieces of paint and plaster falling to the floor in a cloud of dust. It doesn't take a genius to know, the impact has been made from the inside, and your brain does a flip inside your skull. 

Twenty sped up seconds of footage. That's how close you were to getting your head, supposedly, caved in by the Hero of America. The Mental Health King.

 Strange. You were sure you've navigated the situation the best you possibly could. Deescalated, rewarded good behavior, removed yourself as soon as possible. Perhaps you should've given him more? Physical contact most likely wasn't the smartest idea, he would've used it as an excuse, surely. But some more words of encouragement, something to calm the fire within him. Your thoughts are interrupted by the realization, that at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. You're alright, nothing happened. You did what you could, with what you had, and look at you, still standing, dignity (mostly) in place. 

Another reward, that might be the key. Homelander seems to be quite addicted to praise, and as much as you'd love to write him off as an imbecile, you know he's anything but. Before your mouth can open, however, Stillwell slides a folder towards you on the glass table. Your eyes fall onto the papers, and something twists inside your gut. 

- No matter, what you think happened last night. I would like you to sign those documents. - Stillwell says, her whitened teeth staring back at you.

Think?

Your eyes narrow, as your face turns towards her.

- Miss Stillwell - she cocks her head to the side when you address her - I assure you, nothing has happened.

She blinks a couple of times, her eyes involuntarily floating back to the footage displayed on the laptop.

- Homelander gave me a lift from the party, we talked for a bit. That's all. 

That is most certainly not all, and Stillwell knows. She must've done this before, her practiced expression of corporate politeness slipping for only a smidgen. Her lips smack against each other, and then the mask is back full force, her hand pushing the documents closer to you.

- I would still very much like you to sign this agreement - she says - Or, we will have to terminate your contract, and consequently withdraw all benefits enclosed in it.

- I just said, nothing has... - you cut yourself off, because of course. 

This isn't an NDA protecting Vaught and by extension, Homelander, from his actions last night. It's an insurance against future incidents. Which are apparently expected. 

You frown, hard, a pit forming deep within your stomach. Previously, perhaps foolishly, you thought your contract offered some sort of protection. Something, that would ward off potential advances. Stillwell has put so much effort in getting you to sign, to join Vaught if only temporarily, you were convinced you'd answer to her first. Stupid, that was plain stupid. After all, this isn't some wholesome family business. You're working under a corporation, that, for the most part, runs America like the fucking navy. 

You know a slaughterhouse when you see one. 

With a shaky hand, you grab an elegant, probably filthy-expensive pen, the overwhelming realization, that you're truly alone, hitting you like a truck. Next time Homelander decides to get his hands on you, no one will back you up. You're completely and utterly on your own. 

This can't be worth it. Your brain races in your skull, as you try to quickly form some sort of plan of action. Anything, that would help you face the incoming doom. 

- Miss Stillwell - your throat feels impossibly dry, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her blonde waves move - I left my purse, and my phone back at my friend's house. Perhaps, you could arrange a meeting? So I can get it back?

- As soon as you sign - she says evenly, her manicured hand pointing to the documents with more urgency. 

How many times can you sign your soul off to the Devil, before there's nothing left? 

You're not sure which one of you lifts the pen, which one pushes your hand to glide the ink over this new pact of silence. It can't be worth it, it simply can't. No matter what you try to tell yourself, the vision of your happy friends from the party slips further, and further away from your grasp. You've always thought martyrdom is stupid, laughed at the Saints, at the historical figures sacrificing their lives for the greater good. And yet, here you sit, with Madelyn Stillwell's perfume in your nose, pushing away all sense of dignity in favor of what? A better wedding dress for your friend? Ridiculous. 

- Thank you - Stillwell swoops in, taking the pen away from your rigid fingers and swiping the documents from the table - That'll be all for now. You should get ready for the photoshoot after lunch. I'll get back to you about that meeting. 

Another thought wakes you up from your stupor so suddenly, it feels like a bucket of freezing water dumped over your head. Your knees crack, when you stand suddenly, nearly knocking your hip on the table. 

- Can I ask you one more thing? - your voice raises an octave as you speak, nerves bubbling up in your throat. 

Stillwell turns to you, her hair bouncing over her shoulders, and for just a second you're struck with how unabashedly stylish this woman truly is. Such a contrast with your usually disheveled appearance. 

- I need one more day off this week, or at the very least a couple of hours.

She frowns slightly, a barely visible twitch of her plucked to perfection eyebrow.

- Whatever for? - she asks, and you find a striking familiarity between her and Homelander, in the fakeness of her cheerful tone. 

There's no point in lying, not in this case at least, and you take a step forward, your platform boots padding softly over the fluffy carpet. She watches you carefully, holding your gaze with ease. 

- I'm sure you've read my file - you start casually, your voice growing more and more serious - It's a family matter. 

A flicker of recognition crosses Stillwell's features. Her lips pull back into a thin line, as she regards you in thought, toying with the pen in her hand. Manicured fingers scratch at the grooves in the metal casing, tap at the ferrule. Finally, she takes a deep breath, the satin shirt shifting over her chest. 

- I'll see what I can do - she concludes, ditching the corporate smiles, and the artificial nonsense, her expression bordering on sympathy. 

Anyone would be fooled, you're almost convinced yourself. But once again, this is not a family business down the street. This is an exclusive butcher's shop, and you're the new, hot, cut of meat, displayed in a case, ready for the taking. And as such, you give her a curt nod, the biggest display of gratitude you're capable of in this situation. Her eyes shift towards the doors of her office, and you take your cue with a polite smile. You both had things to prepare for, and you couldn't waste any more time sitting in one place, as the detrimental task of figuring out, how to navigate your approach to Homelander has been thrusted upon you. 

The door clicks softly behind you, as you exit the office, your legs carrying you towards the gigantic portrait hanging on the wall. Blue eyes stare back at you, pupils almost the size of walnuts. Nothing, not the lens of the camera, the printing paper, not even the sheet of glass can hide you from the empty, passive gaze looking past you, through you. In this picture, he looks almost human, his skin moderately textured, his hair in carefully styled disarray. An image of all that's American, all that's always been out of your reach. 

But you've seen the truth. The panting, hungry, terrifying superhero. You've seen his laziness, the unwillingness to work for anything of substance. Your eyebrows furrow, as you lean closer to the portrait, until the reflection of light disappears from sight, until you can see the texture of the paper beneath the glass. 

- If you're looking for a flaw, I'm afraid there are none - Homelander quite literally manifests himself in your peripheral vision, voice filled with arrogance.

Your entire body flies a couple of steps from the portrait, your heart doing flips so close to your throat, you're worried you'll actually throw it up onto the floor.

- Motherfu...! - you stop yourself, hand pressed against your chest - Don't do that.

He laughs in response, a casual sound, that definitely doesn't fit any of your previous encounters. Especially the last one. But to preserve your own sanity, you decide to play along for now. You're not about to hand yourself over, stick your neck between his teeth again. Besides, Stillwell is right behind that stupid wall, he wouldn't do anything too outrageous with her so close. Hopefully. 

- Whoa, jumpy aren't you? - his smile grows slightly sharper, as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back - Let's have a little chat, before the photoshoot. 

