#By the time he had an opportunity to be he was too preoccupied with pining after and/or fucking JGY

[adhdo5]

Lan Xichen is bisexual but he doesn't know it because he's never been within 30 feet of a woman who wasn't his mom. Send post

[nowimjustastranger]

Has Stcmo Ford come across a dimension that alerted him a Stanley was in danger, but he got there, everything seems fine. Keyword “seems”.

And after numerous checks, everything seems like in order. On the surface it just looks like another dimension with Ford, Fiddleford and Stan living together in gravity falls.

But there is just SOMETHING that feels immensely wrong about this dimension.

Like the way that this Stanley and Fiddleford seem a little too overly content with their lives, they aren’t seem to be lost or forgetting things so it can’t be the memory gun. And by the looks of it, the Bill Cipher of this dimension is dead.

In fact the more Stcmo Ford looks into it…

Filbrick is dead, Fiddleford’s wife Emma-May seems to be dead, Shermie is dead, newspapers on about the last few years show that many gang leaders have either gone mysteriously missing or have seemed to have been killed. Jimmy Snakes, Rico, several people who knew Stanley in prison are dead as well. Many people that would be considered a threat have been killed.

There’s something off about this Ford as well, he seems to always be watching Fiddleford and Stanley, the two always were within watch.

Like a wolf watching over his two sheep.

Not entirely sure what era this is happening in, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume it's a "Mystery Trio AU" type situation, so it would be set in the early years in Gravity Falls.

Ford has been in Dimension 1R^86 for three days now and he's nearly at his wits end, he has no idea what the threat is or even where it might come from. He hasn't slept at all either, maintaining constant vigilance of the shack and it's inhabitants.

Ford is currently perched in one of the large trees surrounding the shack, hidden in the branches with a direct line of sight to both entrances. There's been nothing, no activity around the shack within a fifty foot radius. Which is another thing, Ford hasn't spotted so much as a gnome rooting through the trash in the three days he's been watching.

It's... something's not right but he can't put a finger on what.

With a growl, Ford's eyes flick to the icon in the top corner of his hud, selecting it with a thought so the data flooded onto the screen, his proximity sensors online to warn him if anything tries to sneak up on him while he's preoccupied.

D – 1R^86 | 29 yo | COD: Blunt Force Trauma

No change.

Ford exited out of the data with a frustrated huff, he'd done a lot of digging into the deaths that surrounded Stan and the results all pointed toward one Ford Pines being the culprit, but the way that he watched over his brother and Fiddleford so intently made it highly unlikely that he was the threat.

The Ford in this dimension reminded Ford 419"3 of himself, an ambush predator watching and waiting for the opportunity to strike. A wolf that muzzled itself in the presence of it's sheep so they would not be afraid, because despite the wolf's nature, those sharp teeth and claws were never meant for the sheep.

They were for other predators.

Other predators that might also be watching and waiting for the wolf to stray too far from the sheep, waiting for the wolf's teeth to go dull as it grew fat and lazy within the comfort of it's den. But not these wolves who starved themselves to keep their body lean, who kept their teeth sharp with frequent hunts, who lulled other predators into a false sense of security by leaving the sheep unattended-

Wait. Shit. How long ago did the Ford leave the house?

His proximity sensors shrieked at him and Ford barely managed to dodge the first bolt that had been aimed at his side, the second burying itself in his calf. So the Ford was looking to incapacitate and not kill, not exactly a comforting realization.

Ford's landing was sloppy, his leg buckling when he hit the ground in a crouch, giving the Ford just enough time to line up a clear shot. Neither moved, both waiting to see what the other would do. The Ford's aim was steady and his finger poised to shoot, his empty stare more akin to a shark than a wolf.

"You've been scurrying around for long enough, little rat." The Ford spoke calmly, with a voice void of emotion. It was unnerving, how robotic this Ford was when he wasn't with his brother and Fiddleford, like he was removing a mask. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"Your brother is going to die." Ford divulged, watching the Ford's hands flex on the crossbow, indecisive. Ford could work with that. "I can stop it from happening, but only if you let me work."

"You really think I'm going to trust you at your word?" The Ford asked with an ominous tilt of his head, dark eyes studying Ford as if he were a specimen. It made Ford's skin crawl, fingers twitching with the urge to gouge the Ford eyes out just so he would stop looking at Ford the same way He used to.

"You're going to have to because if you kill me, your brother is as good as dead."

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 2}

Pairing: Head Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Joel can't seem to make up his mind when it comes to you: one minute he's kind and thoughtful, the next he's cruel and cutting off your every word. You're just trying to keep your head above water, work becoming something that is not so simple anymore.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, masturbation, mention of sex toys, use of sex toys, use of recreational drugs, marijauna, joel is a meanie in this, power dynamics, degrading talk, age gap (reader is late 20's, Joel in his 40s)

A/N: diving full force into this story while i'm trying to navigate finding jobs to apply to and calls to places i'm interested it. hopefully this chapter is received as well as the first! please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It had been a hectic two weeks of prepping before your normal bartending shifts.

There had been application posted to fill the position of the sandwich station worker who had called out all those days ago and then just never returned. But in the meantime you had been given the opportunity to prep the station for whoever would be manning it while Joel took over the main hot station that did a majority of the heavier cooking for the entrees as well as the garnishing before plates were deemed ready to go out onto the floor.

Everyone in the kitchen seemed to be under the impression that without a dishwasher until the service began and that it would be a collective effort to keep them in line and working through the washer and then added to the drying rack.

Except for yours.

The items you used and transferred out in the station were left in the bus tubs lining the intake area of the dish pit. You didn’t let it get to you, used to having to keep up with glasses and garnish cambros with the steady if not hectic business of the place. You were in the middle of rinsing out a giant bane when someone placed their own beside you directly in the dish pit and it knocked the ones in your hand enough to cause the spray of the nozzle to wash over you.

You cursed under your breath as it doused you from head to waist. It was a cold shock and you frowned as you continued to get the dishes from your prep cleaned and dried. As soon as it was all set and you double checked everything for the station’s workers for the night, you walked over to where the employee lockers were.

Thoughts of how things had been going overall swirling in your mind as you made your way over to the shared space at the back of the kitchen. Eyes followed you sometimes, people aware of the weird dynamic of someone working both front of house and in the kitchen. But people were outwardly friendly with you still, no animosity other than the business with the dishes. Joel’s eyes often caught your own as he handled his own prep and went about his supervision of things going the way they need to for him to run his kitchen. He would tackle the dishes every so often as well, telling people to line them up if he was able to spend time in the dish pit. Casual conversation were still an occurrence, more so now that you were in the kitchen with people you often talked to through the expo line and the width of the bar top. It was something that just wasn’t worth bringing up and potentially change the easy going dynamic that had been set.

You untied your apron, a black thing with a simple floral pattern that wasn’t really allowed as it didn’t match the uniform of the kitchen staff. But it had been allowed as it was a custom with your name stitched on the front pocket and the one you used to set up the bar. You tossed it into your locker, also labeled with your name, and moved to peel the wet black long sleeve you had worn for the day. Underneath it was a dark heather gray tank top that was lined with lace on the neckline, paired with black denim pants. Your belt was a little kitschy, the buckle a silver metal heart.

You were too preoccupied digging around in your locker for replacement to notice that someone else had come into the locker room. When you made a triumphant sound at finding another shirt, you pulled it out quickly only to come face to face with Joel.

“Oh!” You startled, feet taking you a few quick steps back, or they would’ve if you hadn’t been jammed in the middle of your back by the open locker door. The fabric fell from your hands as you exclaimed again in pain. “Oh, fuck!”

Expletives rained down from your mouth, some in English and some in Spanish, your mind getting tangled as you tried to deal with the pain.

You braced your hands on your knees and leaned down a little, trying to stretch the sharp pain out of your throbbing back before it could cramp and get worse. It was the wrong move as Joel had just leaned down himself to pick up the dropped shirt and your chest was practically in his face. The cleavage from your tank top allowed him an eyeful and he caught sight of the rose-colored bra that you had picked out that morning. He quickly stood back up and shoved the shirt back into your open locker and left the room as quickly as he had come in.

You straightened back up as well and felt the heat rush to your face as you realized what had just happened.

The rest of the shift went by well enough, though you had to be careful with twisting and maneuvering a little more than normal to avoid twinging your sore back. You were sure there was a large bruise that had bloomed to life on the skin but wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until you were home. The restaurant had closed, the last customers were walking out as you began to break down the bar.

You had all the mats in the washer and had started to replace bottles you had grabbed from the shelves lining the back of the bar above the small counter. A particularly full bottle of pomegranate liquor was a hard reach for you and your back spasmed with the effort to reach the middle shelf. Losing your grip on the bottle, you braced yourself for it to fall but a large hand was catching it by the middle before it could lose too much air and placed it atop the shelf for you.

You turned to see Joel standing unnervingly close, his body was a warm line beside you, his chest practically pressing up against your side as he had swooped in to save you from dropping the bottle completely.

“Would hate for it to have gone to waste.” Was all he said as he stood back, his hands resting atop both counters that made up your area, effectively blocking the entrance as he took up the space with his broad form. He watched you as you continued to put bottles away and placing stoppers the ones in the well, wiping them all down with a clean sanitizer rag as you did so. When you got to a good scotch that you had taken weeks picking out, you picked up two rocks classes and filled them with two fingers of the amber liquor each, you slid one over to him. He regarded you as he took a drink from it. His plush lips pressing against the glass in a tantalizing way despite the casualness of the action. “You didn’t eat anythin’ tonight.”

“No, I didn’t have much time. My barback called out and it was just me mixin’ and runnin’.” You explained as you took a sip from your own glass. His eyes traced the movement of the glass much like you had done with his own as he took a drink. Your fingers were adorned with a new coat of dip, having allowed them to grow out a bit and treat yourself to the splurge. The dark green of them adorned with small golden stars must’ve caught his eye as they glinted in the soft lighting of the dining room.

“Could’ve put in a takeout order to have something sent over. I woulda comped it for ya.”

“I’ll just have something when I get home.” You set your glass down on the back shelf, by the register and out of reaching hands should another employee come looking for a post shift treat. You had already made a last call for everyone, some people taking you up on it.

“It’s late.”

“Yeah, but I need to study anyway, so it’ll be okay.”

“Study?”

“I’ve got a midterm tomorrow. I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Didn’t know you were in school.” Behind the casual curiosity you could see a worry about your age, as did everyone when you mentioned school. But the reality was that you had taken a few years off to focus on family and get some personal things straightened out before returning.

“Hmm,” You absently responded as you wrapped up the tops of the squeeze bottles with cling wrap and gathered them in a large storage basin to put in one of the many coolers beneath the bar. “Only part time, graduate this fall.”

“Lemme make you somethin’ to take home.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You looked up from where you were now loading the guards for the drains that lined the bar top. Pausing as you had moved to put something into the washer on the other side of the space. Taken aback by the shift in his tone from casual to one he would adapt on the line.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, chef. Really.”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Chef, really, it’s okay.”

“Joel’s fine, darlin’. Chicken or beef?”

“You know, this is the most we’ve ever talked.” He didn’t take the bait, the comment a distraction from his attempt. The last sip of your own drink was quickly downed, and you turned to face away from him as you placed your own glass in the washer. When you turned back around, his eyes were still on you. There was a slight glint to them, something you couldn’t quite make out, but it had you crumbling all the same.

“…beef, please.” You sighed, rubbing your hand over the small of your back. A shy smile taking over your lips as you tried to avoid meeting his eyes with your own. The glass he still held in his hand was knocked back, the remaining liquor downed in a single swig and he was stepping into your space to load it into the open dishwasher. His arm brushed against yours and you felt your face heat up at the proximity.

“Comin’ right up.”

“Lemme know what you think,” He placed one hand on the hood of your truck, the other on the side of the open door and leaned inside the cab a bit. The scent of him filled the space, winning out over the dying air freshener you had yet to replace out of sheer laziness. His cologne was faint after a long shift but the cedar undertones of it were heady as they filled your nose. His lips were suddenly brushing the apple of your cheek, the contact brief. “Good luck on that midterm, see ya tomorrow.”

He took your shocked stillness as a sign to close the door, a smug grin taking over his features as he did so. You watched him through the glass of your window as he walked back to the building, turning to look at you once more with a wink before he disappeared inside.

