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madschiavelique · 2 days ago

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A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 5 - Temperance

summary : viktor and reader work together in the library (so much banter, it's insane), then maybe there's a small fight because a guy called viktor a cripple and that causes some issues

content warnings : mentions of blood but really not that much tbh

word count : 5,4k

author's note : you thought i was gone on this one huh ? WRONG. we're so back babies! i know it's been 2 years since i've touched this baby okay, but i'm back now! hopefully i will get more time to write about this lil guy bc i love this fic.

masterlist : 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

(not proofread, english is not my first language ✦)

taglist : @doctorho

For the rest of the two long hours, Heimerdinger continued his lesson.

The class had come to an end, you silent, the class teeming with gossip. Professor Heimerdinger had distributed the subjects one by one to the students at the end of the lesson. He was a perfectly reasonable, friendly teacher who tried to make his pupils laugh at the expense of their historical knowledge.

When you had a lesson with him, you knew you were listening to a teacher who was wise enough to turn events and experiences into jokes to lighten the burden of his history lessons.

He was always on the lookout for questions and comments from the students, not hesitating for a moment as he gave the subjects to the groups one by one to point out the difficulties they might find and the pitfalls that might await them.

In short, Heimerdinger wanted his students to succeed, not to see a decline in the Piltover Academy's chances of success, which in the eyes of many seemed to be something to crow about rather than something to be ashamed of.

The very idea of being one of the few students to overcome these difficulties and succeed was, in your eyes, the greatest reward that could ever be given to you.

“Young folks,” he said, pointing to the two of you. “Come this way. I have reserved a subject especially for you.”

Heimerdinger didn't do things haphazardly. He gave students subjects that reflected them, or at least where he knew the results would be most interesting. You couldn't help but fear what he was up to.

When the students had dispersed, the tinkle of Viktor's cane sounded until he arrived at your side. You sighed audibly as you looked at him, crossing your arms over your chest as he gave you a winning smile.

He seemed to enjoy it when you got angry, and took great pleasure in teasing you constantly. Had he been a friend, you wouldn't have held it against him, even though your list of friends consisted mainly of Eris, Sky and Jayce. However, a friend wasn't supposed to be a problem for your success. There's only so much space in the academy for students who come out on top, and you weren't about to give yours away.

“Good,” he said at last as the last student passed through the doorway. “There's no need to point out that you two are the sharpest elements of this class, you're well enough aware of that, as is the rest of the school certainly.”

Your bickering and petty battles almost made the corridors of the school come alive again with the excitement of rumour and gossip partaking in your reputation.

“None of the fellow teachers in this establishment seem to have brought to the table, however, a possibility which seems to me to be the most interesting for both of you: teamwork.”

You arched an eyebrow, finding the reasoning profoundly moronic.

“Sir,” you couldn't help but point out, “this school is eliminatory. Why would you want to associate students who won't necessarily all have the chance to pass the exams?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, “I'm not doing it with the prospect of a pass or a gold medal waiting for you at the finish line, Miss.”

You tilted your chin up in a slight pout of surprise.

“You see, I'm not necessarily trying to prepare you for the exams, but for what will happen once they're over. Having a diploma is all very well on paper, but what counts most in the end will be what you achieve.”

“All right,” you admit, “but why put us in a pair like this?”

“It's quite simple,” he jumped up from his desk, trotting across the floor to stand in front of you, your eyes downcast on him. “In the working environment, you don't always find a shoe to fit. And when you don't have the power to dismiss your colleague just because you don't like them, you have to learn to sacrifice your temperament for the sake of the common good. Now, I'm not asking you to make sacrifices, that word is far too violent, but I am asking you to compromise.”

You exchanged a look with Viktor, your fists clenching until your knuckles were white. You'd already made enough compromises for one lifetime, and now you had to go on? He, for his part, didn't seem too bothered by the situation. How could he be so calm? So serene about the idea of cooperating?

“You don't always work with the person of your choice, and not always on the subjects you'd prefer. Oh, that's just it! Speaking of subjects…”

He stood on tiptoe, grabbing the last sheet of paper from his desk and holding it out to Viktor.

The latter, for once, frowned in pure confusion and even perhaps... irritation?

“The evolution of Zaun's power?”

Your eyes narrowed before shifting from Viktor to Heimerdinger, “Are you joking?”

“I do love to laugh young lady but the shortest jokes are the best. You both seem, for different reasons, to have an excellent knowledge of Zaun. Its political power, its evolution, and even the iconic figures who can make themselves forgotten in the shadows of its depths.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying to remain upright and not revolt on the spot. Heimerdinger seemed way too amused and happy of his little scheme.

“Any questions?”

Viktor read the subject and what you had to complete, “Do you have any books to recommend to us Professor?”

Heimerdinger's voice became a blur as your thoughts drifted like the Grey in Zaun. Every corner of this city was out to kill you, and even when you were out of it, it followed you like your shadow.

Were you ever going to get out of such a cycle, out of this city’s grasp ?

“Miss?”

The teacher's voice brought you back down to earth. Distracted, you simply offered a confused hum in question so that he would repeat his last words.

“Your assignment is due in a month. That gives you time to put your differences aside and find a way of working together. If you'll excuse me, my next class is coming up soon.”

He gestured towards the exit, and soon enough you found yourselves in the corridor. The momentary emptiness of the hall almost seemed to bring you back to reality.

You drew in a breath, meeting Viktor's gaze beside you. You couldn't afford to get a bad mark, especially not for a Heimerdinger course. He was one of the most renowned scientists in the country, with his own seat on the Piltover council. To produce mediocre work would be to end your career on the spot, and you were prepared to at least try to cooperate with someone like Viktor.

“Why are you not begging the teacher to put us both in different duos?” you asked while Viktor was still reading the subject content.

“Hm, I think it might be fun.” he said, not even glancing at you.

You scoffed, “You and me?” your trigger finger pointing back and forth between the two of you, “Together? Fun?”

His eyes dropped from the paper, scanning you with a changed interest.

“You'd rather go back in there and ask for a rematch like a loser?”

A muscle near your eye tensed for a moment.

He sighed, his eyes returning to the subject, “Admitting defeat takes strength.”

“So you think I'm weak ?”

But Viktor didn't seem to have the slightest interest in you at the moment.

You relaxed your shoulders, sighing. There was no point in trying to beat him, you weren't - on that subject at least - in competition.

“Can I see the subject?” you asked, reaching for the paper, but he removed it from your reach in an instant.

You frowned, this wasn't going to be easy.

“Do I disgust you?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard, your eyes blinking several times as you almost looked at him with fresh eyes.

If the question was purely physical, no, Viktor didn't disgust you. He was always accompanied at all times and in all places by that same invariable weariness that gave him a particular elegance. He had features common in Zaun, brown hair, amber eyes, and an accent that made some of the girls in your class drop like flies.

When it came to his character and personality though, it was another thing entirely.

“You annoy me,” you replied, managing to snatch the subject of his hand with enough agility that the gesture left him surprised, “but you don't disgust me.”

He remained silent for a moment. You could feel his eyes on you as yours fell on those of the subject.

“The only thing that disgusts me is your taste in pasta,” you confirmed.

He let out a little laugh, the kind that mixes humming and nose blowing, the kind you do when a remark makes you nostalgic.

“Friday, 5pm, library, don't be late.” he said simply, the clink of his cane echoing on the floor as he began to walk away.

As your eyes roamed over the page, you couldn't help but take in nothing of what was written. Your mind was stuck on him, on the trick Heimerdinger had just played on you.

He had just orchestrated a game that the whole school was going to bet on, the teachers were going to look at your situation in a new light, and in the worst case scenario, multiply the group work to put you both in pairs.

Your heart looped as you realised that this was undoubtedly another test. Heimerdinger was going to observe which of you was the best performer, the most pliable, the best at teamwork.

You had to be flawless, you had to.

Friday came earlier than you imagined, and you weren't looking forward to it in the least. You hadn't stopped thinking about it, finding yourself on numerous occasions distracted during your homework.

The card of the day you had drawn was Temperance, and the little booklet told you:

Alchemy. Mixing and harmonising opposing forces and concepts. Maintaining opposing ideas and encouraging complexity in life. Fusion produces evolution.

The archangel Gabriel, the angel messenger, is represented on the card. He wears the sign of the sun on his forehead. This is also the alchemist's symbol for gold. This card reflects the changing of the seasons and the adoption of new ideas. Temper in Latin is the act of repetition to invoke skill or to refine something, to make it sharper like a sword.

What a pain that was, and to think you'd have to endure this for a whole month of deep research and hours spent by his side working, together.

You dragged your feet as you made your way to the academy library.

It was a magnificent place, filled with the smell of varnished wood, old paper and dried ink. The ceiling was arched, the bookshelves forming real walls that separated the room like rows of pews in a church. If it hadn't been reserved for the academy's research students, it would surely have been on Piltover's list of monuments to visit.

There weren't many people there, apart from a small handful of students finishing their homework before basking in the arrival of the weekend. You were a good fifteen minutes early, and didn't see Viktor at all.

You were just about to put your bag and things down by a table and start your research, when a voice you wouldn't have preferred to hear at the time greeted you:

“Ah, there you are,” Viktor approached, coming out of one of the library corridors, “I just needed some help to get to the higher tomes.”

With his free hand, he held up a small stack of tomes, pressing them under his chin before placing them on a table with two or three other books already laid out.

You sighed, moving your things over to his table, “Have you been there for long already?”

“Why, do you care about me?” his cheeky grin made you roll your eyes.

“I think you overestimated my greatness. Which shelf?”

He said nothing, making his way to one of the shelves. You followed him. Fortunately, the women's uniforms at the academy had trousers. You wouldn't have known what to do if it had been otherwise and you'd ended up on a ladder above him.

“You know,” he began as you reached the meagre ladder to the upper shelves, “I've been looking forward to working with you.”

You arched an eyebrow, your hand gripping the ladder as you looked at him in confusion.

“Why?”

The two of you were only picking on each other, you were avoiding him like the plague, and you'd made it clear to him several times that your situation was that of a competition. So obviously you had a right to be surprised as to why he'd want to work with you.

He shrugged. “You were the top student before I came here, surely there must be a reason behind it.”

You expelled an abrupt puff from your lungs, your breath taken away by his insolence. You could only expect it after all.

You climbed a few steps up the ladder, looking for Zaun's historical tomes.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, or am I to believe my working buddy seeks to diminish me to a fictive second rank?”

“We're in a library, alas, reality catches up to this fiction, miss number two.”

You clutched the volume in your hand, your nostrils flaring for a moment in anger. He knew how to annoy you, and you never seemed to find a single point on which you could reciprocate.

You held out the tomes one by one for him to take. “Guess I could work on a pet name for you too.”

“Be my guess.”

Once his arm was full, you took a few tomes in your hands before climbing down the ladder and walking towards the table. “And make you the honour of thinking of something to be done for you ? I'd rather lick sandpaper.”

He feigned disappointment, “So I do disgust you, this pains me.”

You set the pile of volumes down on the table, reaching into your bag to pull out paper and pens.

“Yeah well, You were supposed to pretend I didn't exist, not try to bother me to death. So I guess we're both disappointed.”

He took a seat, grabbing a volume and placing it in front of him. “So I bother you ?”

You sat down opposite him, imitating his gesture as you searched with interest for a tome to start with.

“What a transcending sense of observation you have.”

He brought both his hands up in front of him, resting his chin on the backs of his fingers.

“How do I bother you?”

You were starting to get annoyed by his questions. You had come here to work, not to chat.

“Your simple existence?” you replied, staring into his eyes.

He sighed, opening his book and noting on the page its title.

“As if yours wasn't proof that failure has a sense of humour.”

You said nothing, letting his comment wander in the air as you started your own research in silence, locating the chapter of interest to you in the table of contents.

“But seriously,” Viktor continued, “why do I bother you?”

You sighed, pinching the page you were on before shifting your eyes from the words on it to Viktor's curious amber gaze.

“You want an honest answer ?”

He nodded. You let go of the page, straightening up.

“You come into my life and wreck everything I've built brick by brick, wouldn't you be the slightest bit frustrated if that happened to you ?”

It was his turn to be silent this time. He seemed to look at you differently, as if, by some miracle perhaps, he'd just realised what was at stake for you in this situation.

He wasn't even touching the tip of the iceberg of why you'd come to the Academy, but for a moment he seemed to understand how important it could be for you.

Your eyes returned to your page, trying to find keywords to write down or information to record.

“You surpassed me in the exam, teachers love you, you make great friends…”

“Almost sounds like you're obsessed with me.”

Your lips parted, eyes wide as you looked at him as if he'd just slapped you, leaving your cheek and your thoughts with a warm tingle. You were so surprised that nothing came from your lips, which was beginning to be enough for a flash of mischief to cross Viktor's eyes and for the corner of his lips to form a sneer.

“I'm not.” You finally reply, trying to remain composed and not to stammer for anything in the world.

“Denial would've worked before the long vacant stare,” he says, advancing slightly on the table.

“Why do you have to be like that?”

“Like what?”

You humph, dropping back in your chair in despair.

“Better than me.”

He recoiled slightly, as if the remark was completely far-fetched and unfounded.

“There are thousands of people better than me, why do you have to focus on my poor self, hm? Did I barge in your territory?”

He had, unconsciously he truly had. It was you who was supposed to be first, otherwise the consequences would've been mentally dire.

“Take it this way,” he continued, “there's surely something you're better at than me.”

You couldn't think of much on the spot, especially not when there was a possibility of you making a list of things he topped you in. There was surely one thing though.

“Running.”

He opened his lips in surprise, a smile stretching across his face which he hid with his hand. You were already regretting what you'd just said.

“Jayce is going to be the first one hearing about this.”

“No it's-”

“So you're participating in a system made against disabilities.”

“I never-”

“Are you going to steal my crutch next in hopes of beating me to a race?”

“You're never going to drop this now are you ?”

“With such a statement ? Never.”

“Whatever let's just- let's just work.” you mumble, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and shame as you desperately try to move on.

He gave one last chuckle before getting back to work. He seemed to be reading a tome on the history of the masters of Zaun.

“About Tytos, I still think you've got that wrong.” he said as he read another page from the tome.

“I think I'm going to smash your face in.” you replied calmly without looking at him.

“As if you could reach me.”

“You know what-” you began, raising your voice.

However, somebody shushed you in the room, restricting you to remaining calm.

“Raising your voice in a library? You'd have to be a stupid fool.”

“Trying to contradict me when even Heimerdinger considered my answer excellent is not the wisest either.”

“Heimerdinger would tell a snail that goes slightly faster than the norm it's excellent. But maybe your low self esteem is just common sense.”

“Maybe my self esteem will just leave this library right now.” you say, crossing your arms on the table.

“And leave me to pursue this matter on my own? That wouldn't be very serious, miss number two.”

You sighed, getting back to work. Your blood was boiling in your veins just from sitting at this table.

“None of the books mention Tytos.”

“Since when do you trust Piltover books on the accounts of the history of Zaun ?”

Touché. He raised his eyebrows as if it were the only relevant thing you could have said.

“You never said where you were from, in Zaun,” he remarked.

You tensed slightly. “Why do you want to know that ?”

“We're making an exposé on Zaun, we're both from there, might as well just know it,” he said, raising his eyes to yours.

You watched him for a moment, he didn't seem to want to make a joke of you once your answer was out of your mouth. But in any case, you weren't going to give it to him.

“You wouldn't know,” you replied simply as you jotted down another date.

‘I'm sure that I-”

“You don't want to know.’ you said firmly, the seriousness taking over your face to assure him that this was certainly not territory he wished to venture into.

He frowned, confused. He seemed deeply intrigued by you, and that made you uncomfortable. Never before in your life had anyone asked you so many questions about yourself in such a short space of time. And so here he was, shaking up every one of your pillars like a bowling ball knocking over pins.

This one, however, was not about to give way.

You looked at your watch for a moment, sighing.

“Let's work for one more hour. We'll make a plan and subparts of what we'll talk about at the end of it.”

This time Viktor seemed to get the message: silence.

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. You noticed the way his long fingers flicked across the pages, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he read, the way he rested his cheek on the back of his hand with a sigh as he read a boring piece of writing.

Or when he would click his pencil for a moment to write something down, and his handwriting would lie gracefully on the paper, scratching the grain of the paper.

It was not without surprise that, once the hour had passed, there was hardly anyone in the library but the two of you.

When you explained your plan for the presentation to Viktor, he agreed, simply giving a few perfectly critical and serious remarks without condescending to him in any way.

“Good. I think this is a good time to stop for today,” you said as you stood up, taking a stack of books in your arms.

All in all, working with Viktor like this wasn't so bad, when it was done in silence. But as soon as either of you opened your lips to say anything, politeness left the room in great strides.

You put each tome away in its old place, both of you taking your things, and left the library. The academy wasn't closed yet, and some people still had classes or were hanging around in the corridors.

You walked side by side, your pace the same as Viktor's. All the students seemed to turn around as you passed, your duo seeming like a pair of circus animals.

You glanced at Viktor, who didn't seem in the least affected by this.

However, a trio of students were watching you with evil, mocking eyes. You couldn't help but tense up, however, when the one who seemed as tall as he was stupid remarked:

“Die already, cripple. You're slowing the traffic.”

Your shoulders tensed as you walked, expecting to do what you'd always had to do here despite the taunts: ignore and move on.

But Viktor wasn't going to listen to you like that.

“Thank you for your advice, I'll try euthanasia once you'll be able to count higher than the number of butterfingers you've got.”

A few chuckles echoed in the corridor at his reply, but the young man seemed to be boiling with hatred. It was as you passed in front of them that, in a cowardly move, he kicked Viktor's cane.

He lost his balance, falling face first to the ground as his cane fell beside him. The air stopped for a moment with the shock of the gesture, your eyes shifting from Viktor on the ground to the idiot who had just knocked him over. Students knelt down beside him immediately to help him.

“Oops, my foot slipped. Sorry.”

But nothing, of course, conveyed any regret at this behaviour.

He turned his back and walked off with his group of friends. Your blood ran cold.

Quickly, you grabbed Viktor's cane, which was still on the ground, and made it whistle through the air before it struck the back of the student's knees. It was his turn to shrivel up on the floor, and he immediately turned to you, his cheeks red with anger.

“Oops, my hand slipped,” you said, glancing at the crutch for a moment before returning to him. “Sorry.”

You turned back to Viktor, handing him his crutch. He looked at you with fried whiting eyes, deeply surprised by your gesture without moving a muscle.

“You fucking slut…” you heard behind you.

But as soon as you turned around, a sharp blow hit you in the cheek. The force of it knocked you back two steps, a metallic taste spreading through your mouth. You brought your fingers to your lips, hissing as you touched them, your bottom lip burning. Bringing your fingers back into line of sight, you found them bloodied.

You turned to the student, his face far too satisfied for your liking.

‘’What a brilliant idea,‘’ you breathed as, in one swift movement, you struck his crotch with the crutch.

He bent over instinctively, gasping for breath, before you punched him right in the nose. He fell, cowering on the ground like a miserable insect.

"What's going on here?" asked a stern voice.

Madame Agrane, one of your teachers, came into the corridor. Her eyes fell on Viktor on the floor, your lip split, the student on the ground surrounded by his two friends.

“Everyone in my office, now.”

You pressed a bag of ice cubes to your cheek, sitting next to Viktor who was clutching his crutch in his hands. As for the idiot, he kept grumbling and giving you nasty looks.

"Can someone explain to me what happened for you all to end up in such states?" questioned Agrane.

You were about to start but the idiot beat you to it.

"Madame Agrane, I was just minding my own business in the corridor when these two pupils came up to me! One was hitting me with his crutch while the other was punching me. I don't know what I've done to deserve this.' He exclaimed theatrically, Viktor and you looking at him like the most ridiculous being to ever be.

If there was one thing that helped your reputation, it was that you were known as serious students, who didn't fall into the category of those who would start a fight in the corridors for no particular reason.

"That is far from the truth," Viktor retorted calmly. "He insulted me, then made me fall, and then...’

He seemed to be hesitating over his words, or at least looking for the right term. He turned to you, letting his eyes drift for a moment to your split lip, and then back to Madame Agrane's gaze.

"... My friend protected me."

Friend? the word made you clench your jaw, inhaling. It was just a lie, just a word brought to the front to give your teacher sympathy. No, he certainly didn't mean it.