With that, before you have the chance to react properly, he grabs you by the elbow, his hold just tight enough, that there would be no chance of slipping away. Your feet stumble against each other, as you try to regain your bearings, being dragged through the corridor. Your mind is already going haywire with all the possibilities, all the different ways this interaction may go, and you scramble to find a suitable plan for every scenario. Homelander looks thoroughly unaffected, his face devoid of any signs of tension, hell, you'd risk saying he seems quite relaxed. Which is beyond worrying. 

The room he pushes you into is completely empty, with some tables arranged into a circle and a bunch of chairs placed around them. A conference room, with the uglies fucking carpet you've ever had the misfortune to lay your eyes on. And then, after taking in the whole environment, your eyes zero-in on a small, black box, right in the middle of the table. Unassuming enough, but you know better. There's no such thing as innocent, as far as your "mentor" is concerned, and as images of the cracking wall flicker before your eyes, you bite down on your tongue. Homelander closes the door with a soft click, lingering for just a second, before turning to you, bright smile in place. 

- I just realized, I don't know the scope of your powers - he says casually, crossing the room, and standing in front of you - Soon, we'll be sent on missions together, I'd like to know what I'm working with. 

Fair enough. You are slightly surprised he even needs clarification, as before signing the contract, Vaught took full inventory of your abilities. The idea of being alone with him in a room still makes your fingertips tingle with nerves, but you swallow it down, like you seem to be doing to most things these days. Pushing your hair out of your face, you nod slowly, pretending this sudden shift in his behavior is not throwing you in a loop. 

- I'm pretty strong - you say, keeping your expression even, and don't even flinch, when he scoffs at your words - I heal faster. And I can use mild telekinesis, although it's really not... Um... Polished. 

To be quite honest, all you've managed to do, is move some objects around. It's not even useful enough to aid you in your day-to-day life. Usually it takes less effort to just, pick the damned thing up. Which is all that he should know, because Vaught knows. 

- Show me - it's not a request, his voice filled with a demanding tone, bordering on arrogance. 

You almost tell him to say please. Your mouth opens, the words ready to jump out from between a small smirk playing on your lips, but you swallow that thought thickly. There's a time and a place for educating his ignorant ass, and being locked in a tiny conference room might not be the right one. So, you shrug, the movement pushing your hair back over your eyes. 

- Which one? - perhaps, you'll allow yourself a cheeky smile, as a treat.

His smile sharpens to a worrying degree, and he claps his hands in front of his chest.

- I'm so glad you asked - his feet carry him straight to the box, and you might get a whiplash from all the confusion you're experiencing - I read your file. 

That raises an eyebrow. Realistically, you knew he would have access to your documents, your wole life exposed to his greedy eyes. And as such, this line of questioning surprises you. Although perhaps, it shouldn't. Since the very first moment you've met him, you had a sneaking suspicion, that he's just... Well... Lazy beyond belief. And your last interaction proved to you the sheer scope of his unwillingness to put any work in. With a raised eyebrow, you watch him open the black box with a soft click, taking out it's contents, his shoulders rolling, like he's preparing to lift some weights at the gym. 

Then, he turns back to you, a gun secured in his leather grip. 

- I'm interested in your healing abilities - he says, smile never faltering, the muzzle staring at you expectantly.

Now that gets your heart racing, but the reason might surprise him. Pain has been a constant companion in your life, and after discovering your powers, probably one of the few ways to keep yourself in check. That's why, your eyes light up at the sight of the gun, and all caution is thrown to the wind. You know, deep down, this is a test. How much can he do, how much can he hurt you. But you'll deal with the consequences after. 

If this will help placate him, lead him away from whatever happened between the two of you last night, you're more than willing to put yourself on the line. Better than the alternative, better than making use of that NDA you just signed. 

- Once, I got hit by a car - you remember with smile - And the next day went to class like nothing happened. 

The gun digs into the soft flesh of your stomach, as you step closer, looking up at him with an impassive expression, and Homelander's eyes light up like a kid's in a toy shop. Dangerous, your brain supplies, so very dangerous, but you've never been shot before, and to be quite honest, you're curious yourself. 

- Lift up your shirt - he says, voice dropping just a fraction - Wouldn't want to arrive to the photoshoot with a hole in that pretty costume, would you?

You do as he says, with a bit of a struggle rolling up the faux leather of your corset top. His eyes fall down in an instant, tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he drinks in the sight of your pliable flesh peaking over the hemline of your skirt. His free hand darts out, as if on autopilot, gloved finger running across the whole expanse of your belly, revelling in the way your muscles contract at the contact.

Too close, you face twists, as his touch brings back memories from last night, your body freezing up for just a second. You need to keep him occupied in some other way, and as such, your eyes roll on their own, whether pushed by Smirnoff or Fireball is anyone's guess.  

To your credit, when you grab the gun out of his hand with an almost laughable ease, he gasps, eyebrows furrowing at the sheer audacity of your action. But before he can have the chance to voice his irritation, you flip the gun in your hold, pushing it into the exposed flesh of your stomach. It's cold, hard, and your pulse spikes, as the anticipation flares within your veins. 

- What are you...? - you cut him off, squeezing the trigger.

The shot rings out, the bullet goes into your stomach, and the force of the impact sends you falling over the table. And, fuck, it hurts like motherfucker on a stick. The smell of blood floods your nostrils, and through your momentary shock, you try to blink back tears welling up in your eyes. 

- What the fuck?! - he cuts himself off again, a bewildered laugh sneaking past his lips, blue eyes drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

- You were taking too long - you try to sound indifferent, but your voice comes out as a broken whisper, spasm after spasm wrecking your body.

Blood trickles down your stomach, soaking into the fabric of your skirt, and as the wound slowly starts to close up, you can feel the bullet travel up, through the tissue. The sensation might be worse then the initial shot, and your face twists, as cold sweat pools over your creased forehead. Seemingly, you hadn't nicked any important organs, or so you hope. 

- Oh, does that hurt? - you barely register his mocking tone of voice, as he comes closer to your heaving form.

Homelander crouches down, wrenching the gun from your hand and throwing it on the floor behind him like it's a piece of used tissue. Then, with mild interest, he inspects the wound.

- Your bleeding - he notes, and you'd be foolish not to note the slight tinge of disdain coloring his words. 

- I'm not fucking bulletproof - you huff out, doubling over with a groan - I just heal faster.

He cranes his head to the side, eyes gliding over your pained expression. You're too focused on steadying your breathing, to notice the way his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek in thought, but you're alert enough to recoil, once his gloved hand wedges itself under your chin, pushing your face ever so slightly upwards. You wish you didn't catch his gaze. The unrelenting curiosity, mixed with barely contained disappointment at your limited abilities. 

- Let's try one more thing, hmm? - he asks, although noth of you know, there's no way for you to refuse.

Homelander grabs you by the shoulder, hoisting you up, despite the weakness in your legs. You groan, as the bullet finally falls out of the wound, creating a small, bloody print on the carpet. His eyes float towards the slowly disappearing dent in your skin, his thumb rubbing over it with a bit more force than necessary, as if he's trying to milk as much pain possible, force you to react again. 

You don't give him the satisfaction, your eardrums buzzing, as you sway on your feet. Then, two things happen at the same time. His gloved hand pushes against your shoulder with enough strength, to force your body to uncurl, expose itself to his greedy eyes. And then, the center of your chest erupts with unimaginable, searing pain, as Homelander's eyes shoot red right at the middle of your collarbones. 

It's a quick, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kinda impact, but it sends you flying backwards, colliding with the table, and then straight to the floor. For the first half a minute, you can't breathe, your chest collapsing like a faulty mineshaft. The smell of burning flesh fills the conference room, and you would retch, if you could do anything more than flail your arms weakly, legs kicking out. 