You sat there for far too long, willing your heartrate back down before you turned the engine and took off toward home. For most of the drive, you found yourself pressing a hand to the skin his lips had touched and glancing over at the two takeout boxes he had secured in a tied-up plastic bag.

The campus was crowded, so incredibly crowded. You had to circle the various parking lots three times over before you were able to snag a spot. The sound of the truck door was loud as you pushed it closed and locked it up before rushing towards the main buildings. You were nearly late, but had just made it down the hall and could see the open door as the time for the beginning of class displayed on the small watch you had adorned today. You had actually been able to dress like normal, only going into the bar later to do inventory and place an order before your day off tomorrow and next. A little break, the manager had said, to help you relax after summer midterms.

Fall was around the corner in a few months and you needed to get things lined up and ready for the menu change that staff meeting had been about a few weeks ago. The skirt of your sundress, black patterned with sunflowers, swirled up as you rushed through the door and turned to take the first seat that was open. Your short sleeves not allowing you much warmth in the colder air of the classroom. As you sat, you pulled out a mustard cardigan and shrugged it on. You felt eyes track your figure as you had walked the entire length of the classroom to the back and took a seat in the back row and plopped down. The shift to the air of the building wasn’t the only reason you decided to don your little sweater, fingers shaking slightly as you buttoned it up completely.

“Alright, now that everyone is here,” The professor offered you a kind smile as they spoke, shutting the door and locking it to prevent anyone from entering from the outside. “Let’s tackle the exciting world of biological evolution.”

An hour and a half later, your hand cramping from writing so fast to catch your thoughts and theories down into tangible words, you turned in your small, stapled packet. You were one of the last ones in the class, everyone else rushing off to enjoy the rest of their day, thankful that class wasn’t running the typical three hours and taking advantage of the early hour before noon. Fingers brushed against your own as the professor reached out to take the paper from you. You felt a jolt of anxiety race up your spine and you offered a weak smile before taking your leave.

Your smaller sized backpack was placed in the heightened bar seat beside you. The laptop you bought for school last year open and glowing in front of you with the white blankness that was the ordering screen for the company the restaurant preferred to use. It was early, only Joel in the kitchen for early prep due to a lot of reservations and the manager doing the same as you, taking inventory before placing orders.

You looked over your notes, unsure of what you had scrawled down on one page, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was about the lamb special, something that Joel was still working on. Uncrossing your legs, you hopped down from the stool you had been sat it for far too long. The tingling of blood flow returning to your legs had you walking stiffly toward the kitchen, the thump of your healed boots louder than normal on the floor of the dining room as you crossed the space. Your hair was down, the scent of your shampoo calming you as you approached the door.

Thoughts of the man just on the other side of the door had plagued you all night. You tried to fight a heat that threatened to rise as you recalled the way you had called out his name in a loud whimper when you had come undone with the help of your vibrator. It had been all encompassing, recalling the heat of him as he had stood close to you and roped you into allowing him to cook for you after close, the brush of his warm skin along your arm, the plush give of his lips as he had leaned in to touch them to your cheek. The care he had put into the food he prepared for you, enough for dinner and lunch today if you hadn’t gotten so high and gave into the desires of your stomach and cunt so easily.

Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you pushed open the swing door, your nails clinking softly on the dark metal. As you crossed the threshold, Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was on the line. You were suddenly self-conscious of the dress you were wearing, cardigan laid over the back of your stool at the bar.

“Chef, I had a few questions about the special. I know we went over it at the meeting but-“ The words cut off in your throat as you looked up to see his eyes hard and heavy on you. He had only glanced at you before looking back down at what he was doing but it seemed his attention was focused solely on you now and it made you squirm after the awkward morning you had had.  Maybe he was upset about food safety, your hair was down, and the dress had rather short sleeves and low cut. “Oh, I have a sweater I can put on and a hair tie if you’re worried about food safety.”

“No.” It was quick, the word flying from his lips and followed by the sound of him clearing his throat rather harshly. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze in the metal of the necklace around your neck, the simple chain reacting to his eyes on you much like your skin was. His next words weren’t as harsh as that first one. “No, don’t worry about that, should be fine.”

“Um, okay.” Fingers wringing around each other, you took another couple of steps into the kitchen, closer to the expo line you were peering at him through. “Did-did you decide on the balsamic for the fall special?

“Testing it out today, want to help?”

“Oh, oh no, I couldn’t!” You put a hand on the empty space of the expo line, nails clinking as you did so, and the sound drew his attention to it. You worried he was going to tell you to remove them before your next shift. But he had seen them yesterday and not said anything. “It’s your kitchen, I don’t want to intrude on prep time when I’m not even on schedule.”

“You’re here off the clock?”

“No, I clocked in, but it was…supposed to be my day off. Mary- she gave me the weekend off to relax after midterms.”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes going over your attire again in a sweeping gaze. The way your chest was slightly pushed up as you leaned against the slightly higher counter. His gaze moved back to what he was doing, out of your line of sight.

“Hop back here and we can figure it out together.”

“I-I can’t, really, I’m just here to do the order.” You didn’t want to turn down the offer, something he wasn’t keen to hand out to people in the kitchen let alone anyone else. But his close proximity was a heady thought and your body hummed with the prospect of being behind the line with him. It was dangerous, a line that shouldn’t be crossed and he was sending you such inviting signals. You didn’t need gossip to start, focused on you and how you seemed to soften the man in charge of the kitchen though you hadn’t really done anything.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Chef-“

“Joel, thought I told you to cut that chef crap out?” His lips twitched up slightly, the hint of a dimple appearing in his right cheek through the scruff along his face. You closed your eyes in a long blink as you felt a pulse of desire underneath your dress. He was so enamoring, the hint of his true personality peeking through the work persona he took on, or maybe just another facet of the man who you couldn’t seem to get out of your head.

“Joel, I can’t. I have stuff to do today after the order. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to offend you but it’s-“

The openness of his expression and the light behind his eyes dulled, slipping back to the normal emotionless one he wore when service started.

“Got it,” His hands became rough with what he was doing, and you realized he had been chopping up the brussels and sweet potatoes you were asking after. The knife was making a fast-snicking sound as his eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him, his focus on the task at hand. His voice had lost the jovial tone he had taken up, now rough and no nonsense. “Balsamic will most likely be a glaze thrown on before they roast.”

“Heard, chef.” You found yourself pushing off the expo line, feeling small, and made your way back into the dining room. Quickly shutting the laptop, not bothering to wait for it to save anything or power down, you shoved it into your bag along with your cardigan. You swiped your keys off of the counter beside the glass of water you had poured for yourself and took hurried steps toward the entrance. You scrambled for the handle of the door and pushed it harder than necessary, tears springing up in your eyes at the thought of confrontation as you heard the kitchen door swing open.

Heavy, even footsteps through the dining room had you forgetting to lock the door back up and you were throwing your bag into the passenger seat of your truck parked on the curb, having been told you could do so since the place wasn’t due to open until regular hours. The sound of your driver’s side door slamming was loud even to you as you jammed the keys into the ignition and the engine roared to life.

You didn’t spare a glance up at the outline of Joel standing on the curb you could see out of your peripheral, jerking the gear shift into drive and taking off with a sob bubbling up from your chest. His signals were so confusing, making it hard to figure out how to act around him. Work was supposed to be work, easy. Clock in, prep, make drinks, clean, clock out. Not this mental game of gymnastics with a man who seemed to warm up to you one second and then ice you out the next.

You were called early Sunday morning by an apologetic Mary. Saying that the bartender on shift for the brunch service had called out. You calmed her down, knowing it would be good to get the hours and tips and said you would be there in time to open the bar. Brunch was an earlier ordeal, the only day that the restaurant wasn’t open for dinner service. An easy shift, only a few hours between nine and three. A baby shift, and you would have the opportunity to order something sweet to go. A treat to enjoy on the couch with a dumb comedy playing on the screen of your living room.

The service went by quickly, jugs of orange juice and bottles of champagne piling up in your trash bin in a whirlwind of orders. Mimosas were easy money, strawberry syrup an easy upcharge to get people excited about. You had spilled tomato juice on your apron earlier and the cloying acidity was making waves of nausea roll in your stomach every time you caught a whiff of it. Things were winding down with only an hour and a half left of service. Another forty-five for kitchen orders, but you would be pouring until about ten minutes to close. You rang in a to go order of French toast and a side of scrambled eggs.

You had forgotten all about it until you were wrapping up the takeout order of someone at the bar, realizing yours had never made it over to you at the bar. It wasn’t as if you were about to eat it during service but still, it would’ve been nice to close everything down and have it ready to grab on your way out the front door.

You locked the door for the customer as you followed them to the front door. The last of the day and turned the lock after they safely across the public parking lot. With a sigh you turned toward the kitchen and braced yourself to interact with the man who had weaved his way into every one of your thoughts.

He had been professional throughout the shift, allowing you to pass clearance on dishes that needed to be run when you had come back to check on the lag created by servers flooding the sparse kitchen with orders. Allowing you the ability to do so as he always had done.

“Um, chef?” His eyes snapped to you for barely a second before he went back to gathering the stuff he needed to clean the grill. He made a grunt of acknowledgement to show he heard you. “I was wondering if my ticket was ready? I put it in before the cut off but-“

“We sold the par for what you ordered. Didn’t have enough for it.” His back tensed as he raised a hand to pour a good drizzle of oil over the entirety of the grill, grill brick ready in his other hand. The black gloves looked tight over his knuckles, like he was tense.

“Oh, um, okay.” You shuffled on your feet, aware of the two other cooks glancing between you both at the interaction. They were busy wrapping things and storing them into their respective stations, gathering dishes and things that needed to be washed. A grumble from your stomach urged your next question, too tired to attempt grocery shopping or cooking yourself. “Is-is there anything I can swap it out for?”

“We’re already shut down, can’t you see me cleaning the grill?” He turned around, items still in his grip as he finally faced you head on. “Shoulda come and checked before service closed. It ain’t my job to look after mistakes made by the front of house.”

The heat climbing up your face startled you, shame bubbling up alongside embarrassment. But you ignored it as your teeth ground against each other with the pressure of your jaw clenching. Eyes flicking over the items on the line in front of you. There was plenty he could throw together for you; he just didn’t want to. You nodded once before speaking in an even, professional tone. Your own mask falling into place.

“Apologies chef, it won’t happen again.”

You tried not to let the whispered words of the other two cooks hurt too much as you moved through the door. The two of them followed slightly as they came out from the line and made their way over to the dish pit.

“I thought I saw a second tray prepped in the walk in.”

“Me too, she must’ve done something to piss him off.”

You wallowed on the couch until late, the brightness of the screen playing across your blank face, eyes not really seeing the movie playing across the screen.

previous chapter || next chapter

[epiphyllous]

when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [3]

Astarion understands Ketheric Thorm more than he realizes. For what are they both if not selfish, foolish men willing to do everything to keep what is theirs? (Astarion begins to think he does not deserve you.)

Word Count: ~9k Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", following Astarion romance route in his POV + my hc/additional scenes, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, mutual pining, Wyll/Karlach, implied Wyll/Reader [Part 2]

[Act II: Moonrise Towers]

Getting into Moonrise was almost too easy. It is a relatively stressless trip if not for the grand introduction of Ketheric Thorm. The man truly is invulnerable, walking up the steps of the tower without care after being killed twice right before their eyes. It is no wonder Moonrise follows his command, convinced of his authority as the Absolute's chosen. 

It is equally as easy to convince Moonrise that they are all willing followers of the Absolute. Z'rell is the only person they truly had to demonstrate loyalty to, but Astarion watches you display just enough cruelty to the goblins to prove your place. 

“Your lust for the neck pricker is succulent,” she suddenly says, eyes turning to him. Astarion looks to you in question, only to see you glance away in mild embarrassment. “It almost makes me want to take a bite out of him myself.”

“Enough,” you say, clearing your throat. “Surely you know by now we're loyal to the cause?”

She does, or she says as much when she assigns them a mission to help Balthazar get the artifact responsible for Ketheric Thorm's immortality. Astarion doesn't really know the details, not caring much to pay attention when he already understands the gist of it involves killing someone. Besides, he is more interested in what exactly Z'rell saw in your thoughts. If only to tease you about your ‘succulent lust’ for him, he means to bring it up the first chance he gets. 