The teacher looked at you, seeming more convinced by your story than the other. Noticing this, the student couldn't help but plead his own case:

"Madam, these two students come from Zaun. The blood of violence will always run in their veins."

Agrane seemed to give you a new look, as if you and Viktor were ready to pounce on her like two wolves.

"Is this a joke? You started all this," you said, offended.

"Beating you up would have brought greatness to Piltover." he replied.

"Oh, look at you, attempting greatness! Pity it's just an attempt." you sighed, pressing the ice pack a little closer to your cheek to put out the fire your anger was beginning to spread.

"Madam Agrane," he continued, turning to her, "you know what my patron will think about this. Imagine his reaction when he will hear how you have treated his favoured student?"

You had no idea who his patron could possibly have been, but she didn't hesitate for a second to say:

"Miss, you'll get an hour's detention for your violent behaviour in the corridors. I hope I don't have to catch you again doing such barbaric acts."

Your eyes widened just as much as Viktor's.

"What?! But he's the one who-" you tried, pointing at the idiot who was smiling victoriously.

"There's no buts about it. The discussion is closed. You'll have your detention period this Monday."

"Madam, I think there's been a mistake." Viktor began.

"Do you want to be given detention too, young man?"

Viktor remained silent, sighing before lowering his eyes to the ground.

"Good, see you on Monday, then."

The fool stood up first, walking past you with a foolish grin on his face.

"Bet it feels just like home to be in prison by monday, hm?"

Your lip hemmed in disgust, your nose scrunching up.

"Try what you've done just once more, and I'll personally make sure you have no offspring."

He looked slightly frightened for a moment, then frowned like a child before leaving the room.

You sighed, standing up. You wanted to get out of here right away, away from the horrible feeling of injustice in your heart, away from the word ‘punishment’ burning into your skin.

Your free hand instinctively came to rest on your shoulder for comfort, and you stood up to get your things.

“You didn’t have to do this earlier, you know.” Viktor said.

You sighed, walking towards the door. “Whatever, what is done is done.”

"Hey," Viktor said, standing up behind you.

You didn't even turn to him.

"Thanks, I wasn't expecting that at all."

You waited for something, for anything that would come after what he had just said, but nothing came. Your turned to him.

"Is that all? No remarks about how I'd have been better off hitting him somewhere else, or stupid sarcasm about my action?"

He seemed surprised by your reaction, his face puzzled and almost saddened.

"We're not friends, Viktor." you said, your face as cold as the ice pack on your cheek. "We're..."

But what were you apart from rivals? Two rivals working together to do a job that would rely on both of you, that wasn't really rivalry. It was camaraderie in a way, you were classmates, but friends?

You pursed your lips, a slight trickle of blood beading from them.

"See you next week."

Without further ado, you left the room. You walked down the corridors, the students staring at you like an alien. You were suffocating under all those sharp, curious, numerous stares. You pressed on, leaving the academy as quickly as possible.

Once outside, you took the first quiet alley you could find.

“Shit!” you swore, pressing your back against the first wall you could find.

You brought your hand up to your forehead, sighing until you almost felt your body slide down the wall, running your palm over your face in frustration and exhaustion.

You wanted to cry, the weight of everything feeling like it was zipping up on you like a body bag. You'd been stupid, acting on your emotions. You should have kept your head down, let the administration do its job, not invented a life of heroism trying to redress the balance that some fool had tipped.

You didn't even like Viktor, but you'd still jumped at the chance to do him justice. No, you didn't like Viktor any more than that.

But you respected him.

Could you be friends with him?

The question passed through your mind for a moment, but you ended up putting it out of your mind.

You let your head fall back against the wall. The thought of an hour's detention in your perfect record seemed to you like a thread sticking out of a beautiful dress, itching to be pulled on. You tried to console yourself, to come to terms with the fact that it was just another hour of extra study. But you couldn't help feeling heavy with pain.

Eventually you gathered up your things and walked home, hoping that the cool night air would help to quench the fire that was still boiling inside you. Winter was on your doorstep, and ready to complicate things.

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copperhawks · 1 day ago

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You're not the first person to make this comparison on this post, but when I wrote this, I hadn't done a re-read of SOTL yet (and the last time I'd read In the Hand of the Goddess was... a LONG time ago, so I couldn't really make a good comparison between these two scenes), but I have now and I've been sort-of thinking this over and have some thoughts on it.

For me, this isn't so much an indication of them being similar so much as it is just an unusually similar narrative beat. A character chooses to disobey an order about not crossing a border during a war in order to go save someone who has been captured and, in so doing, takes out a major antagonist that leads to the end of the war.

But the MOTIVES behind the two actions seem very different to me. Jon goes to save Alanna because he's in love with her and can't bear to lose her. Kel goes to save the refugees because she's responsible for them and takes that extremely seriously. She does CARE about the people, obviously, it's still being done out of love, but she's not doing it because she can't stand to live without them so much as that she's INSANELY duty-driven. She goes up to save Lalasa for similar reasons after being told that a noble's duty to their servants is basically sacrosanct. Kel goes across the border because she believes it's the honorable thing to do. Jon's motives aren't about honor and are, arguably, somewhat more selfish in origin.

So while this is obviously a very similar storyline, I don't find that it's an example of these two characters being similar to each other.

Kel is willing to give up EVERYTHING out of a sense of duty to the people she's responsible for. While Jon is someone who does a LOT of things for his people and spends a lot of his time and energy making life better for them, I can't recall a moment where Jon is ready to give up everything he wants and everything he's worked for just to save his people. Jon actually tells Kel in Squire that he and Thayet work pretty hard to keep themselves OUT of that kind of danger whenever possible, that's the point behind all of the compromises. All of the arranged marriages for his kids are to try to ensure peace through political connections and stop fighting in wars.

This is where they DO differ because Kel feels like someone who, at least at this point in her life, is willing to die to protect her people. But Jon is someone who will do whatever it takes to LIVE for his people for as long as possible. Jon understands that, in his position, it's more beneficial for everybody for him to make compromises in order to stay alive so he can keep making changes that will make people's lives better in the long run. This is a lesson that, while we do see Kel LEARNING it a little during Lady Knight, isn't one that really plays into the final conflict of the book. It's possible that Kel will end up being even more like Jon in this way as she gets older, more willing to stay back herself and trust others to do what needs to be done in her place, but by the end of Lady Knight, that just isn't who she is yet.

And maybe that's what's interesting about the comparison. Kel isn't all that much like Jon YET, and she's certainly not all that much like Jon when HE was 19, but Kel shows signs of being a lot more like Jon as he is during HER series as she gets older and gains more experience. Kel is very righteous, very inclined to just act and get things done, but over the 9 years we get to know her, she has to learn more and more about when to act and when to WAIT. She has to learn when to push and when to bend a little.

As a woman, she's going to be held to different standards than her male counterparts like Raoul or Wyldon, she'll be dealing with different limitations and setbacks than they ever did. And so her approach to leadership will, by necessity, have to be different than theirs was. She does look to them for inspiration, but in execution, I think she'll likely end up far more like Jon. Jon is obviously not a woman himself, but as King he's ALSO held to different higher standards than his compatriots and he was very young when he took the throne and has been very progressive throughout his reign which means he's dealing with certain limitations and setbacks that more conservative people might not.

Kel has strong opinions and firm ideas of what the world SHOULD be like, and that's going to lead her down a similar path of trying to CHANGE things, but she'll be dealing with all of the same limitations that Jon is, which will force her to approach things the way he does. She's going to have to compromise, she's going to have to bend, she's going to have to learn when a fight is worth having, she's going to have to learn to give a little in order to get a little later.

Kel would probably not have crossed the border for just one person. If it had been Neal, for example, and Neal alone, she may not have decided to take that risk. Neal is a trained knight like herself and probably won't thank her for giving up everything to come save him. Kel could probably have been convinced not to cross the border for him, as much as it would've pained her. And Jon I think would not necessarily give up everything to save a few hundred people the way Kel did, even though it would pain him to have to make that choice.

Kel IS like Jon and will likely become even more so as she ages, but crossing the border just isn't one of those places where their similarities are showcased to me.

The funniest thing to me about Kel, and maybe one of the most interesting because of how understated it is, is that Kel becomes a good commander in the end, not by emulating Wyldon who was cold and implacable and insensitive, or by emulating Raoul who mostly only disobeys orders out of principle or because he has an issue with what the order says about his personal relationship with Jon, but by emulating JON.

Kel doesn't even LIKE Jon, she BARELY respects him as a person. He's a good enough ruler that she's willing to fight for him and swear loyalty to him and to at least mostly believe that he wouldn't work with Blayce to make his own killing monsters, but that's as far as it goes for Kel. If he's kind to her, she finds it uncomfortable and almost untrustworthy because she assumes he doesn't care about her and so his kindness and respect towards her must be fake.

But from the outside, as readers, we know just how much Jon fought for Kel. We know how much he does respect her right to be a knight. Jon is the sole reason that Kel DID get the opportunity to prove herself, if he'd capitulated to Wyldon completely, she just wouldn't have ever been allowed to join. Kel doesn't KNOW THAT, obviously, but we do. We know that Jon did everything he could to find a way to convince Wyldon to let Kel become a page. While Wyldon claims later that the reason he chose to let her stay at the end of the probation year was because his better judgment convinced him she'd earned it, I'd be willing to bet that part of that better judgment also included knowing if he couldn't prove to JON that she needed to go, then he'd be in trouble. Kel was training and working in front of plenty of other trainers and teachers who could easily contradict Wyldon's lies if he'd tried it, many of whom are closer to Jon than they are to Wyldon.

Kel's experiences and feelings about that experience are entirely valid, and she doesn't have the knowledge we do about how hard Jon fought for her, so it's not shocking that she's upset with him for a good portion of her series. She never even discovers this truth by the end of her series, even though she does get a lesson from Jon and Thayet (and Raoul to some degree) about how politics and compromises work in order to make changes happen. So her opinion of him by the end is boiled down to the quote from Squire: "good kings weren't always good men." It makes sense for her to think this, but because Kel's knowledge base is so limited (and her worldview so black and white for much of her series), it makes her an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator about this particular issue.

Kel believes that while Jon generally does his duty and keeps the peace, he doesn't actually care all that much about his people as individuals. But in their only meaningful conversation in Squire, Jon is able to point out that he (and Thayet, who is actually equal to Jon in power, something Kel either doesn't know which would be a failure in her education or just tends to ignore so she can focus her ire on Jon) has to make a LOT of compromises in order to get ANYTHING useful done at all. Sometimes, often, it means making deals with people he doesn't like or people he just fundamentally disagrees with, because it's the first step in a multi-step plan to help more people in the long run. He also points out that just throwing his weight and authority around in order to be able to change everything he wants to change immediately regardless of what anyone else thinks about it is a great way to get himself and his family killed. Because even if he had good intentions, that would be tyranny. It does make Kel think a little, but she doesn't tend to like him much still afterwards, her resentment from her page years will always color her opinion of him a little.

However, then she gets to Haven and she's suddenly tossed into a position of leadership over a lot of other people, many of whom disagree with each other or disagree with her or both. And all of the sudden, Kel has to make compromises. She doesn't LIKE the way the sergeants often treat their men, especially the sergeants whose men are convicts, but there's very very little she can do about it without really pissing off those same sergeants and that's not something she can afford to do. There's a moment when Neal starts getting frustrated about the treatment of the convicts and she takes him out to vent to her so he doesn't vent to the sergeants, something that the sergeants would then take out on their men. Kel's reasoning as she does this is that she "preferred to avoid battles with them now so she would have authority with them later if she needed to use it." Later, Kel is talking to Daine and she says "That's all this job is... Trying to please everyone and pleasing no one. And it will only get worse, not better."

Both of these moments showcase Kel choosing to make compromises. She may not like the way the sergeants treat the convicts, but she needs to stay on the sergeants' good sides because she doesn't have enough resources to butt heads with them nor enough authority to just force the issue, and even if she DID, it could cause the sergeants to become troublesome or take out their frustration with her on the men in ways she can't see as well. But staying on the sergeants' good sides might mean letting some of their maltreatment slide if it's not physically harming the convicts. And even setting that aside, she's dealing with nearly 500 refugees eventually, all of which are from different towns in the area and have different needs, not all of which she can accommodate. This requires compromise. Sometimes she can please some of them and not others, but mostly she probably just ends up not pleasing anybody because that's often how compromises WORK.

She never makes the active connection to Jon and his lesson on leadership from Squire while she's in Haven, but that quote up there about how this job (aka being a commander) is all about trying to please everyone and pleasing no one? It sounds a HECK of a lot like "good kings weren't always good men." You can try your best to help others, but often doing the right thing can involve making everyone unhappy. You can't be everybody's friend if you're going to get anything done.

Some of this she might've learned from Raoul's style of command, but Raoul commands a fairly small amount of people (at least in comparison to a King), and so we see him able to be pretty friendly to the people he commands in a way that Jon is perhaps unable to do. And she might believe that she learned some of this from Wyldon, but Wyldon had a tendency to be very unfair and biased due to his raging bigotry and conservative values, as well as the fact that he doesn't actually even LIKE being a training master and that likely impacted the way he treated the pages (he's almost never that kind to the pages, whereas we see him capable of being quite kind with the refugees later, which is where Kel comes to the conclusion that he hadn't enjoyed being a training master).

But Jon makes an entire speech about how he (and Thayet) have been working THEIR ENTIRE REIGN to change laws that help people. He explains how they have to consider the needs of merchants, nobles, farmers, street people, priests/priestesses, and mages. They have to consider not only what these people might need or want, but also what they could do when they feel sufficiently offended and how that could impact not just the royal family or the nobility but the realm as a whole. Jon points out that they HAVE made changes, for the better, and that just because they don't always succeed at everything or because they have to compromise sometimes, doesn't mean they aren't working at making changes or that they don't care about helping people. Not everyone you have power over is going to be your friend, they might not even be someone you like. But if you're going to take on the job of leadership, that's something you have to be willing to accept and work with, which often means making compromises with people whose needs and values are contradictory to your own.

Jon probably knows when he makes the compromise with Wyldon that it will likely impact a lot of people's good opinion of him. Alanna is right there and clearly angry, and we know Thayet doesn't like the decision, either. And it's entirely possible that Jon knows in the moment that Kel herself will put the blame on him because he's the King. But he also knows that if he insists on Kel being allowed to be a page without trying to compromise with Wyldon, Wyldon will quit over it and he'll end up with ten DIFFERENT problems that could cause a lot bigger issues to far more people than just one girl. So he makes the compromise. He sacrifices Alanna and Thayet and even Kel's good opinion of him in order to ensure that Kel gets the opportunity to become a Knight without turning all of his nobles against him which could ultimately lead to a civil war. Is it fair? No, and he knows it. But it's the best option he has in order to get the outcome they all actually want which is just for Kel to have the chance to prove herself.

Kel has to make similar choices once she's finally in a position of leadership of her own. And whether she realizes it or not, without ever even spending more than a few minutes with Jon, she ends up emulating his leadership style more than anybody else's because it WORKS and it works WELL. She'll probably never admit it, she might never even realize it herself, but she's so much more like Jon than any of the other men she sees as role models. And I love that. I love the dramatic irony of that, that the one person Kel only barely respects because of a compromise he made on her behalf that she'll never even know about, is the person Kel ends up most resembling. Jon is the reason she has the opportunity to become the Protector of the Small in the first place, Jon is the person who created that environment that allowed her to nurture those values, and she'll probably never even really be able to acknowledge that, because sometimes that's what being a good leader means.

#keladry of mindelan #jonathan of conte #pots #sotl

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nuria-schnee · 2 days ago

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Dead Boy Detectives - Fic Rec List (Part 1)

I've been wanting to do a rec list for a while, and now I have found a bit of time to do so. I've read A LOT of DBD fics in the past months, so I'm gonna split this rec list so this doesn't get insanely long. Also, check the tags of the fic because I'm just adding a few for length's sake.

Anyway, let's dive in! ❤️

Run your fingers through my soul by Hse11z5 (@thenyoumaykissthebride)

| T | 3k | Tags: Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Feelings Realization, Miscommunication, Idiots in Love, Fluff |

“Charles-” Edwin started, his voice catching over his friend’s name. “Just let me… Can I go first, please?” Charles begged, his hands still caught up with Edwin’s. Edwin nodded and swallowed the words he wanted to let escape. “Okay. Don’t be mad. But there’s no case.” Edwin scowled and opened his mouth. Charles winced. “I said don’t be mad! Now, I had to bring you here because there’s something really important I’ve been needing to tell you for a while now and it’s that-” Charles stopped. His hands fell to his side because he no longer had Edwin’s hands to hold. One second Edwin was there and then the next he just… wasn’t. Charles looked around madly, trying to work out what had happened, what kind of magic could have caused him to just disappear in a puff of smoke. That was when he saw the small orb bobbing behind the board games. aka The One Where Charles Fucks Up His Love Confession So Badly Edwin Orbs Out.

Notes: This was the cutest thing ever. I loved it so much, I swear.

and at once i knew i was not magnificent by aletterinthenameofsanity (@aletterinthenameofsanity)

| T | 3k | Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator |

The problem with being Charles Rowland- or, rather, the truth of being Charles Rowland- is that he is not somebody that people kiss because they truly want to. Or rather, because they truly want him. When he was alive, it was because girls wanted the other guys on the team and he was a decent second option. It was because girls wanted to try out kissing and he did too and why not figure out their problems together? And now that he's dead, it's more of the same, isn't it? Crystal kisses him to try to feel something. And Edwin kisses him because their mouths are close together, and Edwin has just helped Charles through his crisis about his father and Brad and Hunter, and emotions are high, and, well- It makes sense that Edwin kisses Charles right now, doesn't it? It makes sense that Edwin is testing something out, and Charles is the person he trusts to test things out with. (Edwin kisses Charles at the end of Dead Dragons. Charles thinks that Edwin is doing it for practice. Edwin will just have to correct him, won't he?)

Notes: This broke my heart in a million pieces, but it was very worth it. This fic is absolutely brilliant.

the great snogging debacle of '95 by thatgayprince (@prince-simon)

| M | 26k | Tags: First Kiss, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Disguise, Gender Fuckery, Near Sex Experience, Charles Rowland Has ADHD (DCU), Bisexual Charles Rowland (DCU), Internalized Homophobia, Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse |

London, 1995 – Charles Rowland gets ambushed at a house party. He doesn’t think about it for the next 30 years.

Notes: Look, I'll be forever screaming about this one. It was amazing from the first word to the last. I think it rewired my brain, because I couldn't stop thinking about it afterwards.

i’ll be waiting for twenty years (praying for redemption) by aletterinthenameofsanity (@aletterinthenameofsanity)

| E | 4k | Tags: Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Canon, First Kiss, First Time, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism |

The kindest thing that anyone has ever done for Charles was guide him to death. The cruelest thing that anyone has ever done is tell Charles that they would rather Charles have left with Death in that attic than stuck around. Charles has spent the last thirty years being haunted by the same ghost, of course. What an irony that Charles only started being haunted after he died. (What an irony that Charles only realized he was in love after that same ghost proved that Charles still had a heart in his dead chest, because that heart had broken the moment that Edwin had turned on his heel and left a shattered Charles in the place they once called a home.) And yet, Charles cannot stop wishing for Edwin to just turn around. For Edwin to just turn around and smile and laugh as he did in that attic. For Edwin to smile at him, for Edwin to accept him back, for Edwin to love him. (Edwin and Charles go their separate ways in 1990 and spend the next thirty years pining for each other. Don't worry, they'll figure things out eventually.)

Notes: The way this broke my heart and put it back together, I swear- Absolutely amazing. It's angsty and it hurts, but I have no regrets. I wanted to give it a thousand kudos (please, AO3, let me).

so I try to talk refined by shadowquill17 (@shadowquill17)

| E | 6k | Tags: POV Charles Rowland (DCU), Self-Esteem Issues, Internalized racism, Jealousy, Oblivious Charles Rowland (DCU), Misunderstandings |

Edwin tells Charles about the Cat King taking his appearance and Charles, after he's done being angry, thinks about it some more and comes to the conclusion that the only reason that could happen and Edwin could still be more flustered by the Cat King when he didn't look like Charles... is that Edwin doesn't find Charles attractive. He has no idea why it feels so painful.

Notes: This made me feel INSANE in the best of ways. I re-read it often and enjoy it as much as the first time. Thank you, @shadowquill17, for this amazing fic.