He must've hit your trachea, you think, when your lungs fill with boiling blood. 

Homelander comes to stand next to your body, moving languidly, as if this is the most regular of interactions. His face blurs in front of your eyes, the fluorescent lights illuminating his blonde hair from above. You want to say something so bad, something smart and cutting, that would throw him off his rhythm again, but all that manages to push past your lips, is a broken gargle, as blood gathers behind your teeth. 

His face twists again, eyes taking on a freezing indifference, that is colder, more terrifying than any snowstorm. Looking at you for a moment longer, he finally snaps himself back to reality, a scowl placed over his features. 

- Get your shit together - he spits out through gritted teeth - The photoshoot starts soon.

The disgusted look he throws you, as blurry as it is in front of your eyes, makes your lips curl back into a snarl. You should've known better, you did know better, but it doesn't matter, because for some reason, when it came to him, you just can't stop your mouth from running wild. So, before he even reaches the door, your gargles form a single, spiteful word, that cuts through the smell of blood, and flesh, and burning. 

- Bitch - you seethe, blood gathering in the corners of your mouth, and you hear his boots stomp over, before you can see him. 

There's a moment of outrage, his eyes burning with that all too familiar, red burn. But then, it melts into something worse, something cold and self-satisfied. He lifts his boot ever so slightly, placing it down on your chest, keeping your body from moving on the floor. Homelander lingers like that for a split-second, eyes flickering all over your pained face. You know what he's looking for, and you refuse to give it. 

- I'll tell Madelyn to reschedule the photoshoot - he muses, lips curling back into a cruel smirk.

And then he pushes down with his foot, slowly, so you can feel every single creak and crack of your bones under his heel. He drinks in the silent scream, that tears through your body, as your ribs break under the pressure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, damn the car accident, you've never felt pain like this before. 

- Take the rest of the day off, alright kiddo? - he quips, his voice deceivingly kind.

Giving one last shove of his foot, he finally lets up, shuffling out of the room like nothing has happened, the cape swishing over your broken body, like a blessing from America itself. The door clicks softly, somewhere over your head, and finally, you give yourself the luxury of crying. Heavy, salty tears run down your cheeks, mixing with the remnants of last night's mascara. At least he won't see you like this. You try to ignore the possibility of him using his X-ray vision to preserve your own peace of mind. 

And as you lay there, feeling your bones, your tissues connect under the never stopping waves of pain, you realize something, which brings upon a new wave of tears tumbling down your cheeks, soaking into your hair, into the ugly carpet. 

This is the first time you've felt truly alive in a long, long time. 

Adult Swim making an unholy amount of sense.

The angst in this chapter, was absolutely DELICIOUS! Im absolutely desperate for more, I love this fic so much!

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Thirteen

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG-13

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Just so much angst. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.7k

A/N : Sorry not sorry?

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE

MASTER LIST

Chapter Thirteen

You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t relax. 

You tried, for the sake of Karen and Frank who seemed to watch your every little twitch and movement as you got up to refill your coffee mug or to look out of the window. Karen had suggested going out for breakfast, reminding you that Billy wouldn’t be awake for hours, and Frank gave a grumbled agreement, obviously wanting the pair of you gone so he could sleep through the day. But you weren’t hungry and you didn’t want to go out.

She tried again at lunch time and received the same response, but, since you hadn’t eaten, she managed to guilt you into going to the little diner down the street for an hour. You could tell that she was nervous, almost as if she knew something that you didn’t - but, of course she did. She’d spent the evening with Frank and he’d probably told her exactly what was going on

It was a feeling that soon started to gnaw at you, wondering what the pair of them had spoken about after you’d gone to bed, hating that she knew more about the situation than you did.

When you got back to the penthouse, you went back to your rooms, showering and using washing your hair as an excuse to get some space, the whole process taking longer than usual because of your broken arm. 

Then you drew blood for Billy, wanting everything to be ready for him when he got up, some part of you hoping that things could go back to normal straight away.

It wasn’t until you reached the fridge that you noticed all of the blood you’d put in there over the last few days was gone. Had he had it all last night or had Frank gotten rid of it? 

You returned to your room until Karen called you out to the penthouse just as the sun was starting to set.

Nerve quickly took hold, no longer sure what you wanted to say to Billy. You just wanted to see him, know that he was alright, the rest could come after that. You took a deep breath before stepping out into the penthouse, expecting to find him there waiting. He wasn’t.

“He’s waitin’ for you in the library,” Frank told you before you could ask. “Wants a quick word before we head to the office.”

“He’s going back to work?” You asked, confused.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it had been almost two weeks since he’d last gone in, but the state he was in last night made you wonder if it was really the right decision. Frank didn’t offer you any explanation or reassurance, he just shrugged.

You decided it was best to talk to Billy about it, and quickly started towards the library, wanting nothing more than to be able to talk to him and finally get some answers to all the questions you’d been struggling with over the last few days.

He was standing near the window, looking out at the view when you entered, all dressed up in a dark charcoal suit, ready for work. 

Your breath caught when he finally turned to look at you and you felt your heart start to beat a little faster, and you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else that was causing it.

You took a few steps towards him, the corner of your lips pulling upwards, happy to be with him again, despite the circumstances. But, when he noticed how close you were getting, he seemed to bristle.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He said, his voice measured giving a false air of calm.

You frowned, hesitating for a second, wanting to move closer to him, not further away. But, after a moment, you did as you were asked and took a seat on the worn leather sofa. For a few seconds you watched him, expecting him to come and sit with you, or at least move a little closer, but he didn’t.

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry,” he continued speaking in that same tone, sounding almost distant, cold. “I never should have put you in that situation, and I’m sorry that you were hurt.”

“No, Billy, that’s not -” you weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him, but he didn’t give you the chance to finish.

“I realise now that I’ve been selfish. I’ve been putting you in danger, over and over again, and it needs to stop.”

Dread filled you, your heart feeling like he’d reached into your chest and taken hold of it, squeezing it uncomfortably, causing it to stutter. Your lungs burned, refusing to draw breath. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that he didn’t mean what you thought that he meant, but he soon confirmed all your fears.

“I took advantage of you - I can see that now, and I really am sorry,” he carried on in that same empty tone, barely looking at you enough to see that there were tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “I understand that you rejected the offer Lissa extended on my behalf, but I’m willing to double it. I know it doesn’t make up for the pain I’ve caused you but -”

“You’re paying me to go away?” Your voice broke and the first tear fell.

“No, that’s not - I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

You held up your broken arm, making sure he looked, making sure he acknowledged what he’d done to you. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Billy paled at the comment, taking a step back and letting out a ragged breath.

“Can’t you just -”

“What? Go quietly? Leave so you can pretend this never happened?” You answered back, anger quickly mixing with the hurt. You sniffled, trying so desperately to stay in control of yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you got hurt - I hurt you. More than once. It’s better for both of us if you go.” Finally, there was a break in his tone, actual emotion starting to seep through. You could tell that he was upset, that he was angry and annoyed but, more than that, you could tell he was just as lost as you were.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere. You asked me to stay. You made me want to stay with you,” you told him defiantly, watching as your words hit home. “You don’t get to make me feel like... like this and then send me away.”

“You’re not -”

“How is it better for me, Billy? How is being on my own with nowhere to go better?” The panic was quick to mix with the hurt in your tone, your heart racing a mile a minute.