You must realize this, because you take your time exploring Moonrise Towers and keeping them all preoccupied. Gale manages to get blessed for the first time in what seems like forever by his goddess when he rids of the foul Netherese magic circle in Balthazar's chambers. Karlach gets her chance to pet the undead guard dog in Ketheric's private quarters, and you keep him preoccupied with all the chests they have to unlock.

Astarion gets an opportunity to talk after they find Melodia Thorm's room and the letters she gave to her husband, but he finds you solemn in thought at the discovery, so he decides (for once) to leave you be for now. 

Then they meet Araj Oblodra, and the thought completely leaves his head.

He barely resists the urge to cover his nose for how foul her blood smells. He manages to smile rather than grimace when they first greet her, though he finds his efforts wasted when she sets her eyes on him to be bitten. Astarion can't imagine something he would want to do less.

When the drow asks if he ‘belongs’ to you, Astarion watches as you frown. "Astarion can answer for himself just fine," you say. "He's his own person." 

It is almost adorable how disconcerted you look when the drow continues on, as if you can't quite understand why anyone would think you could own him. Astarion finds it annoyingly familiar though, the way he is viewed as something lesser without needs or preferences. Your easy agreement to his own autonomy is... refreshing. He has known your proclivity for all things good and fair, but to have you display it in full for his sake,  Astarion feels touched.

“I will have to decline,” he tells her with a stiff smile.

The blood dealer bristles, not expecting his response, and he begins to feel uneasy despite himself. “Excuse me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you're squandering it.”

Astarion nearly bares his fangs in response. “I gave you my answer,” he hisses, and in the corner of his eyes, he sees you shift, stepping closer to him. The unease at refusing the offer dissipates knowing you are there to support him, even when the drow becomes increasingly displeased. 

“Can't you talk sense into your obstinate charge?” Araj demands, and you quip her with a short and sharp smile. That’s one he hasn’t seen in a while, Astarion thinks, forced civility wielded like a weapon against those who have found themselves on your bad side. Which you do have, to his past surprise. Astarion just never imagined that he would bear witness to someone landing themselves in it just because of the way they speak to him. 

Astarion would be lying if he said he was not pleased.

"I don't really see why he needs to say yes,” you drawl. “I'm surprised he said no, to be honest."

Ugh, you are honest even in the worst of times.

"Sorry, one moment..." Amusement and exasperation battles in equal strength as he pulls you away just enough to speak to you privately. "Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some potion?" He asks, though when he sees genuine confusion flit back into your expression, he confirms your question is out of curiosity not persuasion. You seem almost panicked at the thought of his suggestion being true.

"What? No," you reply back to him, alarmed. "I would never!” You desperately scramble to explain yourself. “I just thought you'd jump at the opportunity to bite people. I was, you know, just a little surprised.”

Funnily enough, you may have a point. A point that need not happen in front of an annoyed drow, but a point nonetheless. He could never truly fault you for being right, however inconvenient it is sometimes. (In the past, he would never have imagined he would feel this way about you.) "Well, yes, you aren't wrong,” he says, “but something smells off about her blood. I don't need to taste it to know it's going to be awful."

He shudders for good measure, and he sees your lips quirk up at his dramatics. He thinks briefly about how he has only known the taste of your blood, besides the time he was compelled to take a bite out of Gale because of a cursed frog. The drow's blood smells worse than his netherese poisoned blood, and in comparison, yours is almost sweet. Astarion finds himself elaborating without prompting. "Nothing that will kill me, but I'd rather not go through it if I don't have to."

You nod. "Okay,” you say easily, “if you don't want to, you don't have to.”

"Alright," Astarion replies automatically before his surprise can stop him. Just like that, he thinks, and he can make choices for himself just by how it makes him feel. It's rather novel. The realization is quite overwhelming, despite how simple you make it seem. He pauses, shooting you a quick smile-- or what he hopes is a smile. "Uh, thank you." 

You only wave your hand at him and turn back to the drow with an unapologetic smile. He faces the drow with you and turns her down again, much to her immense displeasure. 

You manage to lift Araj's moods somewhat when you offer up your blood for experimentation. Astarion isn't happy about the exchange, for who knows what the drow will do with your blood, but you seem genuinely curious enough about the whole concept. You get a flask made from your blood in return, which you give to him almost immediately. 

“A gift,” you tell him. “Let me know what it does if you drink it.” A flicker of guilt comes and goes when he accepts it, and for a brief and endearing moment he thinks this may be a gesture made because of the misunderstanding earlier. He feels pleasantly surprised by how quickly you come to his defense and try to make amends when you think you have done him a disservice– as though his feelings mattered. 

You tilt your head curiously. “Can you still smell my blood in the potion?”

Astarion opens up the flask and takes a look. In the bouquet of herbal scents, yes, he can identify your blood mixed in it. He rather thinks he is quite familiar with it, and it is a taste he can never get tired of. 

He wants to thank you but finds that he has bigger things to be grateful for. He has never been shy of showing thanks, but what you've just done for him in front of Araj is too important to him for it to be said in passing.

At every chance you get, you make him feel... seen. Safe. He is his own person, vampirism be damned– a living being with his own thoughts and feelings, and you make it known to him and to everyone even if he himself cannot see it. Your goodness remains in the face of temptation, and you are unwavering in your beliefs when you believe it to be right. How does one even begin to thank you for not betraying his faith in you like that? 

(What a fragile thing trust is, to be put to the breaking point at a single moment in time. What if you had demanded him to bite the drow, regardless of how he felt? If you had placed more value in the potion's abilities than in his own free will? He suspects his relationship with you would be unsalvageable. For some things may be forgiven–and he feels as though he would forgive many things for you–but he cannot afford to lose himself again, even to you.)

Astarion doesn't get a chance with you alone for a while, the party having moved on to trying to break the prisoners from Moonrise Towers. The tieflings– Rolan will absolutely hate the fact they will have saved Lia and Cal for him--and dark gnomes alike all wait in the prisons for the right time to hatch their plan. They are lucky to have them show up when they do and guide them out without a single trace. Astarion is almost disappointed that there wasn’t a fight to be had. 

He waits until the freed gnomes and tieflings steer their way to Last Light Inn in the distance before he speaks with you. Water laps at the makeshift port the prisoners sailed from, and as Gale goes into the logistics of his mage hand magic to Karlach, he approaches you. 

You look into the distance, beyond the point of where the Moonrise Tower's light can reach. When you turn to him, as if feeling his gaze, he feels a moment of déja vu. 

"I wanted to thank you,” he tells you.

You look confused, glancing out into the dark before coming back to him, and he realizes perhaps you think he's somehow grateful for releasing the prisoners. Not a strange notion, but certainly what would be a first for him, considering who they saved. "For what?"

"For what you said whilst we were in front of that vile drow,” Astarion continues, finding himself more impassioned than he previously thought. “You could have asked me to throw myself at the drow, my feelings be damned.” He pauses for a moment to gather himself. “But you didn't, and I'm grateful."

Your response comes easily to you as it did before. "Of course.” You tell him, “I wouldn't want you to do something you don't want to.”

Your words are gentle, but they leave him feeling exposed. It's as though his chest has been opened and now you bear witness to what he has kept hidden for so long. He is by no means fragile, but it does not mean he is unaffected by how vulnerable he feels in the face of your unconditional acceptance.

"I admit it's a novel concept. A little intimidating.” Astarion stops again, musing over his words and willing for his voice to stop shaking. You wait patiently for him until he confesses, “For two hundred years, I used my body to lure pretty things back to my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing-- it never mattered. It would have been easy enough, honestly, to just bite her. Face a little disgust and move on from it like I did before."

“Astarion,” you begin softly, and he feels his neck prickle with an emotion unfamiliar to him: embarrassment. You pause then, finding the words you want to say. “I want you to keep telling me how you feel about things. I need to know what you're okay with and what you're not because,” and it is your turn to look abashed, “I don't always know what you want. I'm not the most observant person, and I would hate it if I accidentally made you do something you didn't want to do.” You breathe. “So, thank you, for telling me.”

“It's rather odd to hear you thank me,” he admits, and he unfurls fists he hadn't realized he was holding. He leaves it unsaid, how difficult it has been to be truthful to himself and to you. He isn't sure if he can remain so in the worst of times, but he knows this at least: he will continue to try.

He thinks it is the first time he has been given the chance to.

You make a face he would have laughed at if he were not so relieved. “I've said thank you to you before.”

“That is not what I mean, dear,” he replies dryly, and when he hears footsteps approach, he knows this conversation has reached its end. (An expert, Astarion carefully sews himself closed, though he leaves a stitch untethered so perhaps next time it will not be so hard to undo. The thought of being seen becomes less frightening when he knows it will be you.)

“Gale and I might've found something you might want to check out,” Karlach says, pointing behind her. “Looks rather nasty and sort of important.”

“Man, can we ever separate the importance from how disgusting it ends up being?” You bemoan, walking up to Karlach and easily accepting the arm she puts around your shoulder. “How gross?” 

“Quite nasty, even to our standards,” Gale replies, grimacing. “I think that's saying quite a lot, considering our adventures so far.”

Astarion hears you mutter a small ‘ew’ under your breath and he huffs in laughter. “Well, as long as it involves blood and violence, I'm sure it won't be too terrible of an encounter,” he says. 

Entering the adjacent bowels of an illithid colony threatens that viewpoint, but the rest of them are too preoccupied with their own thoughts to call Astarion out for it. All in good time, he thinks as he brushes off the organic bits off his clothes without drawing attention to himself.

.

.

.

Shadowheart is beside herself when they enter the Gauntlet of Shar. As one of the only and largest places of worship of the dark goddess, it is impressive in its grandiosity and in how unwelcoming it makes itself to be with its dark corners and tall pillars. If Shadowheart finds rapture in the temple, Halsin and you find it unsettling with how cold it is, though you keep your opinions to yourself. 

For Astarion, he finds the temple rather homey; it is quiet and lonely, but it is still leagues better than the dreaded halls of Cazador's castle. When he tells the party just as much, he receives matching looks of incredulity. 

“Do you… happen to like tall ceilings, Astarion?” You ask, comically sincere about it. 

“Perhaps he sees the beauty in the silence,” Halsin offers. “It could be seen as…” He pauses. “Peaceful.”

Astarion sees Shadowheart turn her head a tad too late to hide her laughter. 

Peaceful is giving the Gauntlet too much credit. The silence of the temple is unsettling at best, abandoned by those who used to worship it. Abandoned, it makes for a lovely home for a devil– more specifically the orthon they are tasked to kill in order to fulfill Raphael's deal. 

Astarion could care less why Yurgur is here, but if the absence of living Dark Justiciars is of any indication, the orthon must have overstayed its welcome after the war. His ability to turn invisible is a tad irritating but he and his army are no match for them and their combined wit. You have quite the arm to throw his bombs back to him, and in the aftermath, there is nothing but dust. 

As though he were watching, Raphael appears to them soon after to uphold his end of the bargain. He seems a midge too satisfied to be revealing the truth about the devilish contract etched onto Astarion's back, but perhaps he is simply happy to have gotten rid of his enemy vicariously. Astarion pays no mind to the devil when he leaves, mind whirling with the implications of the truth. 

In short, it is overwhelming. (The feeling is quickly becoming familiar.) Two hundred years of questions finally answered. The reason for his pain all those nights ago, the horrors he has had to face all these years finally having meaning. It is a dreadful conclusion to result in, with more problems introduced than closure given. 

Astarion lets out a thoughtful hum, and the concern on your face would be funny if his thoughts weren't so preoccupied. "You okay?"

"It's a lot to take in." Astarion pauses, looking over to you as you wait patiently, though there is still a veneer of concern behind your eyes. He finds that in your patience, he realizes he is afraid–of what is to come, and what this revelation means for him. Another realization is the fact that he trusts you in full. It should scare him, the way he feels like he can turn to you for help, but it does not--not as much as it used to. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well," you begin placidly, "anything to do with devils and demons never ends well. And," you glance at him, "the sacrifice of all vampire spawn doesn't sound too good to me."

"There's only the seven of us," he says, though he knows one is already too many for you to leave dead. The thought both irritates and comforts him in equal measure, especially when you give him a practiced look of exasperation. "Though that does include me. Just when I was about to start enjoying life again."

"And about Cazador." You continue plainly, "I don't think you'll be free until he's dead."

His heart leaps, and then something settles. How quick you are to get to the heart of the problem, not that he will ever admit it to you. "I hate," he says, "how right you are. If I thought he'd stop at nothing to find me when I was just his plaything, he'd go to the ends of Faerûn to bring me back knowing this contract." He swallows inaudibly, preparing his next words. "We need to take the fight to him, but I can't do it alone."