That Story Ends Tragically by Alexander_Writes (@neitherthehoneynorthebee)

| M | 12k | Tags: Ep 7 canon divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Pre-Canon Scenes, Violence, Internalized Homophobia, Trauma, Love Confessions, First Kiss |

"Can you explain this?" Charles begged. "Charles, don't leave," said the boy behind them. Edwin glared, but forcefully smoothed his expression when he looked back at Charles. "Hell is ... perceptive. It likes to snare souls. What is ..." He swallowed, throat moving with it. "What is the thing that you are most scared of, right now?" "Losing you." Or, what if Charles got lost trying to find Edwin in Hell?

Notes: MY GOD THE BRILLIANCE OF THIS. This was so well written it had me on the edge of my seat from start to end. The angst and the resolution of it were incredible.

Turnabout's Fair Play by LikeMmmCookies (@likemmmcookies)

| E | 7k | Tags: Edwin learns to flirt, Charles is down so bad, Edwin wears SHORTS, Charles walks into a door about it, Cute and silly, Cheesy flirting |

Edwin learns how to flirt.

Notes: This one had me giggling and kicking my feet because it was so amazing. It was such a fun and sweet read that I just had to include it in this list.

A gentleman by Superfriki

| Not Rated | 2k | Tags: First Kiss, Getting Together, Courting Rituals, Fluff, Love Confessions, Charles being a simp, Niko and Charles being friends |

“Niko, I can’t walk into the office with a flower bouquet and ask Edwin to let me court him. He would shit himself and run the other way” He looked at the girl, worry etched into his brow. “Don’t worry, you can do some things before that. Maybe you could start by getting him a gift or being a gentleman with him” “Oi! I’m always a gentleman with him” - Or Charles tries to woo Edwin in the Edwardian way.

Notes: ABSOLUTE FLUFF. The love. The courting. Everything about is a 10/10.

The Case of Richard Rowland by RB (BlueflowersandWings) (@writerofstuff)

| M | 31k | Tags: Post-Canon, Case Fic, Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Romantic Tension, Mutual Pining |

"Right on time, Charles," Edwin calls as he phases in through their office door. "It seems that we have a new client. We were just about to—" Charles freezes. "As I was saying," Charles' father coughs, sat across from Edwin with his back to the door, "my name is Richard Rowland, and I believe I have been murdered." — Or: Charles' father dies on a Sunday. On Monday, he arrives at the doorstep of the Dead Boy Detective Agency.

Notes: One of my all-time faves, honestly. This one hit me in the feelings with such force and shook me so fundamentally I had to stare at the wall for a bit after reading some scenes. It's angsty, but it's brilliantly written. Thank you @writerofstuff for this masterpiece.

a part of me that will never be mine by tragedy_machine (@tragedy-machine)

| E | 22k | Tags: Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Unreliable Narrator, Oblivious Edwin Paine, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions |

Edwin tells Charles he loves him in Hell, but when Charles quickly responds with his own breathless 'I love you', Edwin assumes his friend meant it platonically, so he gives up halfway through his confession, leaving out the crucial 'I'm in love with you' part. Dejected, he decides to keep his feelings a secret. Meanwhile, Charles has been in love with his best mate for years, so when they unexpectedly exchange 'I love yous' on the staircase of Hell, Charles happily assumes that they've just started dating and are just going at a really slow pace. Needless to say, they're not really on the same page. --- OR: because of a misunderstanding during the confession in Hell, Charles thinks they're dating now, while Edwin believes his love will stay unrequited forever

Notes: This fic has my whole heart, I swear. It's one of my faves ever, and the sensation of receiving the email when it was updated was unparalleled. A true jewel. Thank you @tragedy-machine

pinch me (I don't want this to be a dream) by shadowquill17 (@shadowquill17)

| E | 15k | Tags: Accidental Mind Reading, Light Angst, Oblivious Charles Rowland (DCU), Misunderstandings, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Getting Together|

Charles has never met a magical object he didn’t want to use. He might have gotten cursed a couple times over the years, but he also found some great stuff that way, and it keeps his afterlife exciting, you know? So when he and Edwin find something called “Desire’s Pince-Nez”, spelled glasses that make you see someone’s desires if you look into their eyes, Charles doesn’t really think twice before trying them on.

Notes: This one killed me and revived me with every line. I cannot express properly how much I loved it, but it's one of the fics I re-read most often, so I guess that says something. Seriously, it's amazing,.

#dead boy detectives #payneland #painland #edwin payne #charles rowland #dead boy detectives fic recs #crystal palace #niko sasaki

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glitteringdust · 2 days ago

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Lucanis and Spite's reaction to Rook being trapped in the Regret prison, or, if someone already asked that, romanced Lucanis having to tell Viago (massive older brother vibes) that Crow!Rook is stuck in the Regret prison

Standing in the entrance of Rook's room, Lucanis closes his eyes.

For a moment, he swears he feels her right there— sitting on the couch, curled over her notebook making a sketch of something she couldn't get out of her head.

The room still smells of cinnamon spice from the incense she always had burning on the far dresser. Her clothes would be everywhere, along with loose notes and bits of potion ingredients scattered about.The fade window of swimming fish would remind him of the Ossuary like it always did— sending a sour storm of adrenaline straight to his chest. Only by Rook's sweet face murmuring soft reassurances would he return to the present, back in her presence.

The moment passes and he knows what he will see when he opens his eyes. Nothing is as it should be.

Rook is gone. Gone. Betrayed by Solas.

Spite bristles along his spine at the thought. Lucanis clenches a fist as he battles the demon's anger as well as his own. For once, they were both equally powerless to rescue her.

We find her. We find Rook.

Spite was angry more than anything else, bleeding into Lucanis' every thought. He wanted revenge, action… something to stab and kill and as far as the demon was concerned the team was doing nothing at all.

But they had no choice, so all they could do was bide their time, recoup their resources and figure out a plan to find Rook.

—

In the fleeting moments he's able to close his eyes and sleep, he still sees the flash of light in his dreams. A bright flash, Rook's horrified voice shouting his name, and then nothing. It was unnerving, seeing it over and over again. Spite seemed almost as incapacitated by the dreams as Lucanis was.

Emmrich once said spirits could experience intense mood shifts during stress, perhaps that was the reason why he kept bringing Lucanis' sleeping body to Rook's room. To feel better.

She always made things better.

Ever since she disappeared, everything around them had dampened. Colors, taste… all of it was muffled without her around. Was she even alive? How could they know? They killed one god, and faced two more. Who could say she hadn’t been vaporized by Solas?

No. I feel her.

“You feel her because this is her room, Spite. You don't know that she lives.”

You give up?

"Never. Not until I see her body."

There's a feeling of approval. Never again lose what's ours.

He should leave her room, if he plans to get anything done today. He needs to travel to Treviso still, update Teia and Viago about Rook. He'd already waited a week too long. He knows the conversation might end up with Viago trying to kill him, but they needed to know. They were her only other family, after all. As he turns to go, he spots a loose piece of paper peeking out from under the couch. Spite urges him to pick it up, stronger than ever.

It's a sketch of himself, outlined in purple. Underneath, the words vhenan as well as the following:

“Say it, before it's too late.”

He thinks to the night before she disappeared, how she'd come for their usual evening drink but was preoccupied. Nervous. Surely she was just anxious about the next day's events, but instead….

She loves him.

He told her not to make a promise she couldn't keep, yet here he was having broken the last half of his. He didn't keep her safe that day.

Should she not return, every blighted creature would feel his blade.

#dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #veilguard spoilers #rookanis #rook x lucanis #lucanis x rook #my writing #dragon age #veilguard fanfic #datv spoilers #dav spoilers

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sheepispink · 1 day ago

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A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

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Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

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You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C��mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

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thelostgirl21 · 3 days ago

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Okay, I don't know where and how you (as in me. As in how one) should put triggers on this, but that's just 100% how my experience being raped was like.

You try to pull away and offer some resistance at first, but when pulling away hurts you more and/or makes the person more vicious, you just stop resisting and will give them exactly what they want - might even try to pretend to like it - in the hopes that it will hurt less, and minimize the overall damage being done to you.

Sure, maybe Jaskier will get one of his fingers burnt to a crisp; but at least it'll be just that one finger... If he's lucky - assuming he survives this - his whole hand might not also get crushed and become utterly unusable, on top of that one finger.

Better just mentally brace yourself, become passive, and wait for it to be over, whatever the outcome might be. Don't make it worse for yourself.

That's why whoever is saying that "If you'd really been raped, you would have been fighting for your life! Your assailant would have had bruises and bite marks, etc." doesn't remotely grasps what "fighting for your life" entails.

When your assailant is stronger and you know you can't win, doing everything you can to pacify them and avoid triggering more aggression from them is the very definition of you "fighting for your life".

It's you using every single tiny bit of personal resources and strength in your body to keep yourself alive!

You're fighting with your life with all you've fucking got!

Jaskier's a survivor. He's a fighter. He's someone that keeps pushing and tries to protect those he loves and himself, regardless of how bad things get and how awful the odds of survival are.

And what you see here is that fighting spirit in action doing everything it can to keep himself alive as long as he can!

No matter how terrified he is, he still keeps fighting.

no bc can we fucking talk about this

the fact that jaskier tries to pull away the second he sees rience reach for him. he tries. he fucking tries. even if he knows he can't move his hand more than a few inches he fucking tries out of sheer terror.

but rience still grabs his hand anyway. of course he does. jaskier never had a chance of avoiding this and both of them know it.

but you see how fucking hard rience squeezes jaskier's fingers.

you see how tightly he grips jaskier's hand, even if it's barely a second before his grip relaxes (and in the clip you can hear him hiss in pain). it's not even a necessary movement, since Jaskier would never have been able to evade his grip; it's very clearly a nonverbal command to stop resisting.

and it works.

jaskier keeps his hand stretched out. he stops trying to evade it. he knows rience will do this and he's too terrified (and exhausted from previous torture) to evade it anymore. because he knows it wont work.

and once jaskier's hand relaxes, rience's grip loosens again. he's not even gripping Jaskier's hand anymore. because he knows he doesn't need to. because he knows jaskier won't pull away again.

at this point all rience has to do is just. keep his own hand opened up to keep jaskier's fingers outstretched and laying on his. he's relaxed. he's almost absentminded about it. because he can be at this point.

because jaskier won't pull away even when he sees rience conjure the flame that he knows he will use on his hand.

i just. the way rience emphasizes his control over the situation by making jaskier keep his hand still even though he fully fucking understands what rience is going to do. he's literally holding what makes jaskier who he is in his fingertips and fully intends to destroy it and knows he can hold it gently because there will be so little resistance. because he has already terrified and tormented and shaken jaskier so badly that all he needed to do was squeeze his hand to get him to stop resisting. I'm just. I'm so sick.

#Jaskier #My thoughts #Other people's awesome thoughts #rape trigger #I guess #Seriously I don't get triggered easily because it happened to me over 20 years ago and I'm lucky enough to be in a point of my life where #I can openly talk about it without reliving the memories #But JFC!#Reading this description very briefly brought back that sense of helplessness #And sort of mental place you go where you just let the other person take control of your body #And focus on mentally blocking out what's happening as much as you can to endure what's happening to you #And attempt/hope to come out of it with as little physical and mental scars as possible

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howlsofbloodhounds · 2 days ago

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The Effects of his Captivity:

I’m yapping as I go so things might be repeated and disjointed sjsheoeb

The effects of solitary confinement for 17–20 years, compounded by erasure from existence, being forgotten by loved ones, and surviving only due to the power of six human souls, would likely devastate Color on every level—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

The scar from the human’s killing blow and the busted skull would constantly remind him of his defeat and the cost of his decision.

The scar across Color’s chest, combined with a busted skull and the fact that his body is only held together by the souls of the fallen children, would cause constant, likely debilitating pain.

The pain would not only be physical but might also affect his nervous system, creating a sense of heightened sensitivity, numbness, or confusion in certain areas of his body.

The missing eye socket and the physical instability caused by the six souls could result in constant discomfort, with his body held together by an unnatural force.

The loss of one eye results in limited vision, leading to disorientation or an inability to perceive his environment fully. His reliance on other senses might have intensified during his long isolation.

Though his body remains animated through the human souls, the sustained trauma would lead to deterioration in his physical form. Despite being “alive,” his body could be slowly degrading, leading to a weakened, frail state, susceptible to further injury or collapse if the soul power fades.

Without natural healing mechanisms, he feels fragile and unstable, living with the fear that even a minor incident could cause him to dust.

Isolation and lack of physical activity would lead to a decline in motor skills. Even with the souls sustaining him, his body would feel awkward or disconnected from his movements due to the prolonged lack of practice.

Being erased and forgotten would create a sense of identity erosion. He would question his own existence, asking, “Am I even real if no one remembers me?”

The replacement by Undyne would deepen this feeling, leaving him with thoughts of worthlessness or expendability. Being erased from existence and replaced as his brother’s sibling could shatter Color’s sense of self.

He might feel like a hollow shell, disconnected from his past, his identity, and even from the idea of family. This loss of identity could lead to deep confusion and a constant struggle to find meaning or purpose in his existence.

Prolonged isolation often leads to hallucinations, disorganized thoughts, and paranoia.

With only Gaster for company, the lack of meaningful interaction and emotional support would likely exacerbate feelings of detachment from reality.

With no one to communicate with besides Gaster, Color would experience intense loneliness. The human need for social connection becomes exaggerated, possibly leading to an almost desperate mental state.

His mind becomes fragmented, with periods of dissociation or even delusions where he might question his own existence, identity, or even whether he truly deserves connection.

He may mentally replay the moment of his decision to sacrifice himself and the souls, analyzing it endlessly and second-guessing if it was the right choice. This fixation could lead to rumination, spiraling into depression and self-blame.

While in solitary confinement, Color’s mind would likely sharpen its focus on survival. This could manifest in an almost obsessive attention to maintaining his existence, perhaps in unhealthy ways like fixation on the six souls that keep him alive or obsessive thoughts about what could have been.

His mental state would likely shift from coping mechanisms to raw, desperate survival instincts as time passes.

The combination of isolation, guilt over his past actions, and the fear of fading into nothingness could cause Color to experience significant paranoia. He might fear being forgotten again, rejected by any potential new connections, or being discarded once again.

This paranoia could cause him to avoid making meaningful bonds, driven by the constant anxiety that no one would ever remember or care for him.

Knowing the six souls are tied to his existence, he feels profound guilt over using their power to remain animated, questioning whether his survival is justified.

The choice to sacrifice himself and the six children to save his timeline would weigh heavily on Color’s psyche. The emotional burden of having made that decision—likely seen as a selfish act, despite its altruistic intent—could plague him with guilt, making it difficult to reconcile his actions with his current state of existence.

The scar, both physical and symbolic, would constantly remind him of the lives lost and his perceived failure.

With no outlet for his feelings, Color could harbor intense anger, not only at the people who forgot him but also at the world that allowed him to fall into such a fate.

This anger might turn inward, manifesting as self-loathing or projection of his frustration onto Gaster or even his past self. He could experience periods of violent outbursts, fueled by the intense emotional overload.

The most defining emotional toll would be a profound feeling of abandonment. Color would be haunted by the belief that no one cares about him anymore, having been forsaken not only by his family but by the very timeline that once needed him.

This abandonment would likely result in a deep sadness and longing for connection, especially with those he once loved. He wonders if he is fundamentally unlovable or unworthy of remembrance.

This loneliness could manifest in a desperate need for validation once freed, making him overly dependent on relationships (e.g., Killer, Delta, Epic, potentially Abyss, Gaster especially.)

Being forgotten by his loved ones, replaced as an older sibling, and erased from existence leave him grieving not just for his relationships but for his very sense of self.

He may also mourn the timeline he tried to save, feeling like his sacrifice was in vain if it resulted in this outcome.

He could harbor anger toward the human for putting him in this position, toward Gaster for not being more helpful in the Void, and even toward himself for making the choice to sacrifice himself.

This anger could fuel a determination to prove his worth or, conversely, lead to a sense of bitterness and hopelessness.

In the face of overwhelming despair, Color might latch onto a mission or role (e.g., helping people, trying to rebuild his identity) to feel meaningful again. His fear of being forgotten may make him try to be indispensable to others, risking burnout or exploitation.

After escaping the Void, Color developed an intense fear of being alone again, leading to overattachment to those who show him kindness, like potentially Delta, Epic, etc. He goes to extreme lengths to stay connected, even if it puts him in harm’s way.

The scar, the damaged skull, and the missing eye feel like visible reminders of his failure. He struggles with feeling grotesque or unworthy of acceptance.

his own suffering make him highly empathetic toward others in pain, particularly those who feel abandoned or forgotten, like Killer. This shared understanding make him a deeply loyal and supportive ally.

The lingering guilt and despair may cause him to devalue his own life, making him reckless in dangerous situations. He might see his survival as unearned and act with disregard for his safety.

The isolation, paired with the trauma of being forgotten, erased, and replaced, likely resulted in Color being emotionally fragile, mentally fractured, and physically deteriorating.

It’s also worth taking into account if Color remembers everything about Gaster again or not, considering that Gaster fell into the Core (was implied to have jumped) and shattered, being forgotten (but not replaced like Color was) by everyone, meaning Sans may not have known completely who Gaster was when he first fell in.

This could result in intense identity confusion and disorientation, because Color holds two dual memories; one where Gaster was present, and one where he wasn’t and didn’t exist.

This could even lead to moments of intense confusion, anger, and fear when one moment he’s talking to Gaster but the next day he’s being comforted and hel by a complete stranger he can’t remember the name of.

His identity felt like something slipping away, with his desperate need for connection turning into a hollow, burning desire. These long years shape him into someone who is deeply mistrustful of others, fearful of being abandoned again, and increasingly haunted by his past mistakes when he finally leaves the Void and perhaps his own timeline.

Prolonged isolation can lead to auditory/visual hallucinations, particularly if Color’s mind tries to fill the void of human interaction. He might perceive the voices of the six souls or even imagine people from his past trying to reach out to him.

The blurred line between reality and memory could lead to moments of psychosis, where Color struggles to trust his own perceptions.

Given that in the caring short, color was all too willing to accept the possibility that he might’ve been seeing and hearing things and gaster is concerned that color was “talking to someone”—makes me think it’s really not a stretch to think that Color likely experienced periods of psychosis in the Void. Seeing and hearing things that aren’t there, feeling things.

I’m thinking the Human, the six human souls, probably Papyrus. If he is aware of what’s going on outside the Void, he possibly hallucinates Ivory/Undyne. he maybe hallucinates stuff about Gaster too, saying and doing things Gaster didn’t actually do.

he could also hallucinate that he’s dusting, cracking and dying, since it appears he probably would’ve died if the souls hadn’t kept him alive (and then later Gaster.)

Would also make sense if he’s hallucinated things like Undyne deliberately and knowingly replacing him, resulting in emotional anger, betrayal, hurt, jealousy—even if he logically knows the things he saw and heard weren’t real, and that Undyne doesn’t even know who he is anymore, he struggles to accept and realize it emotionally.

Without consistent access to nourishment (magical or otherwise), Color’s body might develop long-term issues like fatigue, atrophy, or brittle bones, especially if his skeletal structure is already prone to fragility.

Since Color has only one functioning eye, the prolonged isolation and lack of resources would worsen issues like eye strain or headaches, especially if he spent significant time in the dark or staring at the infinite void.

Lack of movement and injuries from past experiences (like scars from battles or trauma) could lead to persistent joint or nerve pain. The stress of isolation might also amplify his perception of physical pain.

The Void’s timeless nature likely eliminates a natural day-night cycle, leading to chronic insomnia or fragmented sleep. This, combined with emotional stress, could result in long-term physical exhaustion and cognitive impairment.

Being erased from existence and forgotten by everyone he cared about would challenge Color’s sense of self, potentially leading to derealization (“Is this real?”) and depersonalization (“Am I real?”).

His fragmented sense of identity, already influenced by the six souls, would likely worsen as he struggles to distinguish himself from the traits and voices of the absorbed souls, if he can hear them.

The lack of stimulation in the Void might cause memory issues, difficulty concentrating, and slowed processing speeds. He could struggle to focus or retain new information, especially after being released.

Being forgotten by everyone would reinforce a sense of worthlessness, as if his existence didn’t matter. At his worst and lowest moments, this could lead to chronic self-doubt, difficulty asserting himself, and a tendency to self-sabotage, believing he doesn’t deserve to be remembered or loved.