He gave a heavy sigh, fingers tearing through his hair. “What do you want from me? I’m trying to make this easier for both of us.”

“You’re trying to make it easier for you. I don’t need easy, I want honesty. I want to know what’s going on.”

“You want honesty?” He almost laughed. “You mean like you’ve been honest with me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know about your fiance.”

You could have screamed. You very nearly did scream. “He is not my fiance. I told you - I told you what my parents are like. I will never marry that man after what he did to me.”

The change in Billy was almost instant, a familiar spark in him that seemed to ignite just at the suggestion that someone had hurt you in any way. If nothing else, it was reassuring to know that some part of him still cared, even if he was doing all he could to bury that part and forget all about it.  

“You told me I got to have a choice here. Well this is my choice, Billy; I’m staying,” you told him, getting to your feet. “If you want me gone, you’re going to have to fire me. It should be easy for you, you’ve made me break enough of your rules...”

“You’d make me do that? Fire you and kick you out with nothing?” He asked, trying to make you see how ridiculous you were being.

You shrugged. “If I leave here I’ll have nothing anyway.”

“You’d have money, enough to start a new life, enough to -”

“I don’t want your money and I don’t want a new life,” you almost shouted. “I want my life. I want the life I get to choose.”

“Then you need to start making better choices,” he finally snapped, the forced calm gone from his voice completely and leaving behind nothing but frustration. “Because, this thing that’s wrong with me... there’s no fixing it, it won’t get any better, and the next time you might not get away with just a broken arm and I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“And how am I supposed to know about any of that when you won’t talk to me? When you always try to run away every time things get hard?” You asked, your own tone turning just as fraught. “You let me think I was helping, that I could help you. You made me feel like I mattered and now you’re just throwing me away.”

“You do matter. All of this is because you matter.”

You watched as he fought against himself, taking a step towards you then turning away, looking as lost as you felt in all of this. More than anything, you wanted to go to him, to just wrap your arms around him and not let go, but you knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, “tell me why you’d rather send me away than let me stay. Tell me what happened that night.”

When he looked back, there was anger and discomfort written across his face and something else too. Hatred. He hated that you were doing this to him and it was almost enough to make you feel sick. But, at that moment, you hated him a little too. You hated all of this and everything he was trying to do.

Billy took a slow breath, his jaw clenching before he finally started to speak.

“I went looking for Krista...”

“Did you -” you faltered, not sure how to ask the question, “- you were covered in blood, was that...?”

Billy shook his head. “It was mostly mine.”

Even though you’d asked the question, once you had the answer you wished that you hadn’t. You didn’t ask the obvious follow up, instead you nodded and waited for him to continue.

“The thing that I have - the sickness - she has it too. I didn’t realise until I saw her lose control.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath. “It’s a disease,” he continued, his voice low, “it takes every vampire impulse and makes it impossible to control. It silences every part of us that’s still human.” 

“How do you get it?” You asked quietly, needing to find out everything you could.

“You either get it from the person who turns you, or by being fed on by someone carrying it. It stays dormant in humans and only becomes active if they’re turned.”

You listened carefully, absorbing what he told you, still trying to make sense of it all.

“But Frank -”

“No, Frank doesn’t have it,” he answered before you could even finish.

“Then, how?”

The air between you became suddenly tense and you could tell from the look on Billy’s face that he really didn’t want to talk about it. At any other time you would have withdrawn the question, not wanting to see him looking so uncomfortable, but you knew that you might never get another chance like this to find out what was going on with him.

“When I was a kid,” he offered before pausing, as if he was considering leaving the story there, before continuing. “There was a guy who used to volunteer in the evening at the group home. At first he seemed cool, letting us stay out late playing hoops and stick ball, but then he -”

Billy stopped and you watched him almost twitch at the memory. You didn’t ask him to carry on, you could already guess. Only, you soon realised, that that was only scratching the surface. 

“Turned out he liked the kids more than he let on,” Billy finally carried on, and the sick feeling in your stomach only got worse, “he told me I was pretty and broke my arm when I told him that I wasn’t interested in those kinds of games, then he bit me.”

“Billy, I...” your voice was little more than a whisper, your head spinning. Was he comparing himself to the man who’d hurt him? Was that why he was so set on you leaving? You looked down at your own broken arm and shuddered.

“He only fed on me a couple of times, but it was enough to infect me,” Billy went on. “I didn’t find out until a month or so after I was turned... I completely lost control. Frank nearly had to kill me to stop me.”

“And Krista... did you -”

“No, I never bit her...” he was quick to answer, but there was a strange hint of guilt in his voice.

“Then how?” 

“Layla...” he said, awkwardly swallowing. You’d heard that name before. “She was the one before Krista and I -”

He didn’t need to say it, the look on his face told you everything that you needed to know.

“You turned her?” You asked and he nodded, looking physically sick. “By accident?” He nodded again.

“Krista must have found her after I fired her. I don’t know if they’re working together but Layla must have turned her...” Billy let out a sigh. “Krista wants to ruin my life and she knows that you’re the way to do it. She triggered the thing inside me when she told me about your fiance. And when I saw you that night...”

Mine. That’s what he’d said to you, just before hurting you. He’d been claiming you. (Maybe he hadn’t been trying to hurt you after all - though that seemed like a very dangerous thing to think given the circumstances.)

Silence filled the room for at least a minute as you tried to think of the right words to say. You didn’t want to think the worst of him, even now, but you were starting to see the havoc he’d caused in so many lives. Maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault, but you were so tired of trying to think of excuses for him.

Finally, you had your answers, but they brought you no comfort. In fact you felt worse for knowing; you felt empty, hollowed out. It felt like he was telling you because he was drawing a line beneath whatever you had been, like it didn’t matter if you found out because you’d be gone soon.

“Is there a cure? A way to treat it?” You asked.

“There isn’t,” he answered, “I’ve spent the last fifteen years looking for one.”

“But -” 

“There’s no fixing it. There’s no making any of it any better,” Billy sighed. “So it’s better for both of us if you just take the money and go because there’s no happy ending here, not if we’re together.”

“There’s no happy ending if I go either,” you told him with a sniffle. “If I leave I’ll end up right back where I started, with the man my parents practically sold me to. A man who doesn’t care about giving me a choice...” 

Billy awkwardly swallowed, trying to get rid of a lump in his throat, his hands clenching to fists at your words.

“You don’t have to go back to them. You could go anywhere.”

“They’d find me,” you muttered, starting to feel numb and cold, like he’d reached inside of you and scooped out all the hope and joy. “I was lying to myself thinking I could get away from them...”

“I could -”

“If you’re sending me away, I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.”

“But -”

“No,” you sighed, finally resigned to what this was. You forced yourself to look at him, despite the tears in your eyes. “You’re not going to change my mind. I’m not leaving unless you make me leave. If you don’t want to see me or have anything to do with me, that’s fine; I’ll do my job and stay out of your way. But I’m not leaving until my contract ends.”

“What if I -” he tried, starting to get frustrated again.

“It’s not a negotiation, Billy,” you told him, managing to sound firm despite the way your heart was racing. “Besides, you said yourself that you keep doing this with the women who come to work for you. What sort of person would I be if I walked away now and let you move on to the next poor girl?”