"You won't be," you say so easily. It pulls at heartstrings he wasn't aware existed. "You'll have me."

"Yes, well." He clears his throat. "Let's not overestimate ourselves; the two of us will certainly not be enough to go against a true vampire lord. Though..." Astarion trails off, trying but failing to stave off from the warmth that courses through him. "For what it's worth, thank you." 

Your smile is beatific, and Astarion begins to think perhaps he doesn't deserve you. 

.

.

.

As the umbral gems are collected, it begins to feel like the beginning of the end for the shadows that lurk. Everyone can feel it; it is the way hard conversations are beginning to be had, all loose ends tying up before the coming of a new chapter. Astarion sees you speak to Gale about his so-called destined fate to die against the Absolute, to Arabella about her future beyond her parents’ death, and to Karlach about hard decisions and an ending that seems all too close to come. You are busy with all matters of import that Astarion has not had a moment's time with you for the past few days.

He loathes to admit it but he finds himself missing your company. A ridiculous notion, he is sure. It's not as if he has not seen you around camp or not exchanged words with you at all. If anything, you still proactively seek out opportunities to see him when you are free, but all attempts to find the time to spend with him end up taken by someone else. 

Astarion remembers once upon a time when he had barely cared to recognize the effort you put into spending time with him. Now, when he is bereft of your presence, he cannot stand the fact that everyone seems determined to thwart your every attempt.

He says as much to Karlach– though he may have complained more about your busy-body schedule than admit the fact he finds himself in want of you. Much to his dismay, Karlach is similar to you in the worst of ways, seeing through him easier than most. Though it may be due to her straightforward manner more than anything. 

“Aw, Astarion, if you miss them that much, you can try to see if you can talk to them when they’re free too. Ooh!” She exclaims in excitement, “Do you want me to distract everyone for a little while? So the two of you lovebirds can have a moment together?”

Astarion is quick to turn her down. It embarrasses him to a degree that he misses you. He doesn’t think he is quite ready to admit it to himself, let alone to other people. It feels… final, like a turning point that Astarion isn’t sure he can take– should take. Surely, he thinks, you find other people’s company more enjoyable? “No, that won’t be necessary, darling,” he says airily. “It is hardly that important to warrant that much effort from either of us.”

He thinks Karlach’s look is much too sympathetic for his liking, so he excuses himself to read the Book of Thay again. At least then he won’t have to listen to his own thoughts.

That being said… Astarion's gaze follows you when you flit back and forth in camp. The book lay in his hands, opened but nearly forgotten, and he starts to take Karlach's words into consideration. Surely, initiating conversation with you should not be that hard? He has propositioned you twice already with no qualms and yet he doesn't know what to say to get your attention when it is not of sexual nature. He has never cared to, never been able to if he wanted to– and now when he has the chance, he stands rooted to his spot, unable to do a thing when Wyll asks you to dance with him as though it is second nature. 

And of course you would accept– why wouldn't you? 

He may have grown out of prince charmings and fairytale endings, but you? There could not possibly be a better match for you than Wyll, who is the epitome of everything you could ever dream of. Handsome, righteous, selfless– Wyll is the hero of every storybook, and Astarion would not be surprised if the heavens decided to make you for each other. Wyll twirls you in his arms, leading you with a gentle hand that is befitting of your nature. And you laugh, light and joyous, the two of you looking at each other with bright eyes.

Astarion would never doubt the fun that the two of you have together. But he knows you would want more than that. You dream of true love and world peace, dressing up in all white and walking down the aisle to swear yourself to another person for life. You bleed love with your every touch, and he has never tasted love until you. 

He doesn’t know if he will ever be capable of loving you the way you deserve. (After all, what has he ever given you but lies and deceit?)

Astarion watches as you take a deep bow, laughing all the while as Wyll claps at your performance, and something inside him churns with an unfamiliar bitterness. Jealousy? Envy, perhaps. (Of who– maybe Wyll, maybe you, maybe both.)

But then you bid Wyll farewell and turn to him, and your face lights up as bright as moonglow. Astarion hates the way his heart trembles at the sight of you. 

“Hey, you,” you say to him warmly, and a part of him wants to be spiteful– for invoking uncomfortable emotions he does not know how to deal with. The other half is simply glad that he has you at last. 

Bad habits are hard to break though. “I see Wyll has made you his latest dance partner,” he says, unable to remove his scathing tone. You are more surprised than upset at his sudden animosity, which is a boon in itself. You look at him curiously though, with eyes that see into him too well for his sake, before you reply.

“For practice.” You say carefully, “For somebody else.” Before Astarion can inquire on who, you change the subject. “Do you know how to dance?”

“I know enough.” He clears his throat, continuing, “Dancing is an easy way to proverbially and literally whisk someone off their feet after all.”

Your eyes brighten at his words, and Astarion begins to think your earlier joy was not because you were dancing with Wyll but because you love to dance in general. “You want to teach me how to dance?” Your smile reaches your eyes, as it always does for him. “I bet you know how to ballroom dance. That sounds dreamy enough for you.”

“Without music? Hardly a dance,” he tells you, but when he sees you deflate, he is quick to say more. “When there is a proper setting, you can be the first to witness my skills personally.” He finds it inconvenient that his mood shifts with yours, because when your countenance lifts with hopeful anticipation from his words, he finds himself pleased to have caused it. “For now, I think my words will suffice in charming you just fine, don't you think, darling?”

“Confident you still have more lines to give me?” You ask teasingly, and Astarion is nothing if not a proud performer.

“Every time I heard the tieflings cry, I remember how you sounded crying for me,” he recites sultrily. “And now all these accolades from the Harpers are nothing compared to the sound of my name uttered from your lips.”

There is that familiar look of embarrassment and delight again. You laugh in response, leaning your head into his shoulders bashfully. “You're too much,” you tell him, your arm pressed against his. He relaxes at the warmth from your touch. 

Guilt, envy, jealousy: he yearns for you despite everything he cannot be. In the end, he is but a selfish man at his core, and whatever he wants he will take. Until the moment you choose someone else to love and to hold, he will simply count down the hours till the sound of midnight chimes. But he will not let you go until then– and not a moment later. (Though perhaps if there is a person he can learn to love, it is you.)

Astarion goes on, line after line, if only to keep you here with him. “If you don't remember how much you enjoyed it last time, I would like to try again.” He lowers his voice to a whisper and watches as your eyes darken in response, “Until you can think of nothing else.”

“I hope,” Shadowheart interrupts with mirth, “you know he practices these lines when you're not here.” 

Astarion sputters, and he narrows his eyes in mild annoyance when he sees Shadowheart pass by with a knowing smile. “Excuse me-”

“If you wanted your practice to be a secret, you might want to be quieter next time.” Shadowheart pauses. “Or perhaps not set your tent next to mine?”

“I don't know, Shadowheart,” he croons, “perhaps you might benefit from learning a thing or two from my charms.”

“Rather doubtful–”

Astarion hears you laugh long and hard as the two of them bicker. It is difficult to come up with retorts when he cannot help but be besotted at the sound of your joy. He hopes it is not obvious to everyone else.

.

.

.

His worries seem all the more unimportant when they complete Shar's Trial. It turns out that the Nightsong is not a relic but an aasimar--Selûne's own daughter. Astarion already knows a fight lies in wait the moment Balthazar stops talking. After Balthazar swiftly joins the land of the dead, it is Shadowheart's faith that is put to trial. When she refuses to kill the aasimar, Astarion isn't sure he should be impressed she would deny her goddess or by how spectacularly her goddess lost her trust in the course of the journey. 

It's one of the reasons why he has never subscribed to the words of any god. What have the gods done for those who believed in them? Queen Vlaakith, who now swears to destroy Lae'zel despite her intrepid loyalty. Selûne, who could not save Ketheric's wife and daughter or her own child from a hundred years of captivity. Shar, who took advantage of the grief in Ketheric and innocence in Shadowheart for her own means. Mystra, who plucked Gale from a young age and cultivated him into a man who never felt like he was enough. 

There is simply no use relying on them for anything. For what can they offer to him now when none has answered him once in the past two hundred years? 

Astarion thinks you feel similarly. You could have easily been a cleric, a healer of the people blessed by the gods. But instead, you walk the path of the paladin, an oath created not in servitude to a higher being but to the weak and vulnerable. (Even then Astarion thinks that is too restricting for him, bound to do good by others no matter the situation. Believe him, he's already been on his best behavior by not pointing the sharp end of his dagger at anyone who tries to trifle with them.)

He once believed that your heart could know no evil, so being a paladin was easy. But he has grown to know you like the curve of his bow, and you are no saint. You become angry at others, yell and curse, and gods, you had the attitude to match him from the very beginning so he should have known even then. 

But perhaps it is because you are like anyone else that your ability to keep your oath shines far brighter than any devotion to a god. It is a part of you that no one can take away, and it is a concept that both amazes and discomfits Astarion in equal measure.

Even now at the top of Moonrise Towers, you still hold mercy in your heart for a man like Ketheric. Of course you would sympathize with a heart like his, twisted and mangled beyond repair because of love and grief. Astarion wonders how long Ketheric Thorm has gone without anyone trying to understand him? A hundred years at least, since the death of his wife and child, and here comes a wayward paladin and their party of four, giving him a chance for redemption. 

Astarion watches as Ketheric Thorm, the human he was, falls without a fight, and in his place, rises the undead chosen of Myrkul.

They've gone from fighting goblins to living machinery to literal shadows. To think those pales in comparison to the avatar of necromancy before them, all bones and scent of death. It would be so easy to be afraid, but then Astarion looks at you, lips moving in a silent prayer for courage, and he finds it less daunting to know that you can continue to move on despite your fear.

You are quick to dispatch the party: a group to free Dame Aylin from her shackles and another to start the fight against Myrkul. As Astarion sees Wyll, Shadowheart, and Jahiera teleport themselves closer to the aasimar, he knows quickly what team he's on. (“We work well together, you know,” he told you once after knocking down the goblin camp. He finds it somewhat comforting to know that statement is still true today.) 

“Ready?” You ask him, a scroll of dimensional door in your hands. 

“Darling,” he drawls, long bow in hand, “I thought you'd never ask.”

It ends up being a hard battle: cold, grasping hands of death from the unliving attack from all sides, the avatar of Myrkul summoning horrors beyond comprehension when they get close enough. And still, Astarion's hands remain steady as they aim deadly arrows toward a deity until it falls just like anybody else. 

“It's over,” he hears you breathe out, eyes wide as Ketheric falls to his knees for the very last time. It is a horrible sight to see a man in his last minutes, soul broken by grief and the gods that took advantage of that, and body broken by the aasimar he deceived in turn. Still, when your hand finds his in the aftermath of such horrors, he understands two things: he has never cared for someone like you before in his life, and all things must come to an end. 

It is only a matter of when. 

(And a third thing– Astarion understands Ketheric Thorm more than he realizes. For what are they both if not selfish, foolish men willing to do everything to keep what is theirs?)

.

.

.

They stay behind to help the Harpers rebuild the Last Light Inn. It's enough time to see where allegiances lie, who is to join them for the final act in Baldur's Gate, and to see the glimpse of the shadow-land curse ebbing away. Astarion doesn't know who, but someone suggests a celebration of victory as an ode to those who had fallen, and suddenly life is breathed into the land and its people. 

He's always loved a good party and he figures everybody feels the same. He can only hope the wine that's provided is even a smidgen better than the one in the druid grove. And he deserves a break– all of them do. Astarion watches as the Alfira and Lakrissa drag you away to some pre-celebratory hangout during the event's setup and cannot find it in himself to be anything but amused. 

As it turns out, in between the cobwebbed walls and doom-and-gloom, Moonrise Towers has plenty to offer for the celebration. The leftover rations– whatever is still good after the battle anyways– serve as the basis of a banquet. The old and dusty black and white robes and attires of the Selûnites that once occupied this place are still in good condition, if you discount the mothballs and eaten up bits. 

It makes for a nice change in pace for many at least, though Astarion thinks he'd rather wear something with embroidery than don a goddess’ servants outfit no matter how nice it is. It is a good thing Shadowheart is not quite Sharran or else there would be quite an upset. She is more preoccupied by her conversation with Dame Aylin than with the festivity preparations, but he knows she will join in due time if you have anything to say about it.