Being trapped in the Void with Gaster might lead Color to view existence as fragile and easily erased. He could develop an obsession with permanence, fearing that any connection or achievement could be erased just as easily as his past.

The loss of his family, friends, and timeline created a devastating sense of isolation, leaving Color craving connection while also fearing abandonment.

This might result in a desperate need to form bonds once freed, even if those bonds are unhealthy. Difficulty trusting others, as he fears they might leave or forget him again.

Knowing someone else, Undyne, took his place in his family create deep insecurities. He fears that even if he reconnects with Papyus, he won’t need or want him back. This could manifest as a reluctance to reach out to people he once cared about.

Clinging to anyone who shows him kindness, even at the expense of his own well-being. Overcompensating to prove his worth, becoming overly self-sacrificial in relationships.

While Color may not initially recognize it, he could harbor deep resentment toward his family for forgetting him, even though it wasn’t their fault. Toward the universe or fate for placing him in the Void and taking away his life. Toward Gaster for being his only companion but unable to provide meaningful connection.

Color would likely cling to memories of his timeline, romanticizing his past relationships and home. However, these memories might also bring deep pain, as they highlight everything he’s lost.

With Gaster his only companion, Color likely formed a complex bond with him, oscillating between gratitude for his presence and anger at being trapped with him.

Gaster’s cryptic nature frustrates Color, making him feel even more isolated, as Gaster does not fully understand or validate his emotions.

If Gaster provided guidance, Color might cling to him as a surrogate figure of authority, even if the relationship was unequal or strained.

Alternatively, Gaster’s enigmatic personality could exacerbate Color’s paranoia, making him question Gaster’s intentions or reliability.

After escaping, Color might constantly watch for signs that people are about to abandon or forget him again, leading to heightened anxiety and paranoia. He might try to make himself indispensable to others, fearing that if he isn’t needed, he’ll be forgotten.

While Color craves connection, he might avoid deep relationships at first, believing they’ll only end in rejection or loss. Guilt and feelings of unworthiness might lead him to push people away or avoid opportunities that could bring him happiness in the beginning.

Eventually he may surrounding himself with lots a connections and community, caring for each one and desperately not wanting to be alone again—finding the pain of being alone outweighs the potential pain of rejection and loss.

He knows many people but he often avoids talking about himself too much—possibly feeling that it’s pointless to try and explain, or more likely, not having the words to explain. Not knowing how to word it, how to explain in a way others could understand or relate to.

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hms-no-fun · 2 days ago

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Oh yeah the big pickups to work in an office job infuriate me to no end. A whole parking lot full of death machines that have never known the touch of a gravel road or hauled anything larger than a big Costco run. I have a nice lil electric hatchback tho.

the thing is, i always wanted a car. my parents took me on a lot of road trips when i was growing up (i remember a couple years before he died, my dad told me he was very proud to have shown me so much of the country when he himself had grown up poor and could only travel as far as the next job took him), so of course i have in me that quintessential American longing for The Road. in high school, i fantasized about getting into a car and disappearing into traffic, traveling to some distant corner where nobody lived and finding a situation to occupy. god help me, as a teen i bemoaned being born too late and longed for the naive vision of the 60s i'd received from my parents and pop culture and the rusted-over kitsch that dotted the remains of Route 66 (which my dad loved to talk about).

i hate car culture in part because i used to love car culture. it's a microcosm of indoctrinated American patriotism in general. they sell you on the dream, right? the freedom of travel, of expression. i wanted to be the millennial Jack Kerouac, whose work i did not actually read because i was young and dumb and drowning in dysphoria. but as i got older i saw how quickly little bumps and scratches can turn into massive financial burdens, to say nothing of cracked windshields or flat tires. then my mom died and i was given the responsibility of handling her car, a silver scion xb. i was 19, i did not have a license and had next to zero experience driving, nor had i ever had a job before. when i say "given the responsibility to handle her car" instead of "given her car," i mean that i didn't just get her car. like, i had it, i had the keys and no one was around to tell me not to drive it. but in order to get the title signed over to me, i had to go through an insane bureaucratic process of proving that my mom was dead, and that i was her kid, and that i should have the title to the car. this took months of back and forth miscommunication as dated notices were sent and bills piled up. because it wasn't just the car i got, but the debt as well. some $30,000 of it left unpaid by mom, which i was now expected to pay in her stead. my first job was working night shifts at a wal mart stocking the frozen food department, and that was the job where i rode my bike on the highway to get to work. i didn't drive because i didn't have a license, didn't have experience, was terrified of highway drivers, and knew very distinctly that if anything went wrong i'd instantly be in so much more debt (monetary and bureaucratic) than i already was. eventually my sister, a career nurse with three kids and a house, took over the car from me.

nobody understood why i didn't drive that car more. even my mom, when she was still alive, she said "when i was your age, i was dying to get out of the house." i was too! but for all that cars culturally represented freedom, in practice what they came to represent to me was the expected cost of participating in society. i was already sensitive to adults sneering at me for my perceived immaturity (the joys of being a millennial), which only compounded on learning that i didn't have a car or license, that i wasn't proactively joining Clubs or Organizations, that i wanted to pursue the arts of all things, that i wasn't Christian, etc etc etc. i never got out to see live music because i didn't have a car and didn't have money. i didn't get my first smart phone until late 2015. i spent a lot of my college years feeling alienated because i was at least two years older than everyone else (i already didn't want to go to college straight out of high school even before my mom died), still used a flip phone, and didn't have a car. which is to say i was a working class person trying to get by in a middle class institution. and i only got in because i was very good at peddling my sob story for sympathy points. FAFSA loves to finance the odd tragedy, i'm telling you (don't worry, i still had to take on a ton of student loan debt). when i expressed to family that i didn't want a car because i didn't feel safe as a driver, and felt that i shouldn't need to have a car in order to participate in society, they said "everyone feels that way at first, but you just have to get over it. or move to a big city. good luck affording that!" as a related aside, when i told those same people that i liked being in college for the pursuit of knowledge and wanted to graduate towards being a sort of generalist, they flatly insisted that that's not how college works anymore, and that i should instead put my energies towards a Useful Degree that would Get Me A Good Job.

of course they were sympathetic, at least on the surface. they told me these things in a kind tone, the way adults always do when what they're saying boils down to "it's not fair, but life ain't fair." and i've just never been able to accept that. before i knew anything about socialism or communism or materialist dialectics, when i was still very much under the thrall of post-Clinton liberalism, i still felt this deep-rooted conviction that when people said "life isn't fair," they were giving up something. that it was an excuse, an appeal to a higher power, a resignation to the status quo. my experience with cars, by the time i hit 25, was that you bought them for the freedom they promised, and then spent of your life driving that car between one of maybe five locations on the regular and doing very little else. the only time i ever felt free in a car was on a road trip, which happened with vanishing irregularity as all the associated costs skyrocketed in the 2000s. all the other time was spent driving in circles looking for parking, only to balk at how expensive it was. spent stuck in traffic for hours, amid concrete dunes of overpasses tangled with one another like a four-year-old's first try at tying their own shoes. spent angrily judging the poor driving conduct of other people, spent resenting anyone and everyone who inconvenienced their drive, spent rubbernecking at horrific accidents on the side of the road, spent worrying about car payments and insurance payments and how much it's gonna cost to get a tune-up, and then someone breaks in and steals all your stuff and your insurance doesn't want to pay for it, and then you get into an accident and you spend months haggling with your insurance and their insurance in the hopes that someone will maybe pay for the debt you've had to take on in getting your car repaired, because of course professional life doesn't take a break just because your mode of transportation got totaled.

and if i was applying for a job and the employer found out i didn't have a car, i was denied on the spot. i learned very quickly to lie about such things as often as possible. but i also learned that i could only bluff for so long before the lack of a car became a genuinely insurmountable hurdle. which fucked me up tremendously because at no point in my adult life, to this day, can i ever imagine being able to afford all the associated costs of having a car. in many respects, not having a car was the only reason i was able to survive the way i did. it meant i could work part-time while i was in school (with student loans making up the shortfall), share an apartment with two or three or four other people, and just barely have enough to eat the bare minimum and go see a movie sometimes. of course i wanted the freedom all my car-owning friends had, but mostly i wanted it so i could drive out into the middle of nowhere at night and be truly alone. i wanted a car so that i could escape from the frictional sandpaper bureaucracy of american existence... and i knew from experience by then that that's simply not how the world works.

it took me until 2020 to finally move to seattle, one of those mythical Big Cities with Actually Existing Public Transit. and holy shit, it's a revelation! i have better access the place where i live now than i ever have, and it's a freedom that costs SO MUCH LESS than the same would've cost me back home. but i've also lived here long enough now to see all the ways in which our transit system here is deeply flawed and run by the wrong people. i see many of the same forces at play here as i did back home. i see now how car owners and allies to the car dealership fiefdoms of the nation utilize car ownership and road maintenance as a tremendous lever of power. they've deliberately trapped us in this cycle of poverty and personal transportation reliance, and used the money they got from us buying their cars to then buy politicians so that they defund public transit and oppose any urbanist reforms. did you know that much of america used to be covered by street cars and rail lines? if you live in the midwest or on the west coast, your town very likely only exists the way it does because of mass public transit. they were necessary for bringing people into these remote places to create new markets for wealth extraction. once the population in those places was stable, and mass-produced personal vehicles became the norm, the capitalists of those areas deliberately allowed the transit networks to "go bankrupt" (ie they pretended transit is a business and not a utility that pretty much by definition can't turn a profit in a traditional manner) so they could be bought up and liquidated by future car dealers. this is what i think of when i remember my family telling me "that's just not the way the world works."

why? it used to be the way the world worked. why can't it be again? if the current status quo is the result of choices that created economic pressures which shaped the nature of society, why can't we do the same thing again but different? the way things are now is sick. it's unhealthy. the vast majority of microplastics come from car rubber, and what socioeconomic classes do you think are mostly likely to live close to high-traffic roads? it's not rich people, i'll tell you that. it's not the car dealers or the small city councils worried that a bus connection might bring the poors in. when i say "car owners need to be oppressed" i'm talking about these people. suburban supremacist dictators and their sycophantic liege lords whose biggest priorities in life are to keep gas prices low and to maintain their god-given right to never having to see a poor person. i hate these people because i've been sneered at by them my whole life, while they have been personally responsible for many of the same socioeconomic conditions which resulted in the deaths of both my parents, along with many other members of my extended family. i've long since stopped believing in the idea of "death by natural causes." only the rich live long enough to die old. the rest of us die by a thousand cuts borne of neglect. our healthcare is gatekept, our education is gatekept, our transportation is gatekept. freedom is a thing to be bought, and when you don't have money, the next best thing is your blood. you give it up for a piece of something and you convince yourself that it's enough for you. but it is only a piece, and its apportionment is the result of greed and avarice happening in broad daylight all around us. i fully believe that a genuine war will need to be waged against the car barons before this horrendous now can be toppled, and it will be a war because they are aligned with the cops and with capital. this, too, is a microcosm, and in it we see the nature of our struggle for socialism unburdened by neoliberal word salad.

people have made the world this way. and people will make it something else.

#sarahposts #car culture #public transit #capitalism #late stage capitalism #classism #sorry this one got a little personal #you know me

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cherry-smokes · 2 days ago

Text

Winnebago

You and Steve are desperately pining over each other, all it takes is a near death experience and some eavesdropping to finally do something about it before it's too late. Steve Harrington x reader hurt/comfort Warnings: talks of blood, yearning and also this is my first blurb so proceed with caution.

Gruesome. Gnarly. Wrong. Just so wrong. Words flash through your mind, harsh and biting unlike your gentle hands as you tend to his wounds. It’s just not fair.

Steve, the most gentle man you know, shouldn’t have been torn to shreds by those things. You swear you could see the light flowing out of him along with his blood as you wrapped whatever shred of clothing it was that Nancy handed you around his waist.

You figure you should thank her for that. For her help. For granting you all the god given gift that is her mind. You swear you would if you could bear to look at her without feeling sick. It feels so ridiculous to be caught up with unrequited love in times like these. You've never felt more like a teenage girl in your life. When you aren't worried about keeping the gaggle of children you've essentially adopted at this point alive you're worried about Steve being dragged into what you can only consider the pits of hell. It's never ending. First it's the tunnels, then the Russians and now the fucking bats. He doesn't deserve that, he deserves the Winnebago.

The six kids, all probably with the same head of hair and freckles that mirror his. Warm soft eyes, that killer smile. You shouldn't have eavesdropped on his conversation with Nancy, you know that. As you cradled Max's head on your shoulder, ignoring the way her headphones dug into the bone there, you couldn't help but tune out Kate Bush and listen to what they said.

"Except for the six kids part- that sounds like...a total nightmare"

"If only I had some practice"

"I'm sure...it would be easier with some help."

Too caught up in trying to figure out if the sharp stinging pain you felt was coming from your stomach, chest or throat, you missed the way Steve glanced at you through the rear view mirror.

You miss the way he looks at you now. The RV is empty, everyone has retreated outside to prepare themselves for battle. Children all forced into a colosseum of horrors they should have never had to endure. For a moment, he doesn't think about that. He thinks about you. Your gentle hands. You've always been that way with him. He fears every day that he takes it for granted. He wasn't used to gentleness. Not from his father, not from his peers, not even from Nancy.

He looks at your hands, bloody and cracked. He thinks it's unfair. It's cruel that those hands that have only ever given out care and provided warmth have to be exposed to anything other than that. He thinks he would reach into the sun, melt his hands to the bone if it meant he could give you an ounce of its warmth.

"How is that, is it too tight?"

You gently lay your hands around the bandages you've wrapped around him as you ask the question, avoiding his gaze.

Steve shakes his head, soft strands of hair falling onto his face.

"No...that's good. It's a lot better than before, thank you"

He looks at your face as you start picking up the remnants of your care. Bloodied gauze pads you struggle to keep in your hands as they shake. He can't help but reach out for them.

"Hey, what is it-what's wrong?"

You finally look at him. His heart aches a terrible thing as he sees the glassy look in your eyes.

Your voice is soft, if he wasn't so close he probably wouldn't even hear you as you whisper.

"You scared me so bad."

You sound like a child when you say it. Unable to find more complex words to describe how you felt when all you could hear as you ran to him was screaming. When you saw him overwhelmed by those viscous, ravenous creatures.

Steve's hands move desperately to your face. Trying to wipe any ounce of distress away from it like he can't bear to see you look so sad a second longer.

"I know-I know I'm sorry. I'm okay, I'm here right?"

"I just-" Your words get caught in your throat. They come out thick with emotion and Steve's brows furrow together like his in pain. You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the way it makes your chest shake.

"I have this horrible feeling...that we aren't going to be as lucky this time"

"Don't- Don't say that."

Your hands reach up to cradle his own on your face. You try to burn the feeling of him into your memory. Just in case this is the last time you'll be able to feel them. Just in case you're about to ruin everything. You pull his hands away and hold them out in front of you, taking his face in. Bloody, grimy and bruised yet he looks just as beautiful as he always does.

"I heard what you said to Nancy earlier."

His heart sinks a little bit. He isn't sure why. He can't tell if he's embarrassed that you heard it, that you might think it's some stupid pipe dream you would never want any part of. Worse, he thinks about you wanting that. Wanting it with him, and something horrible happening that would tear that possibility away.

"Oh."

"I think if anyone deserves that Winnebago, the road trip...the family. I think it's you. Anyone would be lucky to get that with you."

There's that warmth again. Spreading across his chest and up to his cheeks as he flushes. He opens his mouth, he begs his brain to come up with anything to say but he can't. Not when the sun is setting behind you and he swears the way the light shines into the RV makes you look like an angel.

"I know...that you want that with someone. And I'm so sorry if this just ruins everything and you can't ever look at me the same after this but...I don't want to die-"

"I'm not going to let that happen-"

He doesn't just mean something happening to you. He wouldn't let anything ruin you two. Steve thinks he would wallow in pain and misery forever as long as he got to keep you. He wishes he had words to explain that to you, wishes he had been better in English so he could formulate poems and novels about how he feels about you.

"What if we can't stop it? I wouldn't be at peace if you didn't know. If something happens to me-and if there is a 'better place' out there...I hope I wake up in a Winnebago. On the shore somewhere sunny and warm. I hope you're there...and I hope you're surrounded by kids that look just like us."

He grabs desperately at your face. One of his hands reaching up to brush your hair out of your face.

"Why can't we have that in this life?"

You swear you can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You can feel the blood rushing through your veins and even so close to the possibility of death you've never felt more alive.

"Is that what you want?"

"Angel that's all I want"

You kiss his palms as he rests his forehead against yours. You pray to whatever force is out there that you have done enough good in this life to be granted a moment of peace in the sun when this is all over.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #stranger things

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kalmiaphlox · 3 days ago

Text

Damn, this is what it feels like to be you?

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 3

Guide Me As You Do

Twisting his head up to rest his chin on her chest, Astarion smiles big and wide. Hircine is immediately suspicious, red eyes narrowed to slits, awaiting whatever he's about to say. “My love, can I play with my—yourself?” “Clarify.”

Pairing: Astarion x Named Female Tav (Hircine)

WC: 6.5k

Main Tags: Body Swap, Humor, Fluff, Smut, Body Worship, Guided Masturbation, Massages, Little Edging, and stretching because its good for the body.

A/N: Don't walk on people's back. it really isn't good for the spine.

A big thank you to @amoremagnificentbastard for your kind words on this chapter 🥰

Tag list: @zozoparsnips

Maybe being alive is the worst thing someone can be.

If Astarion never uses the toilet again, it will still be too soon. Ugh, he feels so dirty—tainted.

Still stuck in Hircine’s body, still subject to her body's needs, he laments his state.

He furiously scrubs his slim body down in the bath, leaving red marks where he might have been a touch too rough and maybe taking too long to thoroughly inspect the wonderful tits now attached to his chest. Any slight movement has them swaying and the way they squeeze and conform around every touch or surface has his core quivering for something. It's so strange, the need to be filled instead of to fill. He wants so badly to slide his fingers into this heat, to know the feeling of being inside himself like that, but Hircine might not like him doing that to her body.

So, fondling his breasts will have to do for now. It's not easy turning Hircine into a whimpering mess that begs for his cock even on their best, most lustful days when she's so tired, so overworked, and then she said she isn't attracted to her own body which certainly puts a damper on getting hot and heavy. Sex might be off the table, and while it's unfortunate to not experience such a once in a lifetime opportunity, they will be just fine without.

He'll take this chance instead to learn what feels good in Hircine’s body so he can apply that when—not if—they return back to themselves.

Newly refreshed, Astarion towels off, but a shocking sight catches his eye.

My—no, Hircine’s reflection!

How did he not even think of the opportunity mirrors provide now?!

Trotting up to the mirror, Astarion gapes in awe at having something shown back at him, even if it isn’t exactly what he wants to see. Hircine is so lucky that he loves this beautiful face, so staring at it in adoration for much too long is no skin off his back…

Oh, he can make those jokes.

His pretty drow wife stares back at him now. Her soft, light gray skin with those rosy undertones that makes his mouth water from how inviting it is, is lit wonderfully in the bathroom candlelight, and the shiny slate and silver streaked hair long, silky and… grabbable. He loves the way her head will bend back when he takes a fistful of those locks to plant a kiss upon her lips or to sink his fangs into the sensual curve of her neck.

Lavender eyes with a gold ring around the pupils reflect back into his gaze, catching the light perfectly. He can’t believe he ever thought them strange, and now the glow that shines so bright in the dark is always something he searches for in their quiet moments of peace in bed or on the den couch. Lavender and gold, a much better combination than the maroon that infests nearly every corner of their lives.

Her straight, high-born nose, and her lovely plump mouth, unfortunately stained with a plum colored lipstick. He understands why she hides her natural lip color under it, but Astarion wants nothing more than to see her ghostly pale lips at all times.

Maybe one day.

Thinking of ghostly pale, he draws his fingers down the smooth skin of her neck until he meets the ridiculously plush swell of a breast, watching as it indents with his touch. Beautiful, truly. He cups the left breast, Belbol as he’s named such a gift, and then moves on to the right one, Iiyola, his treasure. The areolas and nipples are the same bone white of her lips, with the slightest flush of pink beneath the surface. Fuck, he loves sucking on these.

Looking down, Astarion considers, could I? Just for a moment, see how it feels for him to taste his own tits… Hircine does it for him when asked, so why can't he?

Good gods, is he horny. He shakes the thought from his mind, freeing himself from the lust that threatens to overtake him.