It was a low blow, and you didn’t want to be cruel, but what Billy was doing hurt and you’d be damned if he got you to leave just so he could move on to the next one.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Why? Because this meant something to you?” You shook your head. “Don’t bother, Billy. I get it. I’m just one in a long line of women naive enough to think you could love them.”

“I’m not doing this because I don’t care.”

“How many times have you said those words? How many times have you brought someone into your home and made them care about you?” You asked but quickly shook your head, not wanting to know the answer. “You told me that you’d never been wanted, but I’m starting to think that was just a line. I think you make people want you and then you push them away because it scares you. I wanted you. I wanted to stay - here, after, with you, just like you asked.”

You started to move towards the door, your hand scrubbing at your cheeks, wanting to wipe away any sign of tears before you had to face Karen and Frank again. Stopping just shy of the door, you turned back to him.

“You could’ve talked to me about this, you could have given me a real choice before we started this instead of letting me think I was helping you,” you told him, desperately trying to hold yourself together. “Broken bones heal, but what you’ve broken today? That’s going to hurt for the rest of my life.”

“Wait -” you heard him as you reached for the door handle.

You didn’t stop, didn’t even turn to hear him out, you knew he was just going to hurt you more. There was movement behind you, but you didn’t wait, walking out into the penthouse to find Karen and Frank waiting for you. 

They were sitting together on the sofa but both stood the moment you emerged, Karen giving you a sympathetic look as you wiped your eyes. You almost expected Billy to follow after you, almost hoped that he would, but he didn’t and that was all the sign you needed that you’d just done the right thing.

“You can come stay with me, we’ll get your things and -” Karen started, already stepping towards you.

“What?” You asked before realising what was going on. They were in on it. Karen and Frank both knew that Billy had been trying to get rid of you, and they’d both gone along with it. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the penthouse for a few seconds, all eyes on you.

“Damn it,” Frank grumbled, “did he not explain to you that -”

“He did,” you interrupted, “and I explained to him that if he wants me gone, then he’s going to have to fire me.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Frank...” Karen tried to calm him down.

“Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to him?” He said, as if he thought he could make you feel guilty after everything Billy had said and done. He couldn’t.

“I’m not doing anything to Billy that he didn’t do to me first,” you answered back, feeling a little bolder than usual. Maybe it was because everything already hurt so much that you couldn’t even bring yourself to care what might happen if you upset a vampire like Frank. 

He looked ready to say something when Karen put her hand on his arm. For a moment more, he stared at you, before huffing. 

“Can you talk some fuckin’ sense into her?” He grumbled at Karen before heading to the library.

You almost let him walk by without further comment, but you found you just couldn’t help yourself. “We were fine until the party. If you want to blame someone for this, maybe you should look at yourself. You’re the one that made him doubt himself...”

Frank paused for a moment and your heart rate spiked as he glared at you. It was almost enough to have you shrinking back, feeling like you’d pushed a little too hard. He shook his head before storming into the library.

Karen let out a sigh before stepping towards you, trying to usher you into your rooms. You went, but not because that was where she wanted to go.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you sighed, walking into your room and heading towards the window, looking out at the city at night. “And you’re not going to change my mind.”

Out in the penthouse, you heard the sound of the elevator; Frank and Billy were leaving.

“Can you at least tell me why you’re doing this? I get that you have feelings for him, but -”

“It’s not that. I’m not staying because I think I can change his mind or make him care about me,” you told her, giving a defeated shrug. “It just... it took so much out of me to leave everything behind and come to New York. I finally got used to being here - I like being here - I can’t just walk out on the only place I’ve ever felt comfortable.”

“You don’t have to leave New York. You have friends here, people besides Billy,” Karen offered softly. 

“It’s not enough, you won’t be able to stop them from taking me back when they find me. I’m safer here than I would be anywhere else.”

“Who is this guy that you’re so scared of?” Karen finally asked the million dollar question.

The question was followed by a long silence, making it clear that you didn’t want to tell her, but Karen didn’t move, didn’t try to change the subject or carry on the conversation. She was waiting for an answer and, it seemed, she would wait as long as it took to get one.

“He’s a very old and very powerful vampire,” you finally answered. “He’s part of a criminal organisation called the Maggia.”

When you heard Karen take an awkward breath, you knew that you didn’t need to explain any more than that, in her work she’d no doubt heard of the organised crime network that spanned the whole globe. 

It felt strange to finally say it, to finally admit just how screwed you were. Honestly, you thought that it would feel different, to expose what you were running from, but you just felt tired and resigned. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“And your parents owe him money,” she stated and you nodded. “So, what was your plan? Use the million dollars Billy is going to pay you to disappear or were you going to try and pay him back?”

You pressed the heel of your palm to your eye, feeling fraught and exhausted. “I don’t have a plan. I could never raise what my parents owe and, at this point, I don't think he'd let me just pay him off.”

It sucked to finally say those words out loud and admit to yourself that you really didn’t know what you were doing. You’d come to New York with the hopes that you could disappear, that a million dollars would be enough to vanish completely but if you’d learned one thing from Madani it was that you were easy to find. Too easy.

“I thought that I’d have it all figured out by the end of my year here but maybe I won’t. So,” you shrugged again, “if I’m going to end up back there with him, I’d rather spend the rest of the time I have here feeling comfortable and safe, hoping that he doesn’t find me until my year is up.”

“You don’t have to let that happen, we could -”

“Please, don’t tell Billy,” you begged. “I don’t want his pity.”

“It’s not pity. He could help. We all could. You’ve got friends here.”

“No, Frank was right - I just make things worse for everyone - and I don’t want to do that anymore,” you told her. “If you’re really my friend, please don’t tell him. Don’t tell Frank. Don’t tell anyone. If you do, I’ll have to leave.”

It was a childish threat but one you knew you’d follow through on; you didn’t want Billy to know. You didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him to know what awaited you.

“You can’t just give up.”

“Why not? Billy already gave up on me,” you muttered, not wanting to feel sorry for yourself but finding it almost impossible.

“That’s not what happened. He cares about you, he wants to keep you safe. That’s why we all thought it would be best if you left.”

You looked at her for a moment, sure that she believed every word she was saying. But you knew better than that, you’d looked him in the eyes as he said it, as he pushed you away to protect himself, because he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of his actions.

“It doesn’t matter. Billy made his choice, and it wasn’t me.” 

“I know that’s how it probably feels -”

“That’s how it is. He wants to send me away so he can forget all about me,” you interrupted, somehow managing to keep a neutral tone despite the fact that your heart was breaking.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Karen decided. “Whether you stay here with Billy or not, I’m not going to let them take you back home.”

A sigh slipped out and you nodded, managing something of a smile. You knew that she meant well, but you already knew that there was nothing she could do to help. Now there was no chance of you staying with Billy, enjoying the protection that he could offer, you knew that you’d eventually end up right back where you started.

“Now that everything's back to normal, you don’t have to stay,” you told her. “You can go back to your life...”

“I can stay a few more days,” she offered.

“No, I -” you let out a sigh, “- I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I think it’d be easier for everyone if we all just got back to normal.”

Only, you knew that it wasn’t going to be normal for you, not when Billy wanted nothing to do with you. You were going to have to get used to being alone again.

Without warning, Karen pulled you into a hug and held you tight. You drew a shuddered breath, lightly wrapping your good arm around her, knowing she was trying her best to comfort you, even though you felt inconsolable. She held on for a few seconds before finally pulling back.