In the quiet bustle before the banquet, people flit back and forth, busy. Whether they are preparing the necessary things for the celebration, healing the wounded, making the burial grounds, or getting drunk ahead of the game, there is something to do. Astarion finds himself in the last category nursing a cup of wine and watching the processions, His Majesty curled up at his feet. 

The last person he expects to make time to speak with him is Wyll.

“Care for some company?” Wyll asks with a smile.

Astarion shrugs, hiding his surprise behind his nonchalance. “I suppose the wine can be shared.”

Wyll nods. “Much thanks,” he says, allowing Astarion to pour him half a glass before taking a cursory sip. Astarion follows after him, though he watches Wyll carefully in the corner of his eyes. 

“I've hunted demons,” Wyll begins, “orthons, devils, and monsters. When I met our leader, I never expected to eventually fight against a God. Did you?”

Astarion lets out an airy laugh. “Knowing who we're following, I can't say I'm too surprised.” He waves his hand flippantly before crossing his arms. “Goes to show even Gods can fall��� and that paladins seek nothing but trouble.”

Wyll laughs at that, and Astarion tries to not make it seem like he's almost dropped the glass. “Makes you hopeful, doesn't it?” Wyll tells him, “That there's nothing that cannot be done at their side?”

And there it is, Astarion thinks wryly. Their single point of similarity lies in their affections for you. He was wondering why the righteous Blade of Frontiers was making conversation. But still, with the jealousy that swirls low in the pit of his stomach, he thinks of you and the miracles you have created from seemingly nothing and warmth spreads and overtakes any and all bitterness.

“Astarion,” Wyll starts, faltering for the first time. Astarion barely has enough time to turn to him when he continues to greater incredulity. “I was wrong about you. Truly wrong about you.”

What? Astarion stares at him for a moment before he realizes he's taking a moment too long. Being snarky comes like second nature. “Let me guess,” he drawls, “you thought I'd sucked blood, but instead I just suck. Was that your witty jab?”

“No! I mean it,” Wyll says. He is sincere as he always is, and Astarion wants to sneer at it, if only he wasn't reminded of you. (He's grown used to people saying what they mean, and part of him is scared of it.) “There's little between us we share, but you've fallen in love and stood by your lover. This is something this dreamer's heart can appreciate.” 

Wyll means you, he realizes. You and him: lovers. It seems to become less of a lie with each coming day if Karlach and now Wyll seem to see right through him. “I– thank you,” Astarion replies, bewildered, “I suppose.” 

“Pay it no mind,” Wyll tells him, clinking his glass to his. “After all the fighting we've done, it puts a lot of things in perspective. I don't want to leave things unsaid nor undone.”

Astarion snorts into his glass; hardly a charming gesture but he finds it easier to be less than such these days. “See, that's where you and I can agree on!” He says slyly, “Is that where all your night time dancing practices have been for? To woo your love at the first chance you get?”

Wyll coughs into his hand, and Astarion watches in glee as he grows embarrassed. “I hope you haven't seen me in the earlier nights; I was quite horrendous.” He sighs. “I can only pray that no one else has noticed besides you and our leader… I was hoping to keep it a secret until later.”

“Knowing our camp, it was never a secret to begin with,” Astarion says dryly.

“I just…” Wyll continues almost wistfully, “I want to give her something to look forward to. She deserves the world after everything she's been through– let alone a dance to truly and well whisk her away.”

Astarion can see the lovestruck gleam in Wyll's eyes as he talks, and he recognizes that look not when he looks at you but instead… “Karlach?” He asks, watching as the mighty Blade of Frontiers fidgets in place, “So you've been practicing your dances for Karlach?” His smile widens not unlike a cat who has captured a canary, both from the fact he has nothing to fear from Wyll and from the way he now has the ammunition to tease the man. So this is what it means to kill two kobolds with one stone. “I hope you haven't been practicing other things without her too.”

“Astarion, please.”

It's moments like these when Wyll is trying to sink into the floor from mortification that he is reminded how young the warlock is. He never imagined talking about love with him of all things, but here they are– it surely isn't the strangest situation he's been through. “I'm sure Karlach would be happy to have you ask her to dance, skills be damned.”

“I'm sure,” Wyll says warmly, “but I want to give her only the best, if I can.”

And if that wasn't another sentiment Astarion has grown familiar with.

Before guilt can sink his mood, Astarion clears his throat. “You wouldn't happen to have a few dancing lessons in store for your fellow companion, would you, darling?”

Wyll is kind enough to not say anything to his question, though the knowing looks he gives Astarion throughout his guidance is reminiscent of Karlach that he escapes as soon as he is able. With the party soon underway, more people come into the main floor with fresh attire. Alcohol is poured and music is played with Alfira leading the fray. Lakrissa, never far from her lady bard, meets his gaze and nods her head upward. 

“Upstairs,” Lakrissa tells him with a wide smile. “They're doing some finishing touches. I'm sure they won't mind if you get them.”

There is that damned knowing look again, he thinks, walking up the stairs. He pauses for a moment halfway up, gazing at the party quickly underway and at the people he has met thus far. He spots Dammon and Karlach talking near the door, Wyll across the room building his courage to ask her to dance. Shadowheart and Lae'zel sit at the bar drinking in surprising camaraderie next to Rolan and his siblings, still ribbing him in usual manner. Harpers are scattered in the room, Jaheira to the side watching on after having said her goodbyes prior; she will be joining their party to Baldur's Gate, after all. 

Halsin was preoccupied with Thaniel so he may or may not be joining them later on, though Astarion doubts he would disappoint you by not showing up. Not seeing Gale in the midst if the celebration is strange, considering how much more eager he is to converse with others. Astarion's pondering answers itself when he sees Gale exit your room.

“Ah, there you are,” Gale greets him cheerily. “They're about done with their preparations– they thought they'd ask me for my opinions on their appearance. And despite my admitted inexperience in the matter, I hope I did my due diligence in reassuring them they looked fine. The rest is up to you, I'm afraid.” He puts a hand on Astarion's shoulder and squeezes lightly, and the look in his eyes grows somber for just a moment. “Treat them well.”

If he had a heart still, it would pang with guilt. “Don't I always?” Astarion says airily, and Gale gives him another pat and a wide smile.

“That you do, my friend,” Gale says warmly. “I am ever glad to see my two good companions happy together. Best wishes to you both.”

Gale leaves him and Astarion stands outside your door, unsure what he is waiting for. He peeks inside, watching as you tinker with your jewelry in the mirror. In the reflection he sees you in all your glory. You are beautiful as ever in your evening attire, simultaneously dashing in your knightly way as you are beautiful and warm and real. You notice him in the mirror and turn to smile at him, and guilt settles into him like lead.

You deserve more, he thinks with finality, and Astarion knows then he can no longer delay the inevitable, despite himself. You must know the truth about his intentions for you, even if it pushes you away from him and renders your protection for him. You deserve nothing less but his honesty. He only wishes he were not so cowardly as to have done it sooner, if only to not ruin the rest of your night. 

(But the truth is, Astarion has a little hope that you will still love him despite it all– because he thinks he wants something real with you too.) 

“There you are,” you say warmly, walking up to him. “Are you ready to dance?” You take his hand in yours, and he holds onto you for dear life. 

"I was waiting for you,” he tells you weakly. He squeezes your hand as if asking for strength. “Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk."

Lovely as you are, you are nothing but concerned for him. "Yeah, sure! Are you okay?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine,” he tells you automatically. Deflection comes easily for him. “I just-- feel awful."

Your sympathy is almost too much to bear that Astarion musters up the will to push forward before your compassion weakens his resolve. He must confess now or he never will. He swallows painfully.

"Look, I had a plan,” he begins to explain, “a nice simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me." He lets out a shaky laugh– entirely inappropriate and unreflective of his feelings, but what else is he to do? Does he even deserve to show you how much turmoil he has gone through to reach this point in telling you? 

"It was easy,” he continues, trying to ignore the way his chest twists painfully when he sees you flinch, hurt. “Instinctive.” He lets your hand fall from his as he gesticulates, weaving his story dramatically in the only way he knows how lest he feel too much. Your arms draw themselves in as if to brace yourself for a blow, and all Astarion can think is that he must– he must continue on for better or worse. He cannot bear doing this a second time. 

“Habits from 200 years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it,” he tells you. Astarion feels his voice shake. “And all I had to do was not fall for you. That was where my nice, simple plan fell apart."

He sees a flicker of something in your eyes as he finishes. He can't quite place what it is– he can hardly begin to process how he's feeling at the moment. But the truth is finally out in the open, and the tension in his body is pulled taut like a bow string as he waits for your response. He wants so desperately to make excuses, to go on about anything that would salvage his relationship with you, but he won't. You have been patient with him time and time again, and it is only fair for him to do the same.

No one ever told him how hard it would be though. To wait. You stand only a foot away from him and yet the distance between the two of you feels vast.

"...So,” you begin quietly, “did the nights we spend together... did they mean anything then?"

You're ridiculous, he thinks, almost laughing in fond incredulity. He half expected you to storm out of the room, demanding he never speak to you again. The fact you are still talking it through with him is more than he could ever ask for. "Of course it did,” Astarion tells you fervently. “That's the problem. Or part of it. You–” His voice catches with emotion. “You're incredible. You deserve something real.” 

He watches as you blink in rapid succession, willing the tears that come easily to you away. Astarion thinks about the way you yearn for simple touches, sweet romances, and true love. And even if he does not yet know how to love you the way you want, he knows this: “I want us to be something real."

Astarion reaches his hands out to meet yours before he realizes it is happening. The utter relief he feels when you close the distance (so small yet so far) between the two of you is insurmountable. He thinks you can feel the way his hands shake when you hold onto them. Or is that you? He thinks, savoring the warmth seeping into his skin. No matter– nothing else matters but the way you are still here with him now.

"So do I,” you say wetly. “More than anything."

Astarion knows better than to look into a gift horse's mouth, but it is in his nature to question when good things happen to him. His question comes out quietly, disbelieving, "Really?" 

And he can see your expression soften-- not of pity or sympathy-- just affection as you huff good naturedly, as though he were just absolutely silly for doubting you. "Yes, of course," you say, cupping his face just as gently before you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. 

You are warm in his arms with the sweet scent of lilac. 

When was the last time he has been held like this, he wonders. Without precontext for sex or expectations for something more. Like when he was helpless but to see you preoccupied with others, it is in times like these Astarion realizes he is inexperienced when it comes to affection in its purest form. It makes him… lost in a way, to know what he does not know. 

[Can he tell, you wonder, that you've been wanting to hold him like this from the very beginning? To make him feel safe. To let him know he has nothing to worry about, at least when it comes to you. You hold him tightly, and if love could be poured out from you to another, you would have it spill over and more.]

But you don't seem to care. You never have. Giving little bits of affection to him wherever he can accept it without expecting anything given back. He wants to learn how to be with you starting now.

Moving his arms around you to embrace you is unfamiliar, but his hands find purchase on your back, palms flat and firm. Your heart against his chest beats steadily, and Astarion finds that he doesn't want this moment to end. He feels vulnerable in a way he has not felt in a long time, if ever. Everything seems easier to say to you, now that you accept him, flawed as he is. 

"I just,” he begins quietly, “don't know what real looks like, not after two hundred years of playing the rake. Being close to someone, any kind of intimacy, was something I performed to lure people back for him.” 

He feels you pull away, but only for a moment before you are holding his hands gently. He continues, “Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels tainted.” He feels his mouth twist at the word, and he looks down, shame burning his tongue despite himself. “Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.”

“I don't know how else to be with someone,” he confesses, “no matter how much I'd like to.”

Silence fills the space the two of you take up. It would feel suffocating if not for the way you rub his hands with your thumbs, grounding him to this moment. It feels so easy to just run away, but he stands with you until you find the words to speak. You tell him finally, “You are important to me no matter what you're going through.” His breath catches. “And if that sort of intimacy makes you feel uncomfortable, we can be together without sleeping together for as long as you need.”

You are firm with your words, and Astarion blinks away wetness in his eyes and tries to reach for levity as he always does. “Why, that almost sounds like a challenge,” he says, and when you do a little laugh, he feels lighter. 

The two of you are by no means a perfect union. Far from it: who would ever imagine a vampire rogue and a devoted paladin to be a match for each other? And yet, you want to make the two of you work. He wants it to work, whatever it is they are. Rather than fear or apprehension, he finds himself in anticipation for an unknown destination with you by his side. 