With a fluffy, cotton robe wrapped around his body, he returns to the bedroom, throwing open Hircine’s closet to dig out a pair of panties from a dresser that he slides on quickly.

I would much rather be naked, but I'm trying to be respectful.

Hircine stands by the fireplace, running a finger along the marble mantle. She turns, quirking an eyebrow at his appearance. “Did you bathe?”

“Yes,” he says, tightlipped, wrapping his arms around himself for some comfort.

“Wha-What happened? I thought you only needed to pee?”

He claps his hands over his ears. “Don't talk about it! It was awful and everything is ruined!”

The whole ordeal was traumatic. Astarion very badly wants to return to his vampire self. Gods, the grass really isn't greener on the other side.

Taking pity on him, though he can absolutely see the smile she's smothering, Hircine holds out her arms, beckoning him to her. Rushing to melt into her embrace, he's not surprised to find why she likes to be held by him so much, strong arms supporting his thin frame, easily resting her chin on the top of his head so he's swallowed in solace.

What he does not enjoy is the distinct lack of heartbeat from the chest he's resting his ear against, but Hircine, his perfect girl, she never complains about such things.

Hmm, what else is his perfect girl good at?

Oh, he knows.

“Clarify.”

“You’re so bendy. I want to try it out, you know, like when you lay on the floor in the splits or touch your toes to your head.”

“Ah, I see. Go wild, Husband.”

He purrs into her chest, “I love when you call me ‘husband’ in my voice.”

“You are so weird, Husband,” she says as a kiss is pressed to his forehead, “Off you go. Be flexible or whatever.”

Letting out a girlish shriek that they are both alarmed by, Astarion slides the lounge chair against the wall to give himself some space before settling down cross legged on the rug. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, now at a loss for what to do next. “So, what do I do?”

Hircine chuckles, a nice deep rumble that he likes. “I’d recommend some stretching so you don’t tear a muscle… Eugh, that’s the worst.” She sits down across from him, straightening her now much longer legs along the floor and Astarion copies the movement. “This is a perfect opportunity because I don’t think you stretch this poor body near enough.

“Now, follow my lead, Husband, but even if you feel like you can go further in your stretches, don’t strain yourself.” One leg is kept straight as the other is bent in, placing her foot against the first leg’s inner thigh. “Try not to arch your back, stay straight and lean forward to touch your toes. You should be able to wrap your hands around your foot.”

Following her verbal instructions and visual cues, Astarion stretches as she does, feeling the pull in his hamstrings. His stomach and chest are pressed against his thigh which isn’t so bad, though he’d prefer them pressed against his actual body.

She demonstrates some more stretches that they perform dutifully before Hircine gives him the go ahead to do as he pleases without wrecking her—his body.

The goal is the splits.

Returning to his feet, Astarion moves off the rug, letting his feet slip slowly out from under him sideways on the polished wood floor. He’s seen Hircine do this a thousand times, she’s always slow and steady with it. Eventually his groin meets the floor, having lowered himself all the way down. Gods, what fun! Hircine is still stretching every single muscle in her body, and Astarion clears his throat to get her attention, smiling deviously. “When we switch back, I am begging you to slide down like this onto my lap, preferably naked.”

She rolls those glinting red eyes, turning over on her side away from him to continue what she was doing in peace, the broad slopes of her back now concealing her completely.

Leaning forward so his stomach presses against the ground, he adjusts his legs out behind him, curling them up and arching his back upwards.

And just like that, his toes are touching the top of his head.

He giggles quietly to himself, giddy at the strangeness of it. “Maybe we should start stretching together. I want to be able to do this.”

“Honestly, I expected you to be in much worse condition. If we stick to a good schedule, I bet you could be bent in half before the year is over.”

“Only if I get to bend you in half afterwards, my love~” He sings in the nice lilting tone of her voice.

“Hmmm…” Is her only response.

Playing around a little longer, Astarion twists this way and that, even doing what she calls a back bend with his forearms and elbows laid flat on the ground. The soreness that's plagued his body settles into a dull ache after all these tests of her flexibility.

Hircine is tense all the time. He can easily recall occasions where he’s rubbed a hand along her shoulders and remarked on the tenseness there. The body must feel so sore since Astarion is more loose…

Has he ever given Hircine a massage? Perhaps not, but now is a good opportunity to try so they can learn what the other wants.

“Pet?” He calls.

Hircine stops rolling her head around on her neck to look at him. “Yes?”

“Care for a massage? I do you, you do me?”

“Oh, that sounds nice.” Getting to her feet, Hircine points to their bed. “Does that work?”

“Yes, love. You lay down first.” He waits at the edge of the bed while she climbs up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Actually, uhm—”

“What?” She asks.

He wets his plush lips. “Can you take the clothes off? I need to see myself naked, please!” Voice morphing into a beg, the kind she uses when she wants him to come on her face, the deviant.

Hircine sighs, the sound one he is all too familiar with from himself.

Gods, this whole experience is strange.

Always one to give in though, Hircine begins undressing, but that's not what he wants. Rushing forward, Astarion slaps her hands away and starts unfastening each button on his own.

“You just wanted to feel yourself up, didn't you, Husband?” She says, easily letting him do all the work.

“Guilty as charged, my love~” Ah, the sing-songy tone is very fun. His real voice just doesn't hold those notes as smoothly.

The shirt is quickly shucked off, baring the smooth planes of his—now Hircine's chest to him.

Oh, he could just run his tongue over every part of that body. The chiseled pectoral muscles, flat abdominals, those tight pink nipples… He drags the tip of his fingers along every bit, the silky soft feel of his real skin a delight for the senses, making sure to circle the nipples the way Hircine likes and—

Nothing, of course. She stares at him in her usual expectant way.

Astarion pouts. “Are you not turned on because I'm you or because I'm a woman, now?”

“Both.” Not even a speck of hesitation.

“Eugh,” How did he end up with a misandrist that is only physically attracted to men? “What if I turned into a man?”

Those glimmering red eyes flick around the room before closing with a groan of disgust. “Then you'd look like my brother and that's even worse.”

Ah, right.

“Fine.” He sinks into her firm chest, enjoying how it stands strong against his weight. “Hold me tight, please.”

In an instant, Hircine’s arms wrap around him, squeezing Astarion until his breath is forcefully pushed from his lungs in a grunt, and then the pressure is lessened with an “Oops, sorry,” muttered into his hair.

Is he really that strong?

Alright, that’s enough. Astarion pulls away, holding Hircine at arms length. “Still not naked enough.”

If her pretty claret eyes could roll all the way into the back of her head, they absolutely would.

He drops to his knees, just the same as Hircine has many nights before this, always ready to please. They can roleplay for a bit, not that it will amount to anything when Hircine won’t get into the mood. More buttons are undone, pants pulled down, and all that’s left is the underwear. Nothing special, of course, because he wasn’t expecting to be eye level with his cock anytime soon—or ever.

A glance up at Hircine, who looks a mix of bored and intrigued, if such a thing is possible. Well, it’s Hircine, so yes, it is. “Are you about to be weird?” She asks.

“Just let me do this, Hircine. Don’t say anything.” It’s a desperate plea.

“Alright. Can I lay down so you can do… whatever it is you’re about to do?”

“Yes.” He springs to his feet, catching her off guard when he shoves against sturdy chest, sending her back onto their cozy bed. The pants are ripped off completely, tossed somewhere far away before Astarion crawls up, hands on her thighs. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about, hmm?” Hircine covers her handsome face with her hands in response.

Tsk, shy thing.

Straddling her pale thighs, Astarion bites his lip, taking a deep breath to steady himself as his hummingbird heart hammers away at an alarming pace. The sound has always been so delightful for him, but the feel is something else entirely, not quite painful but also a little unnatural—to him at least, this is normal for his lovely Hircine if all their nights together is anything to go by.

Index fingers feather around the edge of his underwear, teasing, ready to enter at any moment.

It’s time. He has to see it as it’s meant to be seen.

Both fingers hook under the fabric, tugging each side down to slowly and delicately reveal the hidden treasure underneath.

For the most part, it’s the same as it's always been, just from a slightly different angle. A cock with testicles. Too bad he can’t get it hard, that’s really what he wants to see. No matter, Astarion can still take a gander. Lifting his flaccid penis, he wraps a hand around it, testing the weight within this body’s smaller grasp. The foreskin is pulled back, exposing the glans.

Is his mouth watering?

Astarion ignores that and the heat pooling between his legs currently. It will do him no good to want his body so badly when the one inside it won’t respond well to any advances.

Gods, they can’t turn back to their bodies soon enough. He needs to be plunging this cock into Hircine's tight cunt now.

He looks up, an arm is thrown over her eyes while he handles his own cock with care. Different bodies be damned, this cock is all his.

“How does it feel?” He asks in a raspy whisper, his mouth so dry from hanging open as he fights with the urge to do something he probably shouldn’t.

Hircine shrugs, indifferent. He swallows down a sigh. He loves his wife as she is.

Dropping his cock in defeat, Astarion slips the underwear the rest of the way off and—

Maybe just a little smell… He brings them to his face and inhales. The underwear also gets scented with his cologne, not that Hircine cares when she isn't all that turned on by smells the way Astarion is. Rosemary, bergamot, brandy and a touch of undeath. Not surprising.

He sighs again and tosses them into the void with the pants.

Massage time.

Propping herself up on elbows, Hircine gives him the saddest, wettest eyes he's ever seen. Is that what he looks like when he's pleading? No wonder his poor wife bends over backwards for him—literally.

“I'm sorry, Husband. I am trying, it's just—”

Astarion halts her words with his finger pressed to her lips. “Hush, pet. There is no need to apologize for not liking something. If you aren't into it, then you aren't into it. I would never begrudge you that. Now, roll over so I can sink my hands into those muscles.”

Always a good listener, Hircine lays face down on the bed with arms crossed under her head for some support. Straddling her hips, which are surprisingly wide comparatively to the body he’s in now—thank the gods Hircine is so flexible—Astarion runs his hands over the rippling muscles in her back. Oh, these are nice.

The hellish, scar-tissue ‘poem’ etched into his skin is promptly ignored. He's focusing on the good today, not the bad.

He kneads his small hands into her upper shoulders, trying to press firmly into them until she shows any discomfort, but nothing comes. “How is it?” He asks.

“A little like nothing, honestly… Am I really so weak?”

Well, that’s disappointing. “I’ve never thought you strong, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. What should I do then? I want you to feel good.”

Lifting her head, Hircine considers what to do. “How about you walk on my back? I bet the weight would feel nice.”

“Gods, my love and her big brain… or is it my brain?” She ‘tuts’ at him as Astarion gets to his feet, balancing carefully atop her back. Even though he’s now used to her more… top-heaviness, what with the mass of hair and her ample bust, balance isn’t something he’s mastered yet, so he steadies himself on a poster of their bed frame. He plants his feet along her shoulder blades. “Is it actually alright to do this to your back?”

“I don’t know—” She groans in his own lustful voice and Astarion’s knees might give out from the sound. Why doesn’t it sound like that to his actual ears? “Ooh, but it feels so good…” If he hadn’t put on panties, slick was going to be dripping from his legs by the end of this.

He walks up and down Hircine’s broad back, putting attentive focus onto spots that get satisfied moans and groans out of her. The feeling is so strange, just digging his heels and toes into someone’s back instead of using hands as a massage… Maybe they’ll have to do this more often if the noises are anything to go by.

It’s really hot. This whole thing is so hot. Is he really so attracted to himself or could this possibly be some leftover remains from Hircine’s body? He doesn’t care, Astarion is loving it.

The thighs are a little too slim to fully walk on, so Astarion works a foot and heel into a thigh one at a time, slowly moving up to the real prize.

That beautiful ass.

It’s perfect. Gods, he hasn’t—Has he even seen it outside of the sides when he twists around best he can?

Hircine is more into his back from how her hands roam up and down the curves of muscle, trailing along his shoulder blades and spine to the dimples in the small of his back.

Astarion much prefers the tits and arse, of Hircine and of himself, apparently.

Settling down to his knees, Astarion roughly pinches one arsecheek and Hircine jolts, peeking over her shoulder with a sharp glare. A wide smile strains his face, probably because Hircine rarely smiles, and he takes handfuls of each of her cheeks, rolling, kneading and squeezing them around.

He leans down and bites one right in the center—hard enough to leave teeth marks.

Hircine yelps, swatting at Astarion. “Alright, enough, you wild animal.”

“Hircine, my darling love, my sweet pet, my perfect girl,” he begs in her adorable whiney voice, “I completely understand that you aren’t able to… get it up, but can I find some release here? I-I need something, I feel like I’m melting. It’s too much.” Astarion is squeezing his thighs together, anything to help the burning within.

It does not help.

Those deep pools of ruby look over his figure, probably finding it all much too desperate. Hircine chews at a lip, the motion so similar to how she does it in her own body. “I don’t mind, but could we… do it together? I could show you what feels the best to me.”

Astarion dives into her bare chest, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Oh my gods, I love you so much. You're so perfect for me, pet. I can put my fingers in my cunt?”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yes. Both. All of it. Anything, please.”

“You're so hungry, Husband.”

“I always am for you.”

She pulls away, pinching his nose. “And you. Can I put something on, please?”

Daring a peek back down, he sighs at his cock. Wretched thing might not be getting any action tonight. “Yes. Underwear only though. I need that skin-on-skin contact.”

“Yes, my lord.” Hircine mocks in a deep, affected accent as she slides off the bed, searching for wherever he threw the underwear.

Is that what it sounds like when he’s being a brat? No wonder she finds him so silly all the time.

“Wait, how should it lay?” Hircine asks. His cockhead sticks straight up out of the underwear, calling to Astarion, pleading to be free once again.

Ignoring the siren call of his own penis, Astarion laughs, beckoning Hircine over. He sticks his hand into the underwear, holding back the snort of laughter when Hircine jumps while he adjusts his cock until it rests where it should, though it’s weird from this angle. “It should just… feel right? Does it?”

“I think so? I’ll get used to it.”

“Good. I am very excited, though I’d much rather be back in my body, shoving my fingers and tongue into your cunt instead.”

“And I would much rather have your cock down my throat, but here we are.”

Hircine dirty talking him in his own voice? Could he come from listening to her describe everything in explicit detail?

Oh absolutely, yes. That's undeniable, but he wants something inside of him. So desperately, horrifically much. His cunt is throbbing with need and he knows the panties are soaked through completely.

“Alright, pet, tell me what to do.” He takes her face in his hands, brushing a thumb across a sharp cheekbone. This is such an amazing experience. Each and every moment will be committed to memory with perfect clarity, if only they had one of those memory shards on hand so they could rewatch this as much as they please.

“I guess it’s time for you to get naked.”

His heart soars, the rhythmic pounding vibrating through his chest. “Will you help me?”

Hircine smiles, soft and sweet and he just adores the way those eyes crinkles around the edges. “Of course, Husband.” She unties the already loosened robe completely, flicking it over and down his shoulder.

With a smug grin, Astarion squeezes his arms around his tits and shakes his shoulders so they jiggle with the movement. He likes it when Hircine does it.

An unimpressed, raised brow is all he gets for that action. “It's just a mirror.” She mutters.

“A mirror? What do you mean?”

“I'm pretending I'm looking into a mirror. This whole thing,” she waves between the two of them, “is hurting my head. I don't know if it's helping.”

“This hurts your head, but not the—” Astarion winces when, as if summoned, Herma-Mora's discordant chittering pierces a blade through his skull.

A̴̢̭̱̘̖͙̮̭͉̙͓͇̯͙̜͒̆̂͑ǫ̷̼̜͉̦͙̊̎̓͋͗̃͛̕ͅͅb̶̢̭͈̹͖̖͑̈́͂̀͐Ý̵̡͎̪̞͓̭͈́̆̓̏̐̈́̐ͅQ̷̡͉̭̙̪̼̲̪̩̣̣̻͇͕̼͂̍̀

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groans. “I want it to stop.”

“I rarely ever hear him when I'm… enjoying myself—outside of when I seek him out intentionally. Stop thinking about him.”

“Are you thinking of another man when I'm inside you?!” I'm right here! How could she think of that vile monster when I, a beautiful, gorgeous, heart-breaking piece of man, am by her side?!

“He's not a man, and no, that's not what I meant. Let's move—”

“Hircine, my pet, I'm all for trying out new things, but bringing your mind-invader into the bedroom is not what I—”

Seemingly had enough, Hircine finds his nipples easily and pulls. Not hard, but it's enough for Astarion's brain to pleasantly shatter, the sting of arousal striking white-hot through every fiber of his being. His limbs turn to jelly, his core is screaming for something to fill him. The lewd moan that slips from his mouth couldn't possibly be contained even if he tried when his eyes slam shut, rocking forward in the hopes that Hircine might do more.

Instead, the traitorous (wo)man leans forward with a frown, releasing her tight hold on those peaks of delight much too early. “How about we move on to what's got you so bothered instead? I can smell the change… it's strange…”

“That's how I, uh, always know you're in the mood.” He's panting. His heart’s pounding. This body is absolutely quivering for more.

How does Hircine keep it together when she responds so wholly with her body?

“Seems like cheating when you can just smell the difference.”

He wipes some drool from the side of his mouth. “That's called a natural advantage, pet. Not my problem that your body just… weeps for me.”

“Do you want to touch yourself or not?”

He all but launches himself into Hircine’s chest, clutching at the curls that frame her beautifully pointed ears. “Please, I need it!” If he can't have his own cock, then the fingers will have to do.

“Alright,” she climbs onto the bed, spreading her legs and patting the spot between, “sit here, back to me.” The robe is thrown to the floor, and panties, which are soaked as expected and he beats down the urge to taste them as he always does, are thrown away before Astarion dives in, situating himself right where she asked. Her cool hands immediately slip between his thighs and pry them open with ease, knees raised and feet planted on their soft bedding. The cool air in the room meets the wetness of his cunt for a very refreshing feeling. That’s nice.

He’s stunned and insanely turned on by the forwardness Hircine is presenting when she is always the one waiting for his command. Being in his body must make her bold.

“To start, your hands, please, Husband.” Both her hands are held up in waiting, her lips close to his ear, speaking in heady, hushed tones that have him fighting the urge to just shove her fingers into his dripping cunt so he can fuck himself silly on them.

Astarion enthusiastically places his hands in Hircine’s, and she guides them to his heaving chest to cup each breast in a hand. “To get started, sometimes I like to squeeze and roll them around,” and they do just that in tandem, gently squeezing the soft, weighty flesh of his tits, admiring how they spill over in his smaller hands. “Harder,” she whispers, digging their fingers in, right on the cusp of too hard. His head falls back, a breathy moan and wiggling hips, his response to the alluring sensation.

This is decadent! He can’t believe Hircine is always so quiet in bed when it feels like this. His cunt continues to clench around nothing, and Astarion can barely wait for more.

“And when that isn’t enough anymore,” she says, shifting her grip to lay his fingertips onto his nipples, “then I know this is what I need.” They brush featherlight over the tightened buds, very gently circling around the areolas and good gods, Astarion wishes he could just come from this and literally nothing else. His tits are alight with the most delightful tingle that trails like fire through his stomach and loins, and this is only his touch, not Hircine’s.

“Can you—Can you do it?” He gasps out, arching his back to rest his head on her strong shoulder and jut his chest out. If he doesn’t get some more stimulation, he might explode.

“Oh, my poor, needy Husband… You want me to touch you?” She coos.

“Fuck—Please, I need it, Hircine!” He demands, rocking back against her, looking down to relish in the way his tits bounce with the action. Finding it within herself to be gracious, Hircine cups his breasts now, thumb and forefingers pinching over his pale nipples to twist them around. His thighs slap together when he moans loud and long and desperate, struggling to comprehend how amazing it feels with her hands on him now. She could probably rip his nipples right off and it would still be one of the best experiences to date.

She hums, a thoughtful noise that rumbles through her throat, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks next. “I don’t think we play with our ears enough…” A wet tongue snakes along the shell of his ear, shockingly tender and sensitive, and Astarion’s breath hitches. Between the ear licking and the nipple touching, it’s all so much, so perfect, so good.

And then Hircine pushes his breasts up towards their faces, releasing him so they bounce back into place. “Do it to yourself some more.” She commands, not all that stern in case he were to reject such a thing. As if. Following instructions like the good husband he is, Astarion returns his hands to where they belong, missing Hircine’s touch, but loving his own all the same.