“Are you sure?” She asked and you nodded. “I’ll still see you on Thursdays,” she promised. “I’ll make arrangements with Billy so you can have a night out with me, Matt and Foggy again some time soon.” 

You nodded along, only half listening as she made plans for things you could do as she slowly began to pack up her things. She lingered longer than you expected her to and, by the time she left, you felt so numb that you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry. You put on your pyjamas and climbed into bed, deciding to watch TV, starting up the next episode of Black Sails, knowing that there was no point in waiting for Billy to continue watching any more.

End Note : 😅😅 Okay so I know that probably didn't answer ALL the questions people have had, but I've tried to at lest answer a few. I'm sorry this one is so angsty and sad. Also... yes the Maggia is something from Marvel comics, is it going to be accurate and canon? No, probably not 😅

Thanks so much for reading/commenting/reblogging/liking. I'm so happy so many people are still following along! Have a great weekend!

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@ashy-kit

So we all know that Tumblr is US-centric. But to what degree? (and can we skew the results of this poll by posting it at a time where they should be asleep?)

Reblog to increase sample size!

I absolutely adore the way you write Emmett!! You represent his character very well while giving him (in my opinion) more dimension than he was ever given in the original books. He's meat headed but is almost always well intentioned and trying to have fun. I don't know if he has the capacity to hate anyone lol.

This story is one of my favorites to read, and every post is a treat, thank you Author!

Also your new cat is super cute <3

Bound | Chapter 6

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could’ve hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: I have had 0 inspiration to write, but I've been working on a couple of new things, especially an avatar request that came in last year 👀👀

<- Previous

Two years had passed since the night that should have been her last, and Rosalie had felt it. Now that she truly had forever to look forward to, it should have felt like the blink of an eye. But she couldn’t help but feel like life had decided just to drag her along. 

It had been two years, and she still didn’t feel quite part of the family. She enjoyed Esme’s company and valued Carlisle’s mind, but Edward was worse than a weed that wouldn’t stop growing. No matter how many times you plucked it, it simply grew back. He was irritating and insufferable, and it made Rosalie’s just that much irksome. 

They hadn’t been able to remain in Rochester for too long due to the girl’s victims, and he never failed to mention it. It was as though he would find any moment he could to bother her. And his mind-reading powers didn’t help to subside his already massive ego, believing that just because could listen to the thoughts of others that he knew everything. 

But he didn’t know the true pain and sadness that lived deep inside Rosalie. If he had, she was sure he’d beg for a way to shut her mind off. There was dread and despair like no other, carried from years long before she had died. It was a darkness that she carried all by herself. 

More often than not, Rosalie kept to herself. Other than her sporadic afternoon chats with Esme or Carlisle—often both—she truly didn’t do much else. School didn’t interest her yet, especially not when her only company would be Edward. She’d rather stay home and read. Morning, noon, and night, she was found with a book in her hands. There was nothing else that interested her, not even the Cadillac that had traveled with them all the way from New York. 

It had lain untouched in the garage of their Tennessee home, a thick layer of dust covering the baby blue of its lacquer. As much as it tempted her to get her hands dirty and fix it up until it came roaring back to life, Rosalie found that there was no point to it. She would never need another set of wheels in her life—at least, not really. 

Even when it came time to feed, Rosalie would prefer her own company. When the other three would go out together to hunt as a family, the blonde remained at the house, waiting for their return. Once they had eaten, then and only then would she go out herself. There were times when Edward would extend the hunting trips just to see how far she would push things, how long she would go while she was hungry. But if he thought she’d ever give in, he was dumber than he looked. No matter how long she had to wait, she would go on her own terms. Clearly, the boy had yet to grasp how stubborn she could be. 

 Much like she had done before, that morning, Rosalie had escaped into the mountains of Tennessee to find an animal to feed on. The family had just come back from a weekend-long trip that the girl had refused to join once more. Unfortunately, she still had to feed, and the moment they were back, she was gone. 

It was a rather cloudy morning in the state, and the mist from the morning felt heavenly on her skin. She breathed in the smell of dew, pine, and soil, reveling in the senses she still had available to her. But as she walked deeper into the woods, the scent transformed and set off the dangerous hunger that she had. 

She knew the smell well but had stayed away from its taste since her turning. Iron filled her nostrils, making her stomach rumble with a dizzying need. It blinded her to all reason, and all she desired was the crimson liquid. Rosalie had never taken a drop of blood, but she could imagine how the warm fluid would feel going down her throat, coating her mouth in a flavor unlike anything she had tasted before. She could feel her fangs sinking into soft flesh, her mouth filling with the venom that coursed through her veins. It was a feeling like no other, and it terrified her to how quickly her mind turned to a primal state. 

Until she saw where the smell was coming from. 

As she came upon the scene before her, all need for the taste of blood vanished, replaced by the need to save the boy she had come upon. There, in the middle of the woods, a man who looked shockingly similar to Henry, Vera’s son, was losing a fight with a black bear. He was on the ground, covered in slashes and bites, blood clinging onto his skin like it was meant to be there. And even as the bear towered over him, claiming his life as its own, the boy kept laughing and taunting it. It seemed if he was going to go down, he’d be doing it on his own terms. 

Rosalie knew there was no possible way that the boy being attacked could ever be Henry. The babe had all but celebrated his second birthday, and there was no reason he’d be fully grown and in Tennessee. But she couldn’t help the protective instinct that took over her when she saw the man being attacked. Where she would normally allow life to take on its course, she could not stop herself from getting involved. That boy deserved to live; something deep inside told her so. 

Without another thought, she sped out of her hiding place and pounced on the bear, breaking its neck in one swift move before sinking her teeth into its neck. The smell of blood had already made her stomach turn, her mouth salivating like it had never before. Yet, her resolve was stronger than her hunger. She allowed the bear’s warm blood to coat her mouth, satiating the desire for feeding before turning to the battered man. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he questioned with a smile on his face. “There’s no way I’d meet an angel on Earth.” 

“You’re not dead yet,” she said. “And you won’t really be if I have anything to do with it.” 

“An angel in real life,” he muttered. “How great my luck?” 

Rosalie took the boy in her arms like he weighed nothing. She sped through the woods with a newfound resilience. He wasn’t Henry, of course not, she kept telling herself. But she had stumbled across him for some reason, and something told her she had to save him. 

The smell of his blood taunted her as she sped through the woods to where the Cullens resided. She could feel the warmth seeping through her fingers, coating her skin and her clothes. And though she had satiated her hunger with the bear, she couldn’t help her new nature. But, the look on the boy’s face stopped any urge she may have had. 

The brunette had fallen asleep in her arms, possibly due to his blood loss. Still, his heart beat in his chest, and in only a few minutes, she’d be in Carlisle’s office, begging him to save him. Her legs carried her forward until she finally arrived at her destination. 

It was Esme who saw her first. She had been tending to the garden when the metallic smell of the boy’s blood hit her nostrils.  “What happened?” the woman questioned. “Who is he?”

“I have no idea,” Rosalie responded as they walked toward Carlisle. “I found him trying to fight a bear. Clearly, we know who was winning.”

“Oh, his pulse is very weak,” Esme said. “You’ve brought him to Carlisle.”

“Yes,” the girl stated. “Something tells me he’d want to live.”

There was no other moment than that when Rosalie understood why Carlisle had decided to change her. Minus the belief that she could be someone’s partner, she could finally comprehend his inability to let a life go to waste right in front of him. She knew she could have left the boy to perish at his own stupidity and face the consequences of his actions. But he was right there, and he looked so much like Henry. The girl knew she’d spend her eternity regretting not saving him. 