(It feels a little bit like death, in a good way. To imagine this is how people feel all the time– excited and terrified all at once; how do they all do it?)

Astarion lets out a laugh of his own. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing. Or what comes next,” he says. He raises his hands where they are connected to you. "But I know that this? This is nice."

Your smile is wobbly with emotion, and your eyes shining with an affection that Astarion has grown familiar with. "Dance with me?”

Astarion responds by taking one of your hands and placing a kiss at your knuckle. The smile he receives from you is daylight and he basks in its presence. “Shall I take the lead this time, darling?”

“Only just this once,” you tease, and he is almost giddy at the banter. Oh, how quickly the two of you begin anew, as if no hurt has been done. Eyes wet with emotion now dry and upturned from mirth as Astarion dramatically presents your hand, walking down the stairs to join in the banquet.

How ridiculous mankind is, for celebrating while their fate looms over the horizon at Baldur's Gate. How incredulous people are for still holding onto hope even when hope seems all but lost. Astarion still thinks it unwise to trust others in a world where only the strongest survive, but perhaps he has changed just a bit if he thinks it is not quite so impossible to believe in it himself. 

He is not healed– and he feels he will not be for some time, not as long as Cazador still lives. But much like the shadow-cursed land, he feels as though he is healing. At your side, with his hand on your waist and the other entwined with yours to twirl you on a wooden dance floor as you laugh until you are breathless– he can finally try.

And perhaps that is all that matters.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

(Sleeping beneath the stars, a night before reaching Baldur's Gate, Astarion thinks about how you have given him precious, impossible moments of comfort. He had only expected to have a few more before an untimely death but after time and time again, the two of you live. 

But just how long will that luck last? 

With Cazador, the two avatars of death, and the elder brain looming over their fates, Astarion feels a fear unlike what he has ever faced, for he has far more to lose than just himself now. It suffocates him. Because he is not good enough- not strong enough. Not for you, not for Cazador, nor for the gods that never answered him. 

Unless…

If he takes Cazador's power for his own, if he can ascend and become a creature far beyond a true vampire… he can finally keep the two of you safe– for good. From all the evils of the world, from the Cazadors, from whoever dares to threaten the two of you.

Whoever must be sacrificed to make it happen be damned. Astarion will be selfish enough for the two of you. 

A part of him wonders if you will still love him then.)

[iguessit-sgrace]

HIIII please take this ask as an opportunity to ramble about the marauders girls i’m also undergoing brainrot 👍👍

(also hiiiii fellow christian in the marauders fandom)

clip i love you (can i call you clip? i'm gonna call you clip)

first off YES I FOUND ANOTHER ONE. it's so hard being a christian in this fandom 😭 very morally conflicting sometimes! but then i remind myself they're just characters and we're all good <3

secondly, brainrot is so real lmao. i was up far too late last night listening to christmas kids and right where you left me on LOOP because of the Mary Thoughts™️

so i'm gonna ramble about my girl <333

adgvcfbvsdhnbhjkk i love mary so much!!!! she's so interesting and complicated and there's so much unexplored potential!! like, the conflict between wanting to help her friends in the war, but also the need to keep herself and her family safe? plus the headcanon that she obliviated herself?! amazing gimme 14.

i like to think that she was born in a family where her mum, michelle, was a nurse and was barely ever home, and her dad, brian, was a teacher and usually was preoccupied with school and other things, so mary kinda raised herself and her little brother benjamin. she was also very close with her cousins, her extended family was pretty tight-knit. when she got her letter, dumbledore came and explained to her immediate family, then said that nobody but her parents and brother could know. so her cousins assumed she was off at a fancy boarding school and kinda drifted apart from her, which really disappointed mary :(.

when she first got to hogwarts it was really nerve-wracking for her, since she knew nobody and sat alone on the train. but when she was sorted into gryffindor and met with applause, she quickly found her place with alice fortescue <3 (alice took all of the gryffindor girls under her wing; lily, marlene, mary, etc. (she reminded mary a lot of her older female cousins and that helped her feel a lot more comfortable) (go alice!!))

her favorite colour is pink <333 specifically like a deep raspberry pink.

speaking of which, raspberry cheesecake cookies are her favorite food ever. ironically though, strawberries are her favorite fruit.

marlene was her first love, but they were tragically right person, wrong time. marlene wanted a great, romantic love, and mary just couldn't give her that.

after marlene dies, she can't take the pain anymore, so she moves to new york and obliviates herself.

mary has a very unhealthy obsession with cherry vanilla coke (totally not projecting here).

unpopular opinion but i think her patronus is a sea turtle <3

her birthday is march 8th!

i think mary actually struggled a lot with nightmares after mulciber imperioed her. (is that what we've decided on? the fandom changes what he did to her like every second, i can't keep up 😭) but yeah, her focus is never quite the same: she zones out a lot more often, has trouble recognizing herself in the mirror, and wakes up from nightmares of doing horrible things to someone but not being in control of herself.

i read a fic once where her real name was marisol, and while i don't personally headcanon that i think it's the cutest thing ever <3

mary had a very unrequited love for lily for almost two years. she doesn't remember when she fell for her, but it plagued her for so long, pining for someone that was very clearly in love with someone else (even if lily hadn't realized it yet). this was the same time that marlene fell hard for mary. (which was what made the marylene arc even more tragic- mary was half in love with lily, half trying to get over her by being with marlene. (she realized she loved marlene during the war, but marlene was with dorcas, and then marlene was gone.))

mary has a miserable habit of falling in love with people too late (me too girl me too).

she has matching heart-shaped sunglasses with marlene and sirius!

she doesn't smoke cigarettes very often (she prefers to smoke weed with peter) but when she does, she makes sure that they're stained pink from her lipsticks and then she puts them in her scrapbooks

she scrapbooks!! everything!! photos, cigarette buttes, receipts, movie tickets, wrapping paper, literally anything that reminds her of a memory. she has a box under her bed in her dorm that's specifically filled with scrapbooks she's made over the years. she packs them with her when she moves to new york, and they're what eventually break the obliviate spell.

mary never quite felt right having magic. she loved it, but as the war progressed, she grew to hate it, and eventually just escaped back into the muggle world.

she gives friendship bracelets to all of the marauders & co <3 (the boys are too proud to admit it, but they never take them off)

mary has a concerning addiction to lipgloss

she always wanted an older sister :(

her favorite abba song was "when i kissed the teacher". she'd tease remus while singing it because all of the marauders knew he dreamed of being a professor one day

she and sirius were each other's first kiss. they dated for a little while, but mary could very clearly tell that sirius wasn't into it, so she broke it off.

mary was the real casanova of gryffindor tower be so for real

y'all, remus may have been handsome and mysterious but he was an awkward loser nerd lmao

mary knew everyone. everyone knew mary. everyone had made a bet with mary at some point, and everyone owed mary a favor. that's just how hogwarts worked. mary Knows Everyone

she almost always wore her hair natural, so for april fool's day she had peter help her put it in bright pink braids (he was a fast learner and surprisingly competent at it, so she recruited him for help more often after). watching sirius scream in the morning was one of her best memories.

out of the marauders, she's closest to peter. they clicked immediately and gossip about everything and everyone as they get stoned

mary knows better than to play chess against him though

mary is notorious for meddling in love lives, but in a good way. she's very socially smart, and accepts bribes for helping a poor bloke get a girlfriend or whatnot. however, she only helps if it's clear there's chemistry: if not, she's not going to waste her time on it. (this is how most of the school owes her)

mary never backs down from a challenge. she's the reigning champion of truth or dare (she has a flimsy paper crown from a christmas cracker with "truth or dare queen" written on it).

she really likes the game marbles for some reason. no one knows why but she begs someone to play it with her all the time. she also collects marbles.

she's british with jamaican roots <3

she's an amazing dancer. like it's insane how fluidly she moves and makes it all look effortless

mary kisses everyone. lips, cheeks, foreheads, hands, arms- everyone gets a kiss somewhere. it's how she displays affection. it's also adorably hilarious when she kisses a first year on the head and they get all flushed and confused. she just giggles and goes over to join one of her many, many, many friends

mary is friends with practically everyone, but she's only close with the marauders & co. peter, lily, remus, and marlene are the only ones she actually opens up to :(

i just love her a lot

she gives me a lot of thoughts

love you mare 💕

[cursedonyx]

Of Creatures and Cauldrons

(Part 2)

Part 1 found here

Natsai has an idea to set Poppy up with her mysterious crush, not knowing it's Garreth. Things don't go to plan when Garreth's crush turns up.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: heavy angst, unrequited love, pining, no comfort (this chapter)

_.-~*~-.__.-~*~-.__.-~*~-.__.-~*~-.__.-~*~-.__.-~*~-._

“Come on, Poppy, you know it is a good idea!”

“It’s not!” Poppy protested, walking arm in arm with Natsai towards the Great Hall. “You’re only suggesting it so you find out who I like!”

“True,” she chuckled. “But you will learn who I like also, yes? He asked me out to Hogsmeade two days ago, and I think it would be a marvellous opportunity to have a… what is it called? A double date? This weekend, yes?”

Poppy scuffed her shoes over the stone, pouting at Natsai’s tenacity. “I don’t want to stop you seeing whoever it is,” she muttered. “But I can’t just ask him out! He’s too popular, too smart, and I know he doesn’t like me that way.”

“I am sure he will see your worth once you talk to him for a while,” Natty squeezed her arm. “Perhaps… I have had another idea.”

“You and your ideas,” Poppy sighed. “Alright. What is it?”

“I will see my date for a few hours in Hogsmeade, then I would like you to join us in the Three Broomsticks,” she said. “I will also invite our friends, Imelda, Leander, Garreth, Arthur, Sacharissa, Samantha, Amit…”

But Poppy’s ears had started ringing the moment Natty said Garreth’s name, because as though he’d been summoned, there he was, bouncing along the corridor towards the Great Hall, already boisterous and beaming for such an early hour, Leander trailing dutifully along in his wake. Her breath caught as she watched him bound past, his lovely hair flopping all about his head, his smile as wide and wonderful as a Thestral’s wingspan…

“Poppy?” Natty jostled her. “What do you think? I shall invite our friends to join us, and you invite your person as an extension of my invitation, yes? That way, I have no idea who he is, and you can spend time with him.”

“Yeah, great,” Poppy said. They parted as they headed for their respective tables, and Poppy was so preoccupied in watching Garreth wolfing down bacon that she put her elbow in the butter dish.

A date. A date with Garreth! Well, no, it wasn’t a date, not really, it was all of them getting together to share a few butterbeers. But she would be there, and Garreth would be there, and she might even get to sit next to him. She hadn’t heard Natty mention Dracaena or Ominis in her list of friends to invite, and if that was the case, then maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to get Garreth’s attention and hold it for a while.

Her mind ran off with wild, vivid daydreams about what might happen, the pair of them drinking butterbeer as the rest of their friends dispersed, the light low and warm as all sounds around them faded until it was just them, and his big, beautiful smiling face would come closer and closer and she could touch his amazing hair, and…

Poppy was late for class. She skidded into Charms, red-faced and stuttering apologies, her cheeks burning more as Garreth turned to look at her. Merlin, she must look such a state, all sweaty and pink and her hair all over the place, and… oh, hell, there was Augury poop on her shoulder, too!

Ronen waved her to her seat, taking five points from Hufflepuff for her tardiness, and she hurried over, trying to scourgify her robes without anyone noticing. But she needn’t have worried. After taking note of her arrival, Garreth had gone right back to staring at the back of Draccie’s head, throwing a dark look at Ominis as he whispered something that made her giggle.

Poppy lowered her gaze and tried to focus on the lesson, but she couldn’t help but let her mind drift to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks, where in only two days’ time, she and Garreth would be sharing a butterbeer and chatting about nothing. Or something. Or everything. And maybe he’d hold her hand. Maybe he’d laugh at her jokes. Maybe he’d pay attention to her properly. Maybe… maybe they’d kiss.

It seemed too much to hope for. It seemed ridiculous. Poppy knew she was a five-foot-fuck-all weirdo with an obsession with magical beasts and few human friends. Garreth was a nearly-six-foot cauldron of charm and excitement. And the object of his interest was a bloody hero. All five-foot-seven of her, her hair like melted chocolate, her eyes like the emerald of her house, all curves and bosom and legs and a laugh like a cannon. Poppy sighed. If she wasn’t so enamoured with Garreth, she might have fallen for Draccie herself. Why, why did it have to be her that Garreth liked? Why someone so nice, so brave, so tough?