While he appreciates how much Hircine is getting into this, Astarion is stunned that she is noticeably not hard against his back. How?!

Oh, well. His pleasure is the most important right now.

Pinching, pulling, rolling, with this body reacting by clenching, yearning, throbbing… A frantic energy is building up within him, but with his touch on his breasts only, he knows there will be no reaching the brink of satisfaction.

As usual, Hircine’s timing is good, or maybe she knows her body well enough to understand that this kind of play would not be enough. Her fingers tickle down his flat stomach and he watches at it involuntarily clenches at the funny feeling. She then stops right at the apex of his sex, drumming against the pubic bone.

“Hmm, do you want to tease or shall I?” She asks and Astarion’s heart flutters.

“You.” His desperate response is instantaneous. Why would she ever ask when she knows it’s so much better that she do it?

One hands scoops up a breast, lightly massaging it in a firm grip, but much to his dismay, the nipple is ignored entirely while her other hand pries open his thighs once again, palm and fingers smoothing along the supple flesh of his inner thigh, occasionally circling dangerously close to his lower lips before skirting away to repeat the motion. On his own, he could see how this wouldn’t be all that exciting, but with Hircine’s strong hands initiating, it has him on the verge of begging.

On another lazy pass by his folds, Hircine leaves her hand to rest there, but finally offers some relief from the toying by brushing the thumb on her other hand over a peaked bud, and Astarion realizes he’s been holding his breath for much, much too long, his chest constricting with need until he sucks one in with a gasp as his hips jerk up, eager for Hircine to continue.

Her quiet voice, insistent and urging, reaches him. “Touch yourself, Husband.”

Biting back a moan, Astarion does as he's told, no hesitation, digits sliding down his stomach just as she did before, aiming for that swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves that he knows gets Hircine off so well. The second his fingers make contact, crackling sparks of pleasure jolt through his body, unleashing a debauched gasp that he didn't even know Hircine’s body was capable of.

He’ll take more of that. His fingers slip down further, swirling just outside the hungry mouth of his cunt to coat himself in slick, and that movement is carried back up to the clit, gently rubbing around it for the most glorious sensation. Hircine, not one to sit idly by, turns her attention to his tits, kneading them with fervent affection and pulling on the impossibly, hardened peaks. He’s so breathless as his hips buck, searching for some more friction.

“Oh, fuck, Hircine, it’s so, so good!” He mewls as she tenderly pinches his nipples. “Can-Can I put my fingers inside? Please, I want it so bad!”

He can hear how she licks her lips, letting out a quiet huff of laughter. “Are you going to fuck yourself on your fingers?”

“Yes!”

“Then do it.” She whispers.

Instantly, he sinks his middle finger inside that glorious wet heat, then another follows immediately after because Astarion is craving it so deeply. His cunt grips his fingers as they slide in and out at a slow, cautious pace, reveling in how slick and warm and hot it is. While Astarion is lost in himself, Hircine flicks her fingers across his clit and roughly twists one of his nipples with the other hand, and he is lost to the shock of overwhelming euphoria that burns its way through his body. Her strokes on his clit continue, gentle and sensuous, urging him down a path to a mind-blowing orgasm, the likes he might not have experienced before.

A third finger is added, a comfortable stretch inside him as he seeks out that spot Hircine loves so much and gods, does he want it. The coil is tightening within his belly, and Astarion presses back into Hircine, whining and moaning and gasping, and then—

Hircine stops, stilling all her movements completely.

Astarion is a yearning, flustered mess as he removes his fingers, panting hard when no release comes to ease the overwhelming burn. “Wh-Why did you stop?!”

“It’s not fun if you come so quickly… I like the buildup, personally.” Her cold lips meet his cheek for a loud, smacking kiss that leaves him feeling dissatisfied.

“Tch, I want to come, not play games.” Guess he’ll have to take his pleasure into his own hands if she’s going to be evil.

Wrapping an arm over his tits and covering his clit with her hand, Hircine smiles deviously against him. “No, we’re going slow.”

He scowls, “Is this because I fingered you under the desk while that gnome was asking for an advance payment last week?”

“Hmm, well now that you remind me… Yes. It is.” Hircine nibbles at his ear, fangs scraping against the sensitive skin there so gooseflesh raises across Astarion’s body, and he shivers. Running her fingers down through his puffy folds, she dips into his cunt once, then twice, before stroking the entrance and back up to his clit, teasing gently. “Also, my dear husband, I think it’s only fair that you know what it's like to be played with.”

It’s outright vengeance. Fine, they can play. He opens his slim legs as wide as he can, offering himself up completely for whatever Hircine has planned. Her fingers have warmed up to his body temperature now as she swirls them around, making a mess of his slick all along his cunt lips and thighs, occasionally giving some much needed attention to Astarion’s clit so he whines and squirms at the pleasure that strikes through his nerves.

Touch like this could feel just as good in his own body, but maybe it's the thrill, the strangeness, of being different that has him singing so much for each stroke, swipe and pinch. Hircine is rarely ever interested in self-pleasure unless he asks for a show, so the fact that she’s able to toy with him so well like this, knowing exactly the buttons to push, is a wonderful surprise.

If it’s some advanced level of torture she’s learned or the height of absolute delight, Astarion is brought so close to the edge of oblivion, only to be brought back down again and again… and again, while Hircine whispers sweet nothings and taunts into his ears.

Whether her vengeance has been sated or she just knows he’s had enough, Hircine nuzzles her nose into his neck, trailing up until she murmurs in that decadent and deep voice. “Had enough, Husband?”

“Please.” A whispering plea slips past his lips, chest heaving and sweat clinging to his body as she works him over so thoroughly. Slickened fingers are brought to his mouth, and Astarion opens, keen to taste that nectar he so eagerly feasts on any other night. Musky, salty and sweet, not quite the same as it is when he’s tasting with his own tongue, but delicious all the same. Seeking out her lips, they meet in a slow, heated kiss to share his arousal.

Hircine hums when she breaks away, red eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Different… Interesting. I’ll stop playing with you now.”

He melts into her chest, drawing circles over one of his pale nipples with an index finger, “Oh, thank the gods, I’m rea—Ah!” She buries two fingers inside his cunt before he can finish speaking, curling them up just right to hit that spot inside, while the other hand seeks out the rosy bud at the apex of his sex, rubbing it perfectly between her fingers. Astarion’s been kept mercilessly at the edge of bliss, so these intent ministrations by Hircine shoves him right over.

His eyes screw shut while a choked cry echoes out into their bedroom as he comes, writhing in her arms when shockwaves of his orgasm overtake this body. Stars are seen, breath is trapped in his chest, and his nails dig into his tits while each rippling wave sends him reeling in euphoria. The two stroking fingers inside of his core are constricted as the walls of his cunt pulse in tune with his fluttering heartbeat, ebbing slowly to an occasional twinge as Hircine helps him ride each crest, before it abates fully, and Astarion is left a trembling and limp pile of limbs.

Eventually enveloped in a tight embrace, Hircine holds him close, placing sweet pecks to his temple. “Was that what you wanted?”

He groans and swallows to wet his dry throat, feeling like dropped jelly. “Does… it always feel like that?”

“Sometimes.”

“Fuck, that’s amazing.” Finally some sense is returned to his loose arms and legs, and Astarion curls up against Hircine, feeling purely satisfied. “Thank you, my love.” His eyes are already growing heavy, all the energy drained from his body after that mind-bending orgasm.

Maybe after a short nap, everything will return to normal.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bodyswap #body swap au #Astarion smut #drow tav #astarion x drow tav #astarion x tav

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aspenlovesmedia · 15 hours ago

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Time to talk about Martin as a Buried avatar because I am aware this seems like an odd choice in my au but I have my reasons.

So, to get a little personal for a moment (this is relevant I promise), I have often felt trapped by my own mental illnesses, my differences to others, and my need for people to like me. For a long time I forced myself to do whatever I could to help others because in my mind if I didn’t then they would have no reason to like me and people had to like me because it was better that I was burning myself out than being alone again. I think you can see the similarities between my own experiences and Martin.

The Buried I think is often overlooked, and I feel like a lot could have been done with being trapped by your own anxiety, where you’re buried underneath the worries of everyone else and can’t escape the hell of your own creation because you’re so afraid to be a bad person.

While Martin very much fits the Lonely and the Web, I feel season 1/2 Martin had such a potential to become aligned with the Buried instead. Rather than isolating himself, Martin becomes more and more desperate to help everyone around him because if he helps them, then he’s useful, but this also leaves him unable to do anything else. He’s so caught up in keeping everyone else happy (or at least as close to it as he can get them) that he struggles to do anything else. His anxiety around how others view him traps him, and the powers around him want him stuck.

Now the Shifted Gaze Martin is in a slightly different situation to canon Martin by the time the story starts as he’s actually friends with Jon. Jon is already well on his way to becoming a Web avatar, so he’s a pretty different person to what he is in canon. He’s still really not the best at socialising, but it’s more in a he says the bare minimum of words he needs to rather than he’s being a dick kind of way. To put a long story short, Martin sees this man who is completely alone, and makes it his mission to ensure Jon isn’t as alone as he is.

The thing is in doing so, he accidentally becomes the one thing keeping Jon’s humanity alive, and that makes Martin the perfect target for the Buried. Martin begins by being trapped trying to help Jon, then that extends to Sasha and Tim when he joins the archival team, and he does not have the time or energy to take care of himself. Martin and Jon’s dynamic in this au is really not the healthiest lol. I’d say it gets better but that would be a lie. Martin so strongly ties himself to the people he cares for he stops caring about what happens to himself, and when certain events happen, well let’s just say the Buried gets a new avatar.

Martin is still aligned with the Lonely in some ways in this au, but the Buried is what claims him.

Btw sorry if any of this is rambly or doesn’t make sense, I am writing this while sleep deprived lol. I feel like this will really start to make sense as I write him in the actual story rather than me explaining it this way since I have to leave out some major things due to spoiler reasons. If you have questions please feel free to ask them I would love to answer.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #shifted gaze au

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whentherewerebicycles · 3 days ago

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my baby is six months old today!!! he’s been alive for half a year!!!!! it somehow feels both like he's been in my life forever and like i just gave birth days ago. I love him so much it makes me feel a little frantic sometimes. he is down for his first nap now and I can hear him in his crib grumbling to himself about the terrible indignities they subject sweet little babies to these days (chief among them being wrapped in blankets in a soft little sleeping bag in a cozy warm room for a nice restorative nap).

I think I want to journal a bit today—six things about the baby + six thoughts about my experience of parenting thus far. baby first!

well i mean. he is just perfect. he is just the best little guy ever. all babies are the best little guy ever but he is MY best little guy you know? i love him so much. what is his personality like? i would say he has definitely retained something of the watchfulness and slight reserve he had as a newborn. he has these huge dark eyes and he studies things very intently and in general likes to Observe the Situation before wading in. but he is, so far, not especially shy? the stranger danger phase has not set in yet so he enjoys being held by a wide range of people and will warm up to new faces after a bit, especially if they make silly expressions at him or sing to him. he also definitely has His People, who he is not reserved with at all. the second my sister walks in he starts kicking his legs furiously and babbling to her to get her to come over and talk to him. he looooves my mom and is way snugglier with her than anyone else. he adores his primary babysitters (his nanny + liz's husband A) and is sooo chatty with them. he was slow to smile (liz's baby was beaming at everybody from like five weeks on but i don't think O was smiling regularly until about 12 weeks) and he is still pretty selective with them (strangers do NOT get smiles unless they make a very silly surprising noise). but his general temperament is just like… he’s a calm, even-keeled, good-natured little guy who is down for pretty much whatever. this kid can hang.

he is REALLY good at independent play. if he's fed and changed he can pretty much entertain himself for 45-60 min at a time without any input from me. he just kicks around on his mat and plays with his toys. in the morning he wakes up around 6:30 but the family does not get up until 7:20 and he will just hang out in his crib making his hands dance in the air and chattering happily to himself. i think this is probably like 80% inborn temperament... my mom says i was the exact same way as a baby, just like totally content to chill and think and talk to myself. but i think maybe 20% of it is also things i consciously did to encourage this from about four weeks on and i am proud of that! i think one of the qualities i like best in myself is that i have a high tolerance for boredom because i can just get lost in my thoughts/imagination. as long as i have something to think about or some imaginary situation to play out in my head i am content. i really want that for him too! idk more thoughts about this when i journal about parenting lol. but i appreciate that he doesn't have to be entertained 24/7 (at least at this age). he is content to just be on his own or just be in the room watching people do other stuff.

obviously i adored him from the start lol but i would say that four months marked a big turning point in terms of how much fun he was to hang out with. he just started seeming so much more alert and engaged around then. and then this last five to six months span of time has just been SO fun. he's fully a little person. he has preferences and opinions and favorite toys and favorite people and favorite animals (ruthie). he is learning ALL the time. you can see him puzzling things out and beginning to develop a rudimentary understanding of cause and effect. right now, like in the past week or so, he is extremely into TEXTURES. he must scritch-scratch absolutely everything with his little baby nails. he is obsessed with his "baby paper" (crinkly paper) and he is much more open to tummy time now mainly because it allows him to scritch-scratch all the different quilts we use as playmats. he likes to scritch-scratch the glass when i take him to the window in the morning to show him his friends the trees, and if there is any kind of graphic on my t-shirts he MUST scratch the edges of it. and he does all of this with a look of total focus lol this kid is LOCKED IN on scritch-scratching.

he laughs so much these days. he also seems to have figured out that people react positively and often rush over to engage with him when he laughs, so sometimes if i'm on the other side of the room and he wants me to pay attention to him he will just do this "huh-huh-HAH-HA! HA!" belly laugh so i'll come over and make silly faces at him. i do pretty much nonstop funny accents and comedy bits for him and i'd say i get a laugh 50% of the time... the other 50% of the time he just gives me this wide-eyed look that clearly says "ok... this lady is nutso and i seem to be trapped in her care... i need to proceed carefully here..." which is also very funny.

he is really into being gently manhandled right now haha. i think it is probably related to developing proprioception? but he loves to be "flying baby" (where you lift him over your head and zoom him around like an airplane) and he loves being a pendulum in a giant clock (where you hold him under his arms and swing his body back and forth as you lift him up and down) and he REALLY loves it when you wrap him up in your arms and roll into a ball and roll over and over a bunch of times. also it delights him when you play-wrestle with him and tickle him even though he cannot yet really wrestle back lol. bonus points if you also growl at him and pretend you are going to eat him up... that's a big hit right now. when i was a kid my dad would wrestle with us all the time and pretend to be a bear chasing us around the house on all fours and let us ride on his back and stuff and it was so much fun. so far it is also pretty fun for the grownup lol i feel like it's a great way to get some silly energy out. but also i think i need to start lifting weights lol because this kid is already so heavy and i want to be able to keep tossing him around and wrestling with him when he's even bigger!!

on a related note: he is getting much stronger!! he is a big boy (as of today: 75th percentile for weight, 98th percentile for height, and wearing 12 month clothes). some of the physical milestones have been challenging for him because he weighs a lot and has a big ol noggin, so it's a lot of work to lift/maneuver his body. but he is rolling over pretty regularly and happily now, and in the last day or two he's started pushing up on his hands a little when he's on his tummy which was the big tummy time milestone he hadn't hit yet. he can also sit up with hip support and is starting to brace himself on his hands while sitting. the contrast with my nephew has been so funny to watch... my nephew is two and a half months older and is the tiniest, springiest little guy, so it's a lot easier for him to monkey around lol. but my nephew also just has this truly nonstop internal motor that seems to drive him to MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE at all times. my baby uhh does not have that motor lol. he finds my nephew's frenetic energy a little overwhelming and is like actually i would prefer to lounge around here on my mat scritch-scratching a quilt, thank you. truly my child lol. why "move around" when you could instead sit in one place daydreaming. it's funny to watch them together and just be like ohhh kids are SO different there's such a wide spectrum of normal.

ok there are six things!!! some other rapidfire facts just for my files: he is still quite gloriously bald but he's started getting hair! no eyebrows yet though lol and no sign that they are on the horizon. he loves taking baths with me except maybe "loves" is the wrong word... he takes bathtime deathly seriously because it is Water Kicking Time and he was put on this earth to Kick Water. so bathtimes are training sessions... he does not smile at ALL during baths he is too Locked In, but he screams and screams when you try to take him out because he was STILL TRAINING. his eyes still have a little bit of that newborn dark blue left but are mostly dark brown now with perhaps the barest hint of hazel. he is really into music and will go into a trance state when you sing to him or play instruments for him. he loves to chomp on his toys. he used to "kiss" your cheek but now just wants to nom nom nom on your face. his cheeks get so rosy when he's worked up or chilly or excited. he is transfixed by his own hands. he does this sharp startled little inhale when something surprises him. he can now take his pacifier out of his mouth and sometimes put it back in (i'd say we have a 20% success rate of getting the pacifier back in the right way). he is almost always a perfect sleeper although we had a little rough patch last night so i'm holding my breath hoping he's not about to have some kind of regression. he loves to kvetch and has mastered the fine art of lowgrade grumbling and complaining. he is teething and so there is a lot of drool everywhere all the time. he likes to hold his board books while i read to him i think it makes him feel important and involved lol. he is very soft and warm and smells good. he loves to snuggle in the big bed with mom. he is the best. he is just the best!!! i am the luckiest person in the world. i love him so much and i love being his mom. what a good baby!!!

#baby tag #six months!

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ch4nb4ng · 3 hours ago

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Expect the Unexpected

Pairing: Han Jisung X afab!reader

Word count: 9.7k

Genre: Childhood friends to lovers (stoned college edition

Warnings: 18+ explicit minors do not interact. Substance use, sexual acts under the influence of substance use, Kissing, naked bodies, mentions of genitals, fingering, handjob, orgasm, mentions of semen

Tag list: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree

@kpopsstuffs

Note: HEY guys, its been a while, and like actually a while this time.... Had this sitting in the draft for almost a year. Life has very much gotten in the way but i am back hopefully, with the aim of engaging in writing when I feel like and no pressuring myself. Anyways, it's nice to be back and I hope you enjoy.

Summary: There was a blizzard, resulting in your college dorm being blocked from all human interaction. Things are about to, however change when your childhood best friend, and wall neighbour comes over and has other things in mind to pass the time with weed included as one of them.

The first time living away from your family and by yourself was an experience that you very much valued. No curfews, no worrying about what your parents were going to say when you’ve had several drinks at a party, and definitely no nagging to make your bed everyday. Make no mistake, you loved your parents and siblings a lot, it was just nice sometimes to have the complete privacy that was your dorm room every now and then.

There were moments that you did become homesick. On the contrary to having your own private, personal space, especially during the trying moments of completing long winded assignments, studying for exams, or even just having the feeling of familiarity when you hugged somebody that was your blood. There were always pros and cons to living an independent college life. At this current moment in time, you were experiencing one of the more annoying parts of living in a college building.

Deep into the winter seasons of the year, while also living in a state that was known for having extreme weather patterns during this time of the year was your least favorite part. Once the news alerted ‘warning, blizzard storm approaching in the next 48 hours,’ you knew that the college would be sending an official email, urging students to stay in the dorms, and barricade all exits.

This was where you were currently at.

Lying in your bed, phone up to your face as you reassured your family through facetime that you were fine and had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

“You guys know the drill,” you smiled, “I’m fine, two days in and I am alive and well, just a little bored.”

“Okay well don’t forget that Jisung’s mother and I got those rooms next to each other so you guys always have a little bit of company.”

“Yes mom I know,” you laughed, “I might text him later. He had an assignment due this afternoon and I don’t want to bother him.”

“Okay love, we will talk to you later.”

“Love you too, bye.”

The sound representing the end of the call rang through the speaker of your phone. The object fell on your chest as you let out a loud sigh, your boredom growing with each second.

Jisung. Han Jisung was someone that could be labeled as many different things to you. Friend, confidant, best friend, study buddy; home. Jisung was the jack of all trades in your book.

Knowing each other since the two of you were 10, meeting at a weekend competition of playing mixed teams basketball bloomed into a relationship you didn't know was even possible to have with a man. Jisung was the friend that kind of just stuck, even planning to go to the same college as you. It was a packaged deal, you and him, but it made you laugh, because the two of you could not be more of the opposite. Jisung was the shyer type. Although you met through sporting engagements, that was more something that his parents put him into to see what he liked. He was very intelligent, a strong preference to have his head in the books rather than going out to a new party every weekend. Make no mistake, Jisung was a very polite individual, always talking to those that gave the time. However, he was much more comfortable with people that he knew. In contrast, you were a social butterfly, able to make friends every corner you turned. Parties and drinking every weekend; anywhere but the was where the majority of your time was spent.