Once Carlisle had agreed, noting the desperation in Rosalie’s eyes, she remained by the door of the room they had put the boy in. For three days and two nights, there was groaning and screaming as the pain from the transition took over his body, freezing every inch of his youth and fixing anything that had dared damage his skin. 

Then, on the third night, a perfect-skinned, red-eyed Emmett McCarty—she had finally learned his name— emerged from the room. Rosalie and Carlisle then explained to him about his new existence. He’d taken a second to process the information, but he didn’t grow mad or even think they were mad. Instead, he smiled. He called Rosalie and angel and Carlisle a god. Such a hellish existence could be bearable with people like that on his side. Unlike Rosalie, he didn’t quite mind the vampire life. 

Edward took him hunting first, making it a boys’ trip. He’d been reluctant at first, questioning why Ros wouldn’t go with them. But the second he stepped outside and felt the freedom and power of his new abilities, all was forgotten. 

Rosalie didn’t mind the rest, though. In the first few days of his new life, Emmett had grown rather doting on the blonde. He’d follow her everywhere, filled with questions and gratitude. At first, she didn’t mind the adoration–she was accustomed to being doted upon. But after the 30th hour of his pleasantries, she couldn’t help but remember all the nice words people in her short life had gifted her. All the compliments and accolades she had acquired from them, and how she had believed every single one. She had believed every single one of them until it drove her to her death. So, the second there was a window of silence, she welcomed it. 

In the quiet, the girl felt a surge of inspiration. She headed to the home’s garage and uncovered the beautiful Cadillac that had been buried under a layer of dust for months. It was as perfect as the day Carlisle had brought it home for her. The blue was just as vibrant, the metal perfect and smooth—truly the car of her dreams. The best part? She would be able to bring it back to life with her own two hands. 

Once she opened the hood, she was transported to a time when she was happy. She could hear her father telling her which were the parts that made up the car, hear her little brothers running rampant through the yard as her mother ran behind them. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel like she was there. 

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia took her hostage. Though it was impossible, her lungs felt devoid of air, and her heart felt as though it hammered inside her chest. She slammed the hood closed and covered the vehicle once more. She needed to leave. She needed an escape. 

“Is everything alright, Rosalie?” Esme questioned as she came to check the commotion. “What was that noise?”  

“Everything is fine,” Rosalie tried to smile. “I just need to take a walk. Empty my mind.”  

“Do you want some company? I could…”  

“It’s quite alright, Esme. I think I just need some time to myself.”  

Before the woman could add anything else, Rosalie was on the move. Even if she spent most of the time alone, she needed to be by herself. It had only been two years since she had last seen her family, and still, their memory was seared into her brain. 

She wondered if they had given up on their search and declared her dead. Or maybe they were still putting up posters, hoping one day there would be new information on her whereabouts. She wondered if her brothers had begun dating and if they told those girls about the sister they used to have—maybe they hadn’t even cared to talk about it with their friends. But she held onto the hope that they held her memory fondly, that they missed the girl who would oftentimes tuck them into bed and read them a bedtime story or the girl who quietly taught them about cars when they were much too young to be fiddling with the machines. And how she wished she could still be able to do that. 

Now, she could only hope that her parents held them just a little bit closer and didn’t raise them like they had her. They were just as beautiful as her, and they were sure to be able to marry well. But she prayed they were able to simply live and enjoy the fleeting moments that made up their existence. She pleaded for them to grow up to be kind and decent men who held her memory alive. 

Knowing her family would one day grow old and pass made her heart hurt. She couldn’t withstand the thought that they’d live an entire life and simply disappear–not that she’d wish for them her immortality. They would be on earth for a moment, and the next, they’d be gone. And she would never know when or from what. That was the curse of her existence. Everyone she knew and loved would one day be gone, and she was meant to live on and on and on and on….

Not seeing her family was the worst part of it all. And that’s all she could think of as she walked back to the house. Night had come and gone, and the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. She hadn’t meant to stay out too late, but time had slipped away as she daydreamed of her past and her family’s future. The girl couldn’t help that her mind had trailed on and on, punishing her with memory after memory of the life she was forced to leave behind.

But one thing kept her afloat: the thought of Vera and Henry living a happy life with a man who truly seemed to adore her. She’d get to live everything they had both dreamed of, even if she wasn’t there to see it. And that was all she could have asked for. If Rosalie wasn’t able to have what she wanted, she was glad Vera did. 

The men had returned from their hunt. Carlisle was with Esme in the garden, telling her how it had been a success, but it would take Emmett some time to fully acclimate to their lifestyle. It was to be expected that the newborn vampire would struggle with blood lust–not that Rosalie faced much of that problem. 

 “Are you feeling better, Rosalie?” Esme asked as the girl neared the house. “You had me quite worried.” 

“Much better,” she said. “It’s just what I needed.” 

“I saw that you uncovered the Cadillac,” Carlisle mused. “Were you able to work on it?” 

“Not this time,” she responded. “I don’t think I’m ready yet to do so.” 

“Well, maybe one day.” 

“Yes,” she smiled softly. “Maybe one day.” 

She walked into the house, crossing a smug-looking Edward but giving him no mind as she headed toward her bedroom. He was the last person she wanted to interact with after the night she’d had–or anytime truly. So, she ignored his wisenheimer gaze and disappeared down the hall. 

It didn’t take long to figure out why he wore such a sly expression. Right on her dresser, a crystal vase rested, filled with blooming red roses and dazzling violets. At any given time, she would have swooned at the beautiful bouquet. But that specific arrangement made her blood boil in a way it hadn’t for two years. Anger surged from deep within her core, bubbling to the surface as destructive rage. 

Her hands wrapped around the vase as though it weighed no more than a piece of paper and smashed it to the ground, watching it explode into a million glimmering pieces. The crash resounded through the house like clapping thunder, alerting all of the vampires about her ire. 

Those flowers represented the worst part of her life and the person who had taken everything from her. Royce had showered her with them the whole time they were courting, and she had grown to despise those otherwise beautiful stems. They brought back every single memory that had soured with time, festering anger and disappointment in her heart. The last thing she wanted was to be gifted another bouquet of roses and violets that reminded someone of her eyes. And the only person who could have ever known how much she hated them was Edward. 

But she did not want to give him the satisfaction of a bigger reaction. The smashed antique vase was enough answer to his callous idea of a prank. Instead of chewing his ear off with another loud, angry rant, she remained in her room, sitting by her balcony and dreaming of a time when she was still happy. 

Rosalie couldn’t have known how much time had passed before she heard crunching behind her as someone dared to enter her room, and she knew exactly who it was.

“I take it you didn’t like the flowers,” Emmett said, chuckling with every ounce of his boyish charm. “Edward said they were your favorites. I can see now he was just wanting to get a rise out of you.” 

“I swear that boy’s only reason for existing is to try my patience,” she scoffed. “But I understand it wasn’t your fault. The flowers are beautiful, truly. They just remind me of some horrible things in my past that I would much rather leave there.” 

“Well, then, what flowers could I ever get you?” he mused. “You know if I ever wanted to make you another gift of gratitude that won’t end up shattered on the ground.” 

“Any other flower is fine,” she smiled softly. “Except for sunflowers.” 

“Another bad memory?”

“No,” she said as she wrapped her arms around herself. “They remind me of the best times in my life. But it’s a flower that can only belong to one person.” 