Why not her?

_.-~*~-._

By the time Saturday arrived, Poppy was a nervous wreck. She had barely slept a wink, and was up with the dawn, rushing down to the beast pens to play with the Kneazles, hoping their soft fur and rumbling purrs would soothe her nerves. She had hours to go yet, they weren’t due to go to Hogsmeade until four that afternoon, but she couldn’t help it. Natty had told her the night before she’d extended the promised invitations, and all the people she’d asked had accepted.

Vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass, Poppy dashed to the Great Hall to wolf down some breakfast, knowing she wouldn’t see Garreth at this early an hour. He tended to sleep in until at least ten in the morning at the weekend, but it didn’t stop her hoping.

Back in the common room, she paced around her dorm, fumbling around in her closet for something nice to wear. Most of her clothes were her grandmother’s old things, way out of date and style, but comfortable and warm, more practical than pretty. Poppy whimpered softly, pawing through her jumpers and blouses. There was nothing that would be right for a date, nothing at all! She blinked back tears. Garreth would never look twice at her if she dressed like a little old granny who’s favourite pastime was gardening and chicken-keeping! She might as well wear wellington boots!

“Dear me,” came a snooty voice. “I thought it was I that should cry over the state of your wardrobe, Sweeting.”

Poppy spun to see Sacharissa Tugwood striding into their dorm, her pink-hued hair bouncing. Far from feeling slighted, Poppy bounded to her feet, an idea springing into her mind like a crup puppy.

“Sacharissa! I need your help!” she gabbled. “You’re going to the Three Broomsticks with us tonight, right?”

“I am,” Sacharissa flicked a non-existent bit of fluff from her pristine robes. “What of it?”

“I need a new outfit,” Poppy said. “For tonight. Help me.”

Sacharissa raised a brow.

“Please,” Poppy added. “I… you’re right, my clothes are terrible, I need to get better fashion sense, and…”

“I’d LOVE to!” Sacharissa cried, a wide grin on her face. “No time like the present, Sweeting! Let’s go, you’re going to need so much…”

“I only want the one-” Poppy began, but Sacharissa grabbed her hand and bolted for the barrel door, hurtling them both through the castle and out into sunshine.

In Hogsmeade, Sacharissa made a beeline for Gladrags, where Agustus Hill leapt out from behind the counter and embraced the Hufflepuff, air-kissing her cheeks.

“My dear girl, what a delight to see you again! We have a marvellous new selection in store today, and I have some samples for our upcoming Spring Collection, straight from Pairs!” he winked, grasping Sacharissa’s hands. “Would you like to give your thoughts? We always value your imput.”

“Perhaps another day,” she said, and waved a hand at Poppy, hovering by the door, glancing at the robes, blouses and dresses with significant apprehension. “My friend here is after a new wardrobe.”

“Outfit,” Poppy said, hurriedly, as Mr Hill dashed over to her. “I only need one for tonight, I’m going to the Three Broomsticks, and…”

“Ah, I see, I see,” Mr Hill said, taking out a tape measure and waving his wand. It began to measure her, head to toe, shoulder to wrist, eyebrow to ear. “Not to worry, we’ll start with the one, but they always come back for more, don’t they, Miss Tugwood?”

In what Poppy would later term as an exercise in pure humiliation, Mr Hill and Sacharissa dressed her in a seemingly endless parade of increasingly horrifying outfits. The predominant theme seemed to be pink and frilly, pleated skirts and ruffled blouses piling on the chair beside the privacy screen as she grew increasingly hot, sweaty and irritable as she tried on item after item. Each time she stood in front of the mirror, she turned away, growing increasingly distressed as her reflection looked more and more like one of her grandmother’s china dolls, all dressed up and painted and childlike.

She didn’t want to look like that. She didn’t want to look sweet and innocent. She wanted to be dramatic and daring, sultry and seductive, just like Draccie. If that’s what Garreth liked, then she had to be that. Tentatively, she spoke up.

“Maybe something darker? Something a bit… more daring?” she ventured.

Mr Hill blinked. “My dear girl, these are the finest items from our Spring-”

“You know Dracaena Hoctina, right?” she said. “The Hero of Hogwarts?”

“Oh, yes!” Mr Hill practically bounced. “Hardly see her, of course, but I remember as clear as day when she fought off that troll that came charging through our little village…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Poppy said, sullenly. “I want to look like her. Can you get me something like what she wears?”

Mr Hill blinked.

“Well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, and Sacharissa became very interested in a mannequin. “Of course. If that’s what you’d like. But if I may… these suit you so much better,” he indicated the pretty skirts and blouses. “They compliment your…”

“I don’t care,” Poppy pouted. “Make me look cool.”

She left Gladrags an hour later, a smile on her face, a bag in her hand, her new clothes folded neatly and boxed in tissue. She’d seen Sacharissa do her makeup enough for her to know what to do, and she’d agreed to let her borrow some.

Her smile broadened. Garreth better prepare himself. He had no idea what was waiting for him.

_.-~*~-._

She was early to the Three Broomsticks, and she sat at a large table in the corner, nursing a tankard of butterbeer, her heart doing a marvellous impression of a startled Fwooper and flapping against her ribs. She tried to quell it, reassuring herself that if the looks the other patrons had given her when she walked in were any indication, not to mention Sirona’s open-mouthed stare when she approached the bar, she looked as dashing and daring as Dracaena ever had.

Her blouse was coal-grey and spidered with ruby thread around the boddice, her skirt daringly short and ending just above the knee, her stocking matching her blouse. She’d swept her hair back from her face, pinning it in place, showing off her heavily-rouged cheeks and smoky eyes. Perhaps she’d been a little liberal with the khol, but Draccie had thick lashes, even without makeup, and it seemed to make her eyes almost luminous. Her own eyes were mud-brown, but with her heavy application of the khol, surely that’d have the same effect.

Poppy jittered her leg under the table, eyes on the door, until it opened, and Natty strolled in, arm-in-arm with…

Poppy blinked. Amit Thakkar?

They were both smiling, chattering about something as Poppy’s mouth dropped open. Out of everyone in Hogwarts, Amit was the last person she’d expect Natty to go on a date with, and for him to ask her? Goodness.

Her questions stilled as they gazed around the pub, seemingly passing over her, and she waved. Natty blinked, then her features cleared, and she hurried over, leaving Amit at the bar.

“Poppy?” she looked her up and down. “I did not recognise you.”

“I know,” Poppy grinned. “Don’t I look great?”

“You certainly look different,” Natty said, smiling as she took a seat beside her. “Perhaps…” her smile became a little strained. “Your eye makeup is running a little, may I fix it?”

Poppy blinked, and grabbed for the tiny mirror she’d borrowed from Sacharissa. She peered at her reflection.

“It’s fine,” she said, pursing her lips and admiring their scarlet colour. “It’s the same way I did it.”

Natty’s smile was still fixed. “Poppy, you look lovely as you are,” she said. “Perhaps, whoever it is you wish to impress would like to see the real you, and not see you hiding under this paint?”

Poppy pouted. “But this is what he likes,” she said. “He likes dramatic looking girls.”

“Dramatic?” Natty said, faintly. “Poppy, I do not wish to presume to tell you what you should wear, but…”

“Oh, do you like my outfit?” she spread her hands, puffing out her little chest. “I think the embroidery’s really nice, don’t you?”

“It is beautiful,” Natty agreed. “But I thought you would wear something you are comfortable in.”

“I am,” Poppy insisted. “Alright, it’s a little hard to move if I stretch, but that’s fine, right?”

Amit made his way over to the table before Natty could respond, bringing three tankards with him.

“Ah, Poppy, how nice to see you,” he said, with a genuine smile. His eyes lingered on her face a moment before he turned to Natty. “How many are we expecting?”

“A good ten or so others,” Natty replied, her smile softening. “It will be quite the evening.”

Poppy kept quiet as they chatted, preferring to stare at the door, occasionally shifting in her seat to try and find the right pose to show off her figure in her new clothes. They soon stopped trying to draw her into their conversation, and she nibbled her lip, tasting the cloying lipstick. It didn’t feel great, none of the makeup did, but that wasn’t the point. Garreth couldn’t miss her now!

And then there he was, striding into the Three Broomsticks with as much confidence as if he owned the place, Leander at his heels. His smile was wide and perfect, his hair flopping all about his head like a playful Kneazle kitten, his step bouncing. Poppy drew a quick breath, fumbling to sit up straight as she watched him pay for a pair of butterbeers, her heart racing faster with each step he took to their table.

He paused, his brows rising as he took her in. She batted her eyelashes the way she’d seen Draccie do, and gave him a wide, lipsticky smile.

“Hi, Garreth!” she said, a little breathlessly. “Leander,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Poppy…” he blinked a bit, then set the tankards on the table. Next to her. Her breath caught, just for a moment, then Leander slid into the seat next to her, half-blocking her view of the Gryffindor she wanted. “Nice to see you. You look… um. Great.”

Her heart soared, and Poppy thought she might take flight.

“Thanks!” she said, brightly, so focused on him that she didn’t notice Sacharissa, Arthur and Samantha join them. She heard Sacharissa’s light gasp, but tuned her out. “How’s your weekend going?”

“Great, thanks,” Garreth said, sipping his butterbeer. “Was looking forward to this.”

Was? Why past tense? Oh, Merlin, had she done something, said something to make him not enjoy it? Poppy’s mind scrambled, a light panic settling on her shoulders until Natty cleared her throat.

“We are mostly here, let us perhaps play some games,” she said, with a wide smile.

“Oh? Who else are we expecting?” Amit said.

“I expect Dracaena and Ominis will join us shortly,” Natty replied, and Poppy’s heart plummeted as Garreth sat up straight.

No… no, it couldn’t be! Natty hadn’t said they were coming! Why was she coming?

“I… didn’t know Draccie was joining us,” she said, meekly, glancing at Garreth. “I thought she had something else on.”

“No, I asked, she said she would,” Natty said, peering at her. “Do you not remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Poppy said, lamely. “Sure.”

She stared down into her tankard, suddenly bereft. If Draccie was coming, she had no hope of keeping Garreth’s attention now.

And as if on cue, the doors opened, and in she walked, Ominis by her side, his wand out to guide him. Poppy’s heart nearly shattered as Garreth twisted so fast he cricked his neck. Her own shirt was coal grey, like Poppy’s, but the embroidery was emerald, her high-waisted trousers tight and tucked into knee-high boots, a dark cloak about her shoulders.

It was so simple, and so elegant. She wore not a lick of makeup, but somehow, her face was the most stunning in the taproom, the ease of her movement lending an almost ethereal quality to her. Poppy pouted, trying to tell herself that Draccie’s arse was too big, her thighs too thick, her nose turning up too much at the tip, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t lie about her friend. Draccie was stunning, to the point that even her blind best friend could clearly tell.

She swanned over to their table, butterbeer in hand, parking herself next to Natsai as Ominis drew her chair out for her.

“Evening all,” she said, her voice loud and cheerful. She blinked as she took in Poppy’s appearance, and suddenly, she realised how stupid she must look, how obvious her imitation must be, how pathetic her attempt to woo Garreth was.

“Damn, Pop,” she said. “I almost didn’t recognise you! You look amazing!”

Poppy froze. “What?”

“Look at you! So bold!” Draccie gazed at her, earnest admiration on her face. “Can I borrow that idea? I’d love my eyes to stand out like yours! And that blouse! I love the colour!”

“Yeah, she looks great!” Garreth said, in a rush. Poppy turned to him, a feeble hope lighting in her, though she knew as well as she knew Jobberknolls loved grubs that he was only saying it to impress Draccie. It was something, at least, to be noticed.

But all the same, as her friends chatted together, laughing and joking and growing more boisterous as the evening wore on, Poppy withdrew into herself, even slipping away to the bathroom to check her face. She almost wept as she took in her appearance, the black eyes and red slash of her mouth, her rouged cheeks standing out like a clown. She looked awful. She scourgified the makeup away, sniffling as she took her hair down, hoping she could slink away from this disaster of an evening.

But no such luck. Draccie was at the bar, and caught her.

“Help me take these over?” she asked, indicating several tankards. She peered a little closer. “You okay, Pop?”