Therefore, when all the buildings on campus were closed, it drove you crazy. There was nothing that could be hated more than being forced to stay inside in your eyes. The confinement always made you reconsider why it was here, in this state, that you chose to attend college. But it was when you heard a knock on the door that you were reminded why. Leg flopping out of your bed sheets, they dragged you to the door, your body sprinkled in warmth when you opened it to your kind looking friend who happened to be smiling back. Your body turned to the side, hand out as he strolled into your apartment, plopping down on the couch like it was his own. You quickly followed, taking the spot next to him as you turned to face him.

“Are you bored yet?”

“Of course I am,” you sigh, walking in front of Jisung as you walk into the living room of your apartment and sitting on the couch, head in your hands, leaning forward so much that you could almost fall off the couch “as if it took you this long to realise.”

“Y/n, the email was only sent out 4 hours ago.”

“Yeah but there was supposed to be a party tonight at Changbin’s frat,” you whined, lips fully pouted, “I really wanted to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, placing his hands behind his head, legs kicked out on the small table in front of him, “it’s a real shame that the party is canceled.”

Your best friend managed to avoid eye contact, voice dripping with sarcasm. To be truthful, you knew that even though he would go with you, to make sure you're safe of course, and DEFINITELY for that reason only, Jisung would never choose to willingly go to such a party. It wasn’t that he was a complete prude little innocent boy, no. There had been a multitude of times where you could hear him, or the other girls that failed to stay quiet and not echo through the paper thin dorm walls. Jisung just simply wasn’t the type to go out to parties, especially when everyone there was a slobbering mess on one substance or another, especially you. There was a feeling that if you were merely a stranger to him, Jisung would most likely, outside of classes, be a ghost. A myth that supposedly walks down the hallways of your college. Seeing as the two of you were opposite in that regard, you tried to respect Jisung as much as possible. Not bringing your bong, joints, or excessive amounts of alcohol whenever he came over, because you knew if the shoe was on the other foot, he would also do the same. Jisung only had the occasional puff anyway, much less than you, so the need to have it around constantly felt unnecessary.

“Try not to ooze with excitement,” you raised your eyebrows, a fake smile plastering across your lips as you failed to see his attitude change. Good old Jisung for you.

“I’ll try my best.”

“Anyway,” you replied, leaning forward and grabbing the TV remote, pressing the small red power button in the top right corner, watching the plasma screen light up with the logo belonging to Netflix. You turn again to the man beside you, a warmth feeling in your chest at how placid he looked, patiently waiting for you to put something on.

“Is there anything you would like to watch for the next 12 hours?”

Yes, 12 hours. That was you being optimistic that this storm would be quick.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, bringing his index finger and thumb to his chin, thinking about what to watch, “there isn’t anything I’ve been keeping up with.”

“Ah I see. Shall we just scroll until we find something we like?”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

Clicking on your profile, the first row of TV shows were ‘Watch it again,’ followed by ‘Top hits for Y/n.’ Nothing really caught your eye, or his seeing as he would say something if he did. It wasn’t until your ‘continue watching for y/n’ that you gasped, loud. The word ‘Bridgerton’ has popped up in continuing. At first you were confused. Although you were an avid lover of that show, you had not watched it recently. It wasn’t until you selected it that you realized a new season had come out. Jisung remained puzzled, seeing as this was not something he had a remote interest in watching.

“Oh my god Jisung can we-”

“No man,” he complained, “you know this is the last thing I would want to watch.”

“Please,” you begged, placing your hands in the form of a prayer, remote still in hand, “it’s so good I beg of you please to just consider. I’ll do anything.”

“Ugh fine,” he hissed, “but I cannot be 100% sober for this shit.”

Your eyebrow furrowed, displaying a look of confusion. This was the thing you would expect someone like Jisung to say.

“Hmm ok,” you hummed, still slightly confused, “I’ll get my stash of vodka.”

“Hmmm no,” he shrugged, a slightly suggestive glimmer on his face, “something that will be long-lasting, if you’re catching my drift.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows repeatedly, leaving your mind to imply one substance only. Weed.

“You want to smoke, really?”

“Yes y/n, I want to smoke weed, is that ok with you?”

“Of course it is,” you reassured, “you know that if you were here or not I would probably do it anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Done.”

“Okay, and we have to watch from the beginning or I will go back to my room.”

“Yes yes okay fine,” you leaned over, pressing a grateful kiss on his cheek, “you’re the best. I’ll get my stash now.”

You scurried off to your room, quickly, opening the small draw on your side table next to your bed. Your stash, the prized possession that was the calm before the storm. Smoking in your downtime was something that you very much looked forward to, especially if you were unnecessarily stressed out. Your face lit up and the clouds of dark green hue clouded the plastic bag that was in your sight, fingers grasping the edge as you wiggled back to your original spot. Although you agreed, it was strange of your friend to want to just smoke out of boredom. The only time you had seen him do it was at small gatherings, and even then, it was one puff and done, usually followed by heavy chest hitting coughs. It always made you laugh. It also made you feel bad, knowing that if he didn’t hang around with you, he probably wouldn’t do these kinds of things. Jisung was an adult who could make his own decisions, but there was always part of you that thought about him, his family; would they approve of him doing this? It was a lot to think about sometimes.

It was Jisung’s turn to hold the remote, flicking back to season 1 episode 1, before scooching closer to you. Jisung was keen to get in on the action, something you were definitely not used to. He went to reach for the paper, but you grabbed him by the wrist, making him pause for a moment.

“Jisung, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he smiled, unsure why you were asking such a question, “it’s not the first time I’ve done it y/n, relax.”

“Yeah I know,” you shrugged, “it’s just, I’ve only seen you smoke once, and you looked like you were about to cough up your lungs.”

“Oh,” he sighed, looking away in embarrassment, “you saw that?”

“Unfortunately, I did.”

“Yeah well I can do it,” he barked, somewhat getting defensive, pointing at the TV to deflect from his deficits “you’re making me watch this shit.”

“Okay okay,” you whined, letting go of his wrist, “but please let me show you how to roll and smoke a joint properly so you don’t actually hurt yourself.”

The two of you giggled simultaneously, resulting in Jisung reluctantly nodding in agreement. He watched closely as he watched you open both bags, paper on the right, weed on the left.

“Okay so,” you began to speak, “firstly,” you paused again, using your index and middle finger on your right hand to slide into the plastic, “I like to slide my fingers in like this, touching the least amount of paper possible.”

Jisung pushed his lenses right up to his face, making sure his concentration was avid; missing a step was not an option for him. Once the sheet was out of paper, you placed it on top of the plastic. You like to take pride in your work, especially being a part time stoner, of your supplies. Seeing as it cost you a significant amount, it felt wrong to not get the best out of your product.

“Then,” you continued, “you get the bag with the goods, and I like to,” pausing again, opening the bag and grabbing one cluster, “just crush it in my fingers as small as I can, and sprinkle it in a line across the center.”

He nodded again, observing how smooth your fingers were, fingertips sprinkling green across the white square placed in the table.

“Are you following?”

“Of course,” he nodded, furrowing his eyebrows to show his concentration. Jisung swallowed a nervous gulp, remembering that he really had no idea what he was going to do when he coughed his lungs up one more time. Yes, he was concentrating on how you did it, but he couldn’t help it. His cognitions were descending into the gutter, especially watching the two fingers he tended to use when he was in lewd acts himself. It made him nervous.

Sure, there were intrusive thoughts about you being a part of his fantasies and desires, but Jisung knew better than to act on something that came from pure lust. Instead, pressing his lips together, attempting to stifle the giggle that threatened to erupt from his lips. You, however, were too smart to not notice him suppressing his laughter. Your elbow nudged his side, a sheepish gaze as you began to question him.

“What’s so funny?”

“What,” he questioned, puffing his cheeks and shaking his head, patting your arm, “keep going.”

You decided to shrug it off, not letting his immaturity obstruct you from your prized possession. Next was the rolling. Lifting the paper with the utmost precaution, the material was brought to your lips, tongue sticking out as your lips lay a thin layer of saliva to coat the edge of the paper.

“See what I did with my tongue?”

‘Oh god,’ was all Jisung could think, mind once again heading straight to the gutter. All he could think about was what your tongue, if it was positioned under a different appendage, how different it could be. His testosterone was raging, but once again, he knew better. To Jisung, nothing could be worse than putting his own selfish wants ahead of your friendship. However, the longer he stared at you practically making out with the joint, licking it up and down, side to side, making sure the two ends stuck together, the harder it became to push his thoughts away from such dirty crevices of his mind. The torture was over for him once you withdrew the now complete joint from your lips. You were satisfied with how it turned out, a smile of approval, and a hint of arrogance plastered on your face.

“And that’s how you do it. Now your turn.”

“Ok,” he sighed, “swap spots with me so I can do it.”

“Yes sir,” you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes you obeyed, allowing your best friend to now sit in front of the two bags. He followed your steps with ease, using great precision with his fingers to eject the weed and paper from each plastic container. He was natural. Only the two fingers, being the same ones you, strategically rolling the two digits back and forth. He was swift, nimble, adjectives you normally liked to use when you felt the touch of a man. It was your turn to swallow nervously, a small pit of arousal brewing in your lower abdomen as the small pelts of green substance dissipated across the center of the paper, just like you did. Holy shit, how could something as simple as rolling a joint be so attractive? Jisung brought a hand to his hair, running it quickly through the brown mop to get it out of his face, aiming to let no obstacles get in his way. He gave you one look, a gaze of concern when he noticed your eyes glued to his hands.

“You okay?”

Your eyes shot straight to his, attempting to not be mesmerized by the joyful expression covering his features. Fuck, why was his smile having such an impact on you right now? He chuckled, assuming that you were just playing around, but in reality, you were definitely distracted by the attractiveness of your friend with a sudden fresh washed mop of brown hair, glasses, and shining complexion of the side of his face as the light from the window cascaded across the high points of his cheeks. You faked a smile, nodding as you egged him on to continue. Panic began to settle in however when you saw the bare tip of his tongue coating the corner of the white material. Holy shit, he really was a natural. Licking the edge right across in one swift motion, not using too much saliva, yet still using enough. It was almost offensive how much better his joint looked compared to yours. But that was just what Jisung was: a perfectionist with little effort in trying to attain said perfection. He didn’t stray too much out of the norm, yet when he did try something, he was always good at it from the first try. Sometimes it made you wonder what other things he would be good at. But that was for another time, with a similar mindset in the fact that a brief thought of sexual fantasy was not worth more than your friendship. Especially if he didn't reciprocate, the awkwardness after would be something you most definitely could not handle.

“Woah,” you gasped, grasping the joint out of his hand, intensely observing it from each angle, “I knew you would be good at this.”

Your best friend beamed at your approval, eagerly waiting for the next step.

“Oh my lighter, I’ll go grab it now.”

You forgot before, but this gave you time to completely subtract those devil filled thoughts of Jisung by not looking at him for a brief moment. It worked, because as soon as you opened the drawer and saw your lighter, all you could focus on was lighting that shit up.

Coming back to the living room once more, you placed the fire breathing object on the table, offering Jisung to go first. He looked hesitant, unsure how or where he should start. It was adorable when Jisung was like this, because he was clueless not very often. You decided to pick it back up, pressing the flicker down once to ignite the flame.

“Do you want to go first, or would you like me to go first?”

“Uhm,” he hummed, “I think you should go first, you know, show me how to do this shit properly.”

“Okay,” you chuckled, letting go of the flicker on the lighter, handing it over to him, “well I usually don’t light my own joints so would you do me the honors?”

“Of course,” he purred, the smoothness of his tone delivering a sudden pulse to your core. You leant forward, completely forgetting that your clothing was completely revealing by all means. The looseness of your long sleeve white shirt was telling, the action of leaning forward exposing the subtlety of your cleavage. You could see Jisung’s eyes travel straight to them, but only for a brief moment. He was trying to be as respectful as he could, but it was impossible when your chest was right there. His thumb dragged with ease, flame luminous as he brought the orange tipped flame to the edge of your joint. The tip turned dark immediately, and the taste of the herb came with that. The sensation was immediate, as you grabbed the joint with two fingers, pulling the object away from your lips and letting the warmth of the smoke spilling, down your chest, and back up again, eyes fluttering shut as you puffed the smoke from your lips, the feeling of nostalgia hitting you.

Jisung watched you in awe, amazed at how easily smoking came to you. He wanted to try so bad. He wanted to prove to you that he could do something that you did not expect of him. But he was patient, waiting for you to open your eyes before he started.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in pure bliss, lifting your eyelids slightly, “that is some good shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yessss,” you hissed, grabbing onto his hands holding the lighter, sliding it out of his hand “your turn. Place the joint between your lips and lean forward.”

Jisung did as he was told, adjusting his positioning to being abnormally close to you. You didn’t pay much mind, the small flame igniting once again, but you paused, almost forgetting that he in fact did now know what he was doing.

“Ok so once I light this,” you paused, using your free hand to squeeze his jaw, “are you listening?”

His eyes widened at your sudden touch, a small nod which was obstructed by your somewhat firm grasp.

“Ok so once I light this, take a small breath in, hold for a second, and blow it out.”

“Yes maam,” he smiled, looking deep into your eyes before you passed him the bud, waiting for him to grasp it between his two fingers. When he does, still keeping his eyes on you, simultaneously feeling your brain drop slightly at how intense his gaze was in this very moment, lips forming into the shape of an o as the paper came to his lips, taking the smallest puff, and blowing it out. You were impressed, seeing this was the first time he smoked anything without coughing his lungs out. A smile came to your lips, proud of your best friend in the moment.

“Woah,” he sighed, finally breaking his stare, eyes changing towards the blunt. His chest descended as he took another puff, turning back to face the tv as his back gently slid into the couch.

“How was that?”

“Is it crazy that I already feel more relaxed than before?”

His response made you giggle, glad he was enjoying himself.

“I told you,” sighing as you snatched the blunt from his grip, taking a long drag, “I only smoke the high quality stuff.”

“Sure do,” he growled, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch. Jisung grabbed the remote, pressing play on the TV, greeted by a girl in a royal style gown. He forgot that it was Bridgerton that got him here in this predicament.

***

It did not take much for the two of you to feel the consequences of smoking. One thing you hated to admit was that you craved the presence of someone next to you when under the influence. But not just like in your orbit no. Like needing a lack of personal space. To be suffocated. Which is why the two of you were sitting the way you were now. Your legs atop of his own, head buried into his chest, with your arms wrapped around his torso.

The intrusive thoughts always won when you were high, which is how your fingertips came to be not just on your best friend, but under his shirt, skin to skin contact. You couldn’t deny that the texture of his defined build, muscles budding at each ridge was hard to miss.

Bridgerton had been playing, but if anything, at this point, it had become background noise, the main noise becoming the tension that thickened between the two of you with each passing minute. Although the relationship was close,the idea of intimacy was never something that had come up as a thought. Sober you, and sober him, would never do such a thing. Feeling that maybe it would cross a boundary.

But the usual thought did not cross your mind. Or his for that matter, Jisung’s digits generously spread across the outside of your thigh, dangerously close to your behind. It felt nice, honestly. Yes, you had your fair share of one night stands. Male attention followed you, easily, whether you were looking for it or not. With that being said, however, it had been a while since you remembered what a real man's touch felt like. Especially your best friend. Being a biology major, Jisung was consistently practical in the lab, using his hands in the most intricate ways. Whether looking at a small piece of bacteria in a microscope, or dissecting an organ of some sort, he was always using his hands, and boy, was that evident when you felt the texture of his callous palms spreading across the back of your leg.

The puffing came to a halt, joint burning down halfway to its bud, but it was enough to heighten your senses. The two of you looked at each other, eyelids a little more droopy than usual as the both of you giggled, looking back at the TV. By the time the two of you were actually paying attention to the storyline, Daphne and Simon were getting married.

“So what’s the premises?”

“Premises?” You giggled, finding humor in your best friend’s speaking mishap.

“Yeah like,” he paused, maneuvering your body to be closer to his, leaving now no room on the couch between the two of you, “like what’s the show about.”

“It’s a period romance show based on a series of books.”

“Ohh, I thought you didn't like to read, you fucking nerd.”

“Oi,” you nudged him, completely missing the side of his arm and falling onto his chest, “I don't, that’s why I'm watching the show instead.”

“Right, anyway, go on.”

“Right, so Daphne and Simon basically pretended to be together so this other guy, creepy as fuck, wouldn’t have to marry her. But then they realized they developed feelings for each other but are both inendial about it so they're discussing the topic on their wedding day and just going through with it because it was too late for them to change their mind.” If either of you did not see the irony in this situation.

“That literally made no fucking sense,” Jisung sighed, using his free hand to scratch the back of his head, “but to be honest, I really can’t concentrate on anything you’re saying.”

“Damnnn,” you gasped, leaning up to look at him, “you’re high.”

“Yeah pfft,” Jisung hummed, keeping his glazed eyes focused on you, “I feel like I can just say or do anything right now.”

“That’s the beauty of smoking Ji,” you smiled, turning away and facing the screen. It was at this point that married TV couples were in their honeymoon suite. If you were being honest, it was hard to keep up with the dialogue due to the speed and the actual content being in old english. It was much less difficult to follow the visuals, their facial expressions, how they spoke. It was still captivating, watching the two actors get close and closer, right until their lips met. As they continued, the room felt silent yet tense. The two of you watched adamantly as things began to heat up, Simon assisting Daphne in undressing herself. It was then that you felt Jisung adjust himself under your legs, brushing him off of you as he sunk back into the couch. You thought it was strange, but you decided it was better to ignore it, remembering how mesmerizing the scene of Daphne and Simon making love for the first time really was. As they moved to their new bed, Simon hovering over Daphne’s innocent body, a new sensation was forming in your lower abdomen, but it didn't stop there, unmistakably flying right to your core, again. While recalling how mesmerizing this particular scene was, you also forgot how much it aroused you simultaneously. This was a mistake. Being high and horny was not a good combination, especially when Jisung, your best friend, was sitting next to you, previously with his hands on you. It was probably better to disregard these lustful feelings, they surely would pass.

“Oh shit,” Jisung mumbled, grasping for the small decorative pillow next to him, placing it over his crotch area, “this is um, wow, it’s uh-”

“Yeah I kinda forgot,” you replied before facing him, noticing the now pillow covering the beginning of his lower limbs. At first you were confused, eyebrows furrowed at why he would do such a thing. Instead of minding your business, and beating the paranoia of not knowing what he was doing that was amplified after smoking, you were now holding the pillow, the sounds of Daphne’s moans and groans the only noise that could be heard. As soon as Jisung noticed your grip on the pillow, he resisted you, not wanting you to see what was happening underneath the soft object.

“Jisung,” you laughed nervously, genuinely confused at his behavior, “what are you doing with my pillow.”

“Nothing,” he hushed, attempting to dismiss your question with the tone of his voice floating thin into the air, “keep watching.”

He pointed at the screen, head nodding in the same direction as you let go of the pillow and focused on the TV. But that was the worst mistake you could have made, because it was Simon’s turn to undress, and once he did, it really was game over. The two of them there, completely naked as he began to thrust into his new wife. Simon’s grunts were short, staccato like, while Daphne was more graceful, each moan spilling into her husband's ear as the two of them went at it.

“Fuck this is making me really horny.”

As soon as your best friend said that, he brought his fingers to his lips, leaving your jaw dropped. Did he really just say that, or were you hallucinating?

“Woops,” Jisung mumbled, “the weed is really making me lose my filter. Sorry.”

You should have hated that he blurted that out. Letting the intrusive thoughts win, especially when high, was not a good sign. But it brought the ache that momentarily dulled right back. Looking back at the screen, Jisung now removed the pillow and revealed his full hard on through his thin fabric sweatpants: it was becoming too much. Now suddenly, the only thought that stayed consistent was wanting the same thing on the TV. Right here. Right now. With Jisung. Your best friend.

“Don’t be sorry,” you cooed, moving closer to him, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t either.”

He said nothing, only gasping in a subtle manner as Jisung looked at you, all of a sudden your features projecting to him as illustrious, appetizing. Jisung wanted nothing more than to devour you in the current moment.

“Is this normal?”