“Can I ask who?” 

“You will look at me differently,” she sighed. “It’s not something I’ve truly shared with anyone. And it’s not something I want someone like Edward to know.”

 “Well, it’s a good thing we can get away from him really fast,” the boy grinned. “And I promise you there is nothing you can tell me that will ever change what I think about you.”

Rosalie battled with herself. She could feel it in her gut that Emmett was true to his word and that she could trust him. But she had trusted before, and it had ended with her life. Although there was nothing more she could lose, not anymore. 

“Alright,” she said as she dug through her bedside table and pulled out a leather journal. “Let’s go.” 

The two of them left through the back door of the house and ran into the neighboring woods, getting as far away from Edward’s peering ears as they could. They made sure he had not followed before stopping by a nearby creek and sitting on a boulder. Their ears could only hear a soft stream of water and the chirping of some nearby birds, and they weren’t going to spill her most close-kept secret. 

“I’m sure you already know what happened to me and why I ended up a vampire,” she said. Her fingers ran through the notebook's cover, her eyes trained on the carved details rather than the red of Emmett’s eyes. “I trusted the wrong people back then, thinking they were the ones who could give me what I wanted out of life. I never thought I would ever lose any of it. “Royce, my ex-fiancée, used to always bring me roses because of my name. Then, he started giving me violets as well because he said my human eyes reminded him of them,” the blonde explained. “I can’t look or even smell those flowers without remembering what he did to me, Emmett. And, I guess I let that thought slip by with Edward present. That’s why he told you I liked those flowers—to get a reaction out of me.” 

“It sounds to me like you don’t really like Edward,” he chuckled. “Am I right?”

“I already spent enough of my life having to stand an egotistical man who thinks he’s better than everyone just because he has some kind of upper hand,” she scoffed. “I’m done pretending I can stand that kind of behavior. Now, I put up with him for Carlisle and Esme’s sake, but I can only take so much of him. He also said I wasn’t his type. And I’m everyone’s type.”  

“You certainly are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” the boy smirked. “But what about sunflowers? Why are those special?”

“That’s what might change your opinion of me,” she said meekly, her voice breaking slightly as she gripped the notebook tighter in her hands. “I need you to promise me, Emmett, that even if you hate me after I tell you this, you won’t even let the thought of it slip. I want to trust you with this because I do feel that you’re different. But I need you to promise me that no matter what, you will keep this secret to yourself.” 

“I promise, Rosalie,” he stated. “Whatever you tell me right now, I will take to my grave… or, well, my mental grave.” 

Rosalie opened her notebook with shaking hands and pulled out two pictures and the scrap of paper she had pulled from her missing poster flyer. She placed them in Emmett’s hands with a soft smile and explained. “That’s Vera,” she said as she pointed at the first paper. “She was my best friend since we were little. Grew up very differently, but we were inseparable. She got married young. Just seventeen. And then she had little Henry,” she smiled as she pointed at the second picture. “They were the closest thing I ever got to the family I had always wanted for myself.” 

“And this?” Emmett questioned as he palmed the scrap paper. “There are people here who love her more than sunflowers love the sun. Who wrote that?”

“Vera did,” she smiled sadly. “She published that on my missing person flyer without signing her name. It was the only way we found that we could tell each other we loved one another in public. Does a sunflower love the sun? That’s what we’d say every time we said goodbye to each other.” 

“But why wouldn’t you be able to tell her…?” his voice droned on as realization donned on him. “Oh.” 

“Yes, Emmett. Oh,” she sighed. “The world has never been kind to us, and we had to find a way to live our lives without people knowing.”

“So, that means you…” 

“Yes, Emmett, I like girls,” she confessed. “And you’re the first person I’ve ever said this out loud to. Now, if you look at me differently, if you think I’m just an abomination and you want to be as far away from me as possible, I understand.”  

Rosalie was ready for the rejection, the anger, the disgust. It was how others had always reacted when spoken about the topic, and she knew it was always coming. She had come to think those things of herself at some point. She believed she was an abomination, she believed she was sin incarnate. But she was not prepared for a smile and a comforting hand. “That explains why none of my flirting has worked,” he chuckled. “Good to know it wasn’t me.” 

“W-what?” she stammered. “You don’t… you don’t mind?” 

“Why would I?” the boy responded softly. “I just recently found out that vampires exist, and I turned into one. I think there are stranger things out there, and love ain’t one of them.” 

“So, you don’t think there’s something wrong with me? That I’m perverse or that I’m crazy?” 

“I could never, Rosalie. I’ve seen girls,” he smirked. “I can understand why you’d like them. I know I do.” 

“The only person that has ever reacted that way was Vera, and that’s because she liked girls too,” she smiled. “I never thought I’d meet anyone else like that.” 

“Well, now you have someone else who will love you no matter what, Rose,” he smiled. “Obviously, I will only be a friend. But you’ll always have me by your side. You saved my life and gave me a chance to experience life in a completely different way. The least I can do is give you my love and understanding.” 

“You know, the only other person that ever knew this thought I was an abomination,” she recalled. “He told me he had taken pity on me when he’d seen us kiss once. I didn’t even know he had seen. We were always so careful. Maybe that’s what got me killed in the end. If it hadn’t…” 

“It is not up to you who you love, Rosalie,” Emmett comforted, squeezing her hand softly. “And there is absolutely nothing wrong with who you love. What that man did has no words, and if he wasn’t already dead, I’d have gone up to Rochester and killed him myself. You should be allowed to be with whoever you want.” 

“But it’s not the world we live in,” she sighed. “And now I have to go through eternity hiding who I am.” 

“Maybe not. Maybe we’ll see a world where you’ll be able to love who you love,” he said. “Isn’t that the beauty of immortality? We’ll be able to see the world around us change.”  

“It could get worse.” 

“But what if it gets so much better?”  

“You’re so optimistic,” she chuckled. “How did you end up this way?” 

“I thought I could fight a bear,” he laughed. “But, really, we won’t know about the future until it happens. So, why would we think up the worst?” 

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” 

“It’s better to think that things can get better rather than believing they’ll be worse,” he shrugged. “Now, come here and tell me about Vera and this handsome Henry. He kinda looks like me.” 

With a bright smile, she turned to the picture, “Well, she was the person who taught me what love could be.” 

And at that moment, by that creek, as she told Emmett all about the girl that had stolen her heart, Rosalie felt herself grow light. If someone else could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do the same for herself. And someday, maybe one day, she’d meet the girl who could love her too.

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attention all writers! tumblr is rolling out a new feature that allows our work to be used in ai training processes!

be sure to opt out of this in your visibility settings immediately! and remember, you have to opt out for each blog, not just your main!

go to your blogs’ settings (again, you have to do these steps for each blog, not just your main blog)

scroll until you see “visibility” and choose that

in your visibility settings, choose “prevent third-party sharing for (blog name)”

you may opted out already but we don’t take chances with ai around these parts *insert angry cowboy*

tagging some mutuals to get the word out — @multifandomsimagine @pegxcarter @moremaybank @gladerscake @goldenroutledge @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @drewstarkeyslut @drudyslut @tangledinlove @rafeandonlyrafe @mvybanks

it is once again... binturong appreciation hour

This is super interesting, I never thought about the way etiquette changes depending on past or current situations in certain regions.

Natalie Portman being confused by the fact that you have to say “hi” to someone before starting a conversation in France got me like ?????