“Fine,” she muttered. “I was just thinking of heading back.”

Dracaena frowned. “You sure? We’re going to play two truths and a lie, and I’ve got some mean lies to tell.”

“I’m sure.”

She couldn’t bear the thought of Garreth mooning over her for another instant. She gave a brave smile, hugged Draccie tightly around the middle, and hurried out, stepping into the cool air.

Only when she was sure there was no one around on the long walk back to the castle did Poppy step off the road and huddle by a tree, weeping softly. Tonight had been a disaster. She’d made herself look a fool in front of Garreth, and for what? She should have known Natty would have invited Draccie, she was the most popular student in the whole school. She should have known better than to draw attention to herself like that.

Poppy sighed, wiping her face. At least she had her beasts. They wouldn’t be stupid and ignore her. If she went and cuddled up with her Puffskeins, maybe she’d think of another way to get Garreth’s attention.

[lv-iceprince]

@moorraven

hi hi hi!

i wanted to keep this little message short and sweet because this is such a cute ship and i want you to really soak it in. but first things first, sorry for the delay and thank you so much for requesting it was such a pleasure and i just really had a good time doing this. so without further adieu here's your ship!

~ateez~ yeosang

In the time that Kang Yeosang has been Yeosanging he has come to realise two things:

1. He can never truly shake Wooyoung

and

2. He has game?  Despite his disbelief in the latter, he can’t deny the fact that he is charming enough to encourage you to give him a go.

Immediately after meeting Yeosang you saw a flicker of a twin flame, at least that’s what you thought you saw. All that really stood out at the time was the fact that you were both at ease and completely motivated to spend as much time as you could with each other. Yeosang would never admit it but following the months of heart-to-heart conversations he developed a habit of rearranging his whole schedule around you, seriously, why would he work when he had the opportunity to spend time with someone who understood him.

The entire situation was completely mutual, you had experienced the most eventful moments of silence, it was so comfortable being around him. His voice, his mannerisms and his gentle gestures came together to give you something akin to a warm hug. It would normally take time for you to open up to someone or even just feel comfortable around them, but it seemed that all you had to do was blink and you felt like you had known him for years.

Yeosang remembers the day quite fondly, the one where your head fell back, and you shot him the most beautiful smile that shone brighter than the necklace you wore. While he saw art, you were more preoccupied with telling him all about the latest game you were playing. He was hanging onto each word, you made him feel like he had discovered something new, like Ariel holding her first dinglehopper (Disney reference). He didn’t realise just how melodic your voice was until he was resting his chin on the palm of his hand.  Though time had escaped the two of you, time managed to stand still. Yeosang had spent the entire conversation hanging onto each one of your words only interjecting to add onto what you had said or ask if you could elaborate so he could admire the way your hands punctuated the rapid words you spoke. Whether you had realised it at the time or not, Yeosang was convinced that soulmates were now a thing and that he was looking at her.

So, the truth of the matter is, Yeosang sees you as both a friend and someone who keeps him safe. You mightn’t argue the point for him or fight somebody on his behalf, but you do wonders to his soul and deeper emotions. By spending time with him in a type of calm, domestic atmosphere he feels as if he was kissed by an angel. He feels lighter than he has ever felt and he can’t help but blush. Yeosang may not be the type to put up his defences but he still feels like he can just be himself around you. The way you speak to him brings out his more introverted tendencies, some people would find that they wouldn’t  want this in a relationship but in this instance, something occurs where both of you are more energetic and slightly chaotic when you remove yourselves from the hustle and bustle of life in search of a relaxing time.

Yeosang finds the arts beautiful, especially when someone he loves dearly is so creative and artistic. He mightn’t be the most video game heavy guy in existence, but he does love it when you play Stardew Valley or the Sims for one reason and one reason only. He wants to remind himself that as much as the game characters pine after you, only he gets to be the one who swept you off of your feet.

~le sserafim~ chaewon

She wanted to be your girl next door, the one you would trust with your secrets or when you needed a pick me up. Chaewon had an almost instantaneous crush on you, and for good reason too. Though she also possesses a likeable personality she felt that there was something more to you, if she allowed herself to get all sappy, her loving perception of you had come from a place of deep desire. Out of the people who had made it known that they liked her, she had always wanted one person: the shy, creative gamer girlfriend. She wanted to be on your level and match your vibe, even if that meant halving the energy she had, and trust me she was so hyped up by the thought of speaking to you. Each time her phone buzzed with a text from you, she was besides herself, touched that you would even bother to check up on her so often.

Here's the thing though even if she had attempted to tone down parts of her personality there was still an overwhelming urge to show off for you. Even if you never returned the sentiment, that being the whole dating thing, she wanted you to see what she could be and what she was capable of. One of these ways was giving you a solo performance of the choreography for Smart. In essence she was stuck in a perpetual moment of wanting to show off and see if you would actually fall for her or just play the part of a best friend and maybe there could be a chance of the two of you becoming an item. Despite her intense crush on you she was also far too willing to just stay in the friendzone, you see, you brought her a sense of comfort that she had never felt before. So, there was no way she would ever want to come between what had been such an amazing friendship.

Luckily, the moment she slipped up by pairing her lingering gaze with an out of place compliment that had more to do with how good you looked today rather than what you were talking about; you knew that there was something there and that you’d be an absolute fool if you didn’t return those feelings.

As you  can tell her crush on you didn’t appear out of nowhere, returning to the fact that you are what she envisioned a perfect girlfriend to be, she just admires how you had always treated her in such a fair way. You never brought judgement to the table and preferred to put more time into fixing your own path in life, in short, you were content in being yourself. What you perceive as your introvert ways she views as you having a talent for observation, again most of her attraction comes from the fact that you were giving and had invited her into your world of creativity and humbleness. I mean, sure she finds that she is so unbelievably caught up in you but when she stops imagining what could happen on your next date, she is joining you whether it’s in drawing or writing.

It's really hard to not feel like the luckiest person on Earth, especially when Chaewon starts gaming with you. Your weakness is totally picturing her in her room wearing the headset you bought her as she has a conversation with you before handing it to the other players when they underestimate her. She really wants to show you the best version of herself, most of this comes from the fact that she has so much admiration for how strong you are and how amazing you are. Inside and out.

[aastarions]

stay gold [one]

You've travelled to Liyue from your home nation Fontaine in search of a new life – a fresh start – and as stereotypical as it is, you wind up colliding, quite literally, into the one who makes the journey worthwhile.

Pairing: Zhongli x Female!Reader

Series Tags: Eventual Smut (18+), Kinda Slow Burn, Reader has a Backstory/Lore, Heavy Liyue Lore, Lots of Fluff, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Reader uses She/Her Pronouns

Word Count: 2,400+

A/N: I originally anticipated on only posting this series on ao3 but I’ve had a change of heart, so over the next few days I’ll be posting the first three chapters on here! This series is very near and dear to me as I’ve been working on it since February so I hope others can enjoy it as well 💕

Series Masterlist || Series Playlist || AO3

One would think that after taking residence in Liyue Harbor for a little over four weeks, one would somewhat familiarize themselves with the complex staircase system that divides the upper and lower levels of the city.

Yet here you are, perplexed as ever as you attempt to navigate your way to Wanwen Bookhouse based solely on your boss’ awful directions. That’s what you get for asking someone who’s only lived here a month longer than you have, you suppose. 

You’re certain you’ve wandered past Tea Master Liu Su at least three times now, unintentionally getting bits and pieces of his latest tale in the process. The choice in timing does you no favors either – the late afternoon rush of citizens and tourists alike swarm the streets, giving you little opportunity to stray from the crowd and ask for directions from one of the many busy shop owners around.

Eventually you do manage to escape the sea of people and take shelter near an antique shop, defeatedly slipping the poorly drawn map your boss also handed you earlier out of your pocket. Your attempt at following the poorly drawn scribbles is futile, finding it difficult to relate the wobbly lines to your surroundings.

A part of you wants to abandon the trip altogether and head home, possibly make another attempt later in the evening when the crowd’s dwindled. Another part is stubborn, foolishly so, but it’s that part of you that has you heading towards a set of stairs you haven’t tried yet.

Trudging up the vibrant crimson steps, your eyes remain trained on the map between your fingers. In turn, you fail to notice that you’ve accidentally swayed towards the side that people are using to descend. That is until your foot catches on the landing step and you immediately collide with someone else.

This is the universe telling me I should just go home, you think to yourself before glancing up at the poor stranger you’ve inconvenienced. 

It’s in that moment you embarrassingly realize two things. One, not only did you stumble into another person, you stumbled into an extremely handsome one at that. Two, your hands are pressed firmly to his lower chest in what had been a poor attempt to catch yourself.  

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention–”

“My sincere apologies, I was distracted–”

The both of you speak over one another, causing a brief silence afterwards. You take this opportunity to awkwardly drop your arms back at your sides, trying not to run away in a fit of embarrassment, though it’s highly tempting.

In the meantime, he brings his attention to the glass cup you hadn’t even seen in his gloved hand until now, breathing out a sigh of relief when you spot the wooden lid firmly placed atop it to prevent spillage. 

“Well, that’s rather fortunate,” he says before shifting his gaze over to you, “Again, my dearest apologies for running into you, my mind was preoccupied at the moment and I failed to notice your presence.”

It takes a moment for you to process his words, too focused on his eyes and the golden hue illuminating them. They remind you of the brightest Cor Lapis, pieces that you’ve seen imported to your home nation sell for well over a million mora. 

Once you realize what he’s said, you shake your head both in response and in abashment for your quite obvious gawking, “No, no, the fault is mine for not watching where I was going, I’m just a wee bit lost is all.”

“Is this your first time visiting the harbor?”

“Not exactly,” You grumble, “I moved here a few weeks ago but I haven’t really gotten used to all these staircases and where they go, my boss even tried drawing me a map but it sucks .”

The stranger laughs and you can feel your chest tighten at the pleasant sound, “Well perhaps I could guide you if you inform me where you’re meant to be heading?”

Maybe your luck is turning around after all, “Wanwen Bookhouse, I think it’s called.”

“What a strange coincidence, I was just making my way over there too, shall we?” He makes a nod towards the staircase you just walked up, beginning to descend before you even accept his help.

Not only that, but you don’t even know his name , “Wait, what’s your–”

“I’m Zhongli, by the way,” It’s like he’s read your mind, turning to face you once more as you rush to meet him at the bottom of the stairs, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The hand that’s not firmly wrapped around his slowly cooling drink is now outstretched in your direction, accompanied by a gentle smile gracing his lips. You inform him of your own name, allowing your palm to press to his in a rather formal handshake. 

He guides you around the crowd of people, rather than in between, keeping a slow pace to make sure you’re right on his heels. Even so, you notice the elegant coat tail he adorns and snicker to yourself at the thought of holding onto its golden tassels like a leash as you’re led through the city. 

As a matter of fact, his entire outfit screams wealth – from the heavily detailed coat, the assortment of rings adorning his gloved fingers, the leather boots, the gemstone clasp containing his long brown locks – you can only imagine what he does for a living to be able to afford such attire. 

“Is there a particular reason for your visit to the Bookhouse?” Zhongli asks, making conversation and effectively pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” You begin to explain, “There’s this light novel that came out in Fontaine a little over two weeks ago and I was hoping they might have it in stock already here.”

He thinks on your words before responding, “Depending on when the trading vessel arrived and departed from Fontaine will determine if Liyue has gotten ahold of it by now, but Jifang will be able to provide much better intel regarding that once we arrive.”

Jifang must be the owner of the Bookhouse, you assume as the two of you head up a set of stairs you’re certain you hadn’t tried earlier. 

“No worries, what about you?” You ask.

“Hm?”

“Is there a certain book you’re looking for today?”

“Oh,” Zhongli ponders once more – he seems to think often before he speaks, something you lack more than you’d like to admit, “Nothing specific, though I intend to ask about the newest historical works regarding Liyue. I quite enjoy brushing up on the nation’s days of old and how different storytellers discuss the events that have transpired.”

Maybe he’s a Liyuan history professor, you consider just as the both of you come face-to-face with the small outdoor bookshop. Surprisingly, there’s not many other people at this hour, allowing you to walk over to the woman behind the desk with ease.

“Good afternoon,” Zhongli greets her first, “Have you received any light novels from Fontaine?”

“We actually just received a batch of one this morning – wait , when did you start reading those?” One of her eyebrows