Jisung’s voice was so nonchalant, tone lacking concern or hesitation at your lack of proximity. It was kind of adorable, really. The normal friend you knew was one to freak out if he ever did something like this. Usually so prim and proper in every setting. In contrast, there was something sexy about the way he was acting. Sure, actions had consequences, but thinking with clarity was not a priority.

“I would say so,” you purred, voice soothing as your fingers crept onto the front of his knee closest to you, “weed makes me horny too.”

“O-oh,” his voice shook, suddenly a little nervous by the prospect of you touching him in a possibly arousing way, “Y/n.”

Jisung’s voice was breathy, chest heaving very slowly as his eyes shot down to your body. Suddenly, your best friend was amazed by every single curve and creativity of your figure. As he brought his hands to your behind, it suddenly felt so soft, hands unforgivingly slipping past the waistband of your shorts, making direct contact with your skin. The contact made you hot, using your free hand to fan yourself. Jisung took the hand of yours that was moving deathly slowly along his inner thigh off of him, body now on his side facing you as he withdrew his hand groping your ass. Instead, he moved it around to the front, but rather than dipping straight into your folds, he slipped in the layer under your outer layer, opting for the space inbetween, digits spreading across your core covered by the miniscule fabric.. It was better this way, he thought. The sensation of touch was much more sensitive under the influence as he wanted to feel every texture of your body that was possible. You giggled at the brush of his gentle touch, a small gasp quickly following up once you realized that his fingers, although not making direct contact, were feeding that arousal felt between your legs. Like scratching an impossible itch. His eyes were already on you when your neck turned, facing him.

“Shit,” you breathed, “you’re really good at that.”

“I’m barely touching you,” he hissed, lips getting closer to your own. What is happening right now? You should be saying no; rejected his advances. Your best friend. Jisung. The shy, little boy you had known him to be all of his life. But the longer his fingers pushed around that sensitive button of yours, the more your legs spread open for him, hips gently bucking to reach for more surface area of his fingers. His confidence was charming, almost too much so. It made you want more and more, so much so that your internal conflict of stopping and telling him to keep going was disappearing with each lingering moment. Rationality, once a perplexity in your mind disappeared the moment his lips landed on yours. God they were sweet, soft; every texture that you know felt pleasant was coming to your mind the moment they moved against your own. His free hand came to the side of your face that was farthest away, index finger spread across your jaw as he moved his tongue, deeper and deeper, maintaining his dominance over you. Fuck he was a good kisser, a whine erupting from your throat at how flexible his mouth was, bending over backwards to make sure that you were happy with the pace.

“Mhm,” you hummed, pulling away from a brief moment to remove all bottoms, panties included. All your best friend could do was chuckle, deeply, the shade of his eyes turning as dark as you had ever seen when he saw your bare pussy out, for him. His fingers latched on immediately, using the index and middle finger on one hand to spread your lips, the other fingers on the opposite hand barely scratching your clit. The feeling almost made you wriggle out of your seat, mouth agape across Jisung’s cheeks in a sloppy effort to maintain composure of any sort.. Everything was happening so fast. All it took was barely one scene for the two of you to let down your guards. Pretending that your friendship meant nothing. It was never friendship. Jisung would be a ghost to you if the two of you had not been friends since childhood. Maybe there were in fact other reasons that the two of you stayed this way. The moans and groans of the girls he would have over, filling up the bare distance between your room and his, always had an effect on you. It was then when you started to question what he did to those girls to make them feel so good that you were doomed. It was easy to act like a crazy party girl in front of him, knowing that he would never want to be with someone like that, and by doing that, it would push those little feelings right down to where you had the ability to forget them. Avoidance was always key.

But then Jisung would bring you food while you were up doing an assignment, buy you a bouquet of flowers when it was your birthday. Even the way he would talk to your siblings back at home was enough. Jisung was enough and maybe now, by getting these hormonal feelings out, which felt like heaven, was enough to admit that this would not be just a high rendezvous for you, but something real.

“You’re like really wet,” Jisung hummed, sliding his fingers closer and closer to your whining entrance, “always wondering how you would’ve felt like this.”

“You have?”

“Oh yeahhhh,” Jisung replied, sarcastic, as if it was super obvious, “all the time.”

“Fuck that’s so hot,” you moaned, gripping his wrist, bringing the digits specifically up to your lips for a moment, taking his DNA into a deep thorating motion The two fingers he was about to use now utterly drenched in your slick before navigating them down your body, circling your entrance before effortlessly plunging them straight into your hole. Jisung could have creamed himself then and there. Due to the sensitivity of his first time being high, he knew that if he was going to fuck you today, he truly would not last long, at all. But instead of ruining the moment that way, he decided to make it all about you. Wanting to view you squirm under him, make his best friend: you feel good. It is something he has been patiently waiting for. Jisung was a giver, and if he wanted to give you a toe curling orgasm on your couch to make you happy, he was going to do so, whatever it took.

As soon as he fingers reached the end of your whole, the two of you moaned in unison, the sound of squelch that was your arousal already an intense volume.

“D-don’t think I’ve been this wet before,” you whined, waiting for Jisung to gently pull them out.

“Really,” he questioned, genuinely baffled, “no one ever made you this wet before? Find that hard to believe.”

Your hips wriggled, desperate to feel the friction of him moving back and forth. However he was so mesmerized by the texture of your velvety walls against his digits, that he used his other hand, coated in your slick, to relieve himself, the encounter resulting in Jisung becoming much too impatient to bother taking his pants off. Your eyes shot straight to the small motion you were witnessing of him moving his hand against his cock. Oh, his length must feel so good like this. Once Jisung began to move his fingers that were inside of you, a string of curse words easily fell from your lips, unable to control anything that came from them. The sensory overload was at peak, and if you were sober, feeling overwhelmed would be an understatement.

With that being said, you were not, and neither was Jisung. The brooding tip that was his cock gently nudged your inner thigh. As he continued to grow, it had nowhere else to go. The simplest of touches felt like a million times more than when under the influence. But it had to be a culmination of things. Seeing Jisung dominate in something, take control. Fuck. Hearing those girls in his dorm had more of an impact on you than you originally thought.

Your mind drifted to those memories for a brief moment, the faint moans of the girls, but it suddenly occurred that you never knew what he sounded like. Jisung was a silent fuck? There was no way.

Your gaze drifted, Jisung immediately noticing and pausing his fingers with immediate concern.

“Y/n?”

Your head turned back faster than your eyes, deep in motion. It was silent, the TV pretty much non-existent as you grabbed him by the jaw, index finger and thumb strong on his mandible as your eyes fixated on his lips.

“How come you never moan when you fuck?”

Jisung panicked at first, a laugh following immediately after, the contagious sound making you laugh too. Your body was limp for a brief moment, falling off of your best friend's lap and next to him on the couch. Jisung ripped his glasses off his head, throwing them onto the table in front of him, allowing him to get a genuine look at how hot and flustered you truly were. Solely because of him.

“What are you talking about,” he giggled, fingertips immediately grabbing the flesh of your thigh, any part of you was good to him, as long as he could get his hands on it, right now.

“How would you know if I’m a silent fuck or not?”

“Because,” you smacked him lightly, letting him remove his hand from your skin “I can hear when you fuck other girls, pfft,” you huffed, lifting your legs in the air to discard your bottoms that were puddled around your ankles, “they’re always so fucking loud man.”

Jisung’s cheeks blushed in the tiniest form. It’s not that he was embarrassed. Okay, maybe part of him was a little embarrassed, completely caught off guard and forgetting that the walls in the dorm were paper thin. Part of him felt guilty that you had to hear that. He began to pout, but immediately dropped his lips when he realized that you were half naked. His fingertip immediately wrapped around each hip, forcing you to sit on his lap and face him. You lifted your hips, eyes signaling down to his pants that were overdue in needing to be removed. Jisung complied immediately, whisking his sweats and boxers off in one motion, causing his hard length to meet with your soaked core, his tip prodding gently at your folds. You bit down on your lip trying as hard as you could to focus on Jisung’s face, rather than focusing on how erect his cock was against you. Jisung tugged at your shirt, gawking when you lifted your arms to see no other material supporting your chest. Jisung was mesmerized once again. Another surface area that he wanted his hands on immediately.

“I can’t believe you heard me fuck other girls and never said anyti-”

“Shhh,” you hushed, pressing your folds firmer against Jisung’s cock. Your best friend reach for your hips immediately, in shock of your bold actions, “I don’t fucking care Jisung it’s fine just touch me, please.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he huffed, palms snaking past your abdomen and gripping onto your tits hard, firm, rough. Ugh. Nothing had ever felt so good in your life. All this time you thought Jisung was a stupid little pathetic boy, with the occasional fuck here and there. God, it would almost make you laugh at how incorrect your perception was of him in the bedroom. Truth was, he knew what he was doing, because your arousal was doing nothing but increasing with each longing moment that his wood was not inside of you.

“Soft fucking tits,” Jisung mumbled, almost drooling as he slapped one of your nipples, the skin imeediadtely turning hard as he brought his lips to to the bud. His teeth appeared, claws like, as he took the same one in his mouth, not returning for breath as he nippled, licked, sucked; you name it, Jisung was doing that.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, head rolling back in pleasure, “how are you so good at everything you do?”

A chuckle escaped Jisung’s lips, the vibration felt across the entirety of your chest, “I’m not I-”

The two of you paused, freezing entirely when you heard Jisung’s phone ring. He glazed over, noticing the words “Mom” written across the top of the screen. He looked away as he turned back to you, that look of hunger dilating his pupils. The temporary freeze made Jisung long for you even more.

“Jisung,” you whispered, hands placed across his face and upper neck, “you should answer.”

“No,” he huffed, attaching his lips over your neck sporadically, “if it’s an emergency she’ll call me again. I’m busy.”

The phone was silent for maybe a few seconds, before it began to ring again. Jisung scoffed, removing his hands from you as he picked up his phone.

Your joint and lighter were in arms reach. You ignored the conversation, bringing the material to your lips and lighting it up again, your body relaxing even more as you took a deep breath in, feeling the substance sink into your skin, blowing out the remnants after. Your eyes turned to Jisung, his already on you, eyeing the joint in your hand. He leaned forward, waiting for you to put the joining between his lips. You complied, bringing the flame in unison. Jisung mumbled his words for a brief moment before blowing out the air.

“Yes mom,” he answered, “I’m fine. Y/n is fine, I just checked in on her.”

A small giggle came to your lips, followed by Jisung covering them. Removing his appendages, you decided to stand up, letting go of Jisung on his lap as you dropped to your knees. Like a predator, you crawled over, eye level with his knees. Jisung’s brows furrowed, taking him a bit of time to realize what you were about to do. He was still on the phone, talking to his mum about god knows what. That wasn’t your focus for now. It was spreading his legs wide, Jisung’s hardness evident as it spread across his groin. Your lips curled upward as you situations yourself where you needed to be, Jisung’s eyes widening as he realized what you were about to do.

“Yes I am s-sutdying hard,” Jisung shuttered, the sudden touch being your hand wrapped around the base of him startling him, “j-just finished one a-assignment today.”

A deep, lustrous chuckle escaped your mouth as you began to pump him, watching your best friend’s sensitivity, squirming at the touch. Jisung was doing everything in his power not to moan, prevent knowing how much effect you had on him, and form his mum knowing what he was doing.

“Mom can I c-call you back l-later, bit b-bust, busy right now.”

Jisung’s body jolts forward the moment he felt your tongue on the underside of him, making its way to his tip. He hung up the phone, tired of this torture as his hands found their way through your hands immediately. His sign of eagerness felt so good, the gentle tug from him begging you to go down on him completely driving you wild. The pain mixed in with pleasure immediately, traveling to your core and pulsating harder than it has ever felt in your life. Jisung was lengthy, but that was no problem. Beginning, slowly, you took him into your mouth, a guttural moan bleeding from his lips as his head rolled back with ease.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, almost running of out of room to breath, “you’re so fucking good at this baby”

A slight moan fell from your lips at the use of the pet name. Jisung’s head snapped back down immediately to you, catching your gaze in an instant. Your eyes looked bigger to him, doe like. It was driving Jisung wild; he could’ve finished right then and there. Being high and having the elevated physical sensation from your magical touch was something he could live with forever, maybe become addicted to. If this is what life felt like under the influence, he now wanted this all the time.

“Mmmh,” you sighed, a large pop and breath coming from your lips as you replaced your hand, “you taste so good Sungie.”

Your free hand traveled down your body, descending to the apex between your thighs to satisfy that ache that was growing with intensity with every second passed. The attempt to hide your pleasure was amateur, biting down on your bottom lip as a stifled groan left your lips.

“Y/n, baby,” Jisung purred, leaning forward and grabbing your forearms, “come here.”

You did as you were told, helping him hoist you back onto his lap. The brush of him against you this time is 10x more powerful and intense. Nothing had ever felt like this before; you never wanted this to end. Jisung scanned you again, looking up and down one more time before seizing the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head. You gasped, hands immediately clamping onto him as you leaned forward, reattaching your lips to his.

Above everything, Jisung’s lips felt the best. This symbolized so many times, conscious and unconscious, did you think about how they would feel. What they would taste like. How other girls thought Jisung’s lips tasted and felt like. Jisung smiled as he pulled away, the devilishly handsome smile on his face as he leaned into your ear, “sit next to me baby.”

It seemed that the only thing you could do was be obedient to Jisung. His orders were like music to your ears. In your friendship dynamic, you tended to be the more domineering one. Making decisions for Jisung, whereas he was the more nonchalant friend. Always happy to go with the flow, as long as he was with you. This time, may things were different.

Jisung sat in the same place with his legs spread. Leaning over, he grabbed you by the thigh closest to him, fingers dancing across the skin on the inside of your thigh as his lips turned upward again. All of a sudden you felt nervous. Watching your best friend ogle you was a strange feeling. Jisung immediately noticed your energy shift.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah,” your eyes widened, looking directly at him.

“You okay baby?”

“Yeah? Yeah! Sorry, let me have another puff.”

Jisung saw you grab the joint and the lighter again, bringing to your lips before he reached for your wrist, pushing the objects away, forcing your attention to be on him only.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No,” you interjected, bringing the material and lighting the tip once more, “I fucking want you. I just zoned out for a second.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, followed by his cheek, back of the ear and down to his neck, cascading hisdown to the middle of his chest. Jisung giggled at the feeling, the tickling sensation emitting fire throughout his body. He returned the favor, placing a kiss atop of your breast before he reached for his own joint, handing you the lighter, “Will you do me the honors?”

“Fuck yes I will,” you marvelled at his enthusiasm, lighting up the joint without a hesitation, watching him sit back and close his eyes, taking everything in. You did the same, wanting to embrace that feeling that resulted in you buying this in the first place.

It was as if the last puff recharged your best friend, his eyes reopening, that dark, lustful caste creeping back into them as he reached for you, pushing your leg out of the way, hand clasping your inner thigh. There was no sign of his movement stopping, fingers already pushing your folds across, almost as if they were in the way completely. A sharp gasp fell from your lips the moment his middle finger touched your clit, the sensation overwhelming immense as he began to move in circular motions. Jisung’s touch was gentle, in reality, he was barely applying any pressure. But in this moment, the pleasure you were deriving from his fingers was tenfold. Eyelids were fluttering, it felt like you could barely keep up with him. It wasn’t until you saw Jisung’s cock twitch out of the corner of your eye that you knew what you had to do.

It was time for your hand to snake around his body, but, in contrast to Jisung, you did not want to wait. There was no time to tease; you were simply too desperate. Fingertips found his weak spot fast, dexterity sloppy wrapped around your best friend once again as you matched the pace he found on you. It was slow, sensual, anything to build the pressure between your thighs, and between his.

“Y/n, baby,” he whined, a deep groan following, “Your hands are my favorite part of you right now.”

A seductive chuckle escaped your lips, “Your hands are my favorite part of you right now too Sungie.”

“Fuck I love it when you call me that with your voice all fucked up and groggy.”

“Sungie baby, I always call you that,” you paused, bringing short circuiting from the finger that Jisung slipped inside of you, “what’s so d-different about it now.”

“You always turn me on Y/n,” Jisung grogged back, “always,” he smiled, pausing again, “especially right now.”

A small heat came to your cheeks, hips gently dragging across his fingers. God, was this what heaven felt like? Your hand picked up in speed, Jisung reacted immediately with a gentle whine. The noises he made to you were like an orchestra playing its grand piece. Another side of Jisung that you had not seen, but were mesmerized by. It was a whole new world. A whole new territory of risk that the two of you had decided to explore. However, all rational and logical decisions were thrown out the window a very long time ago. Jisung wrapped his free hand around your breast, clasping onto your nipple as he entered another finger into you, index and middle finger picking up their pace, adding the squelching sound of your wetness as another sound that filled your tiny dorm room. Dorm room. You forget momentarily how thin the walls were; but who gives a fuck? It’s not like Jisung was going to hear. He was the one that was making you moan over and over anyway.

“Sungie,” you whimpered, “feels so good.”

“Say my name like that again.”

“Sungie.”

“Fuck,” he growled, pushing deeper into your walls, “your pussies screaming for me.”

“It’s your pussy,” you breathed, the tremors of your release beginning to rumble, “no one has ever turned me on this much Sungie.”

Your best friend had a smirk of approval, curling the tip of his two fingers inside of you. A small shriek escaped your lips, hand flailing from his cock as your jaw dropped at once. Hips bucked up and off the couch, a sinister chuckle coming from Jisung as he watched your hips squirm for him. He was possessed by the way your body reacted to him, reacted to his touch, he did not pay two minds to the throbbing sensation between his legs. All he could see was that you were slowly losing it.

You did not care. You were waiting close and closer, deeper and deeper, hitting a spot that has never been touched in your life. Your mouth was getting bigger, hips moving with less and less rhythm. There was an impending feeling that you knew was going to happen, it was only a matter of seconds.

“Sungie I’m gonna-”

“I know baby,” Jisung cooed, eyes fixated on your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline, “cum for me.”

A borderline scream left your lips when your hips plowed to the couch, an rupture of pleasure cascaded of the entirety of your body, legs shaking and howling in pain like they never had before. Your chest was breathing heavy, deep in unison with Jisung’s as he removed his fingers, your pussy aching from the lack of fullness. Jisung leaned over, pressing a kiss to your neck in several places before your lips. He waited until your eyelids stopped fluttering shut for you to see him bring those sinful digits to his mouth, and suck on them, hard, a deep groan leaving his lips at the taste.

“Fuck you taste good,” he winked, causing both of you to start giggling.

It did not take long for your eyes to travel to his still very hard cock. Your hands traveled immediately, both encompassing the majority of him before you began pumping, hard. To anyone with an outside view, this was not classy sex. It was sloppy, but the two of you were so high that it was perceived the former way. Jisung needed your touch, you needed to touch him. Jisung wasn’t far off either, and the fact that you were looking at him with vigor, with desire was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n slow down, I’m gonna cum too quick.”

“No such thing,” you purred, adding your tongue into the mix, flicking your tongue along the slit of his tip.. You leaned over, Jisung resting his hands across your ass as you coaxed one moan after out of him. Jisung’s head snapped back, unable to comply with the amount of pressure he was feeling. In a similar fashion to you, his hips began to buck, tip slipping into your mouth as his sounds got louder, his pleading becoming stronger.

“Y/n fuck, s-shit I’m gonna cum, Y/n I’m gonna cum.”

Jisung’s voice became whiny, the tone music to your ears as you moved your mouth away from his length, bringing your lips to the crook of his neck and collarbone, gently nipping on the soft spot on his skin as his muscles coiled underneath your body, cock getting harder under his hands as he hit his peak. Ropes and ropes of him squirted across his stomach, a deep groan, one sounding of relief bursting from his lips as he gripped your wrist, chuckling to stop you from a sensory overload.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, regaining his compures as he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, deep kiss. The pressure on your neck was comforting, a smile turning on your lips as you pulled away.

“Wow,” Jisung gasped, “That was,”

“What took you so long?”

“Y/n, shut up,” Jisung spat, the fatigue hitting him suddenly, “woah, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I tend to have that effect on people,” you smirked, the room erupted in laughter as Jisung laid back on the couch, pulling you into him as the two of you looked at the ceiling. Your substance affected mind was starting to wear off, causing your exhaustion tenfold. The two of you drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

“When I wake up, you're gonna get it,” Jisung mumbled, but you were already asleep.

Depending on how you felt when you woke up, that would change everything.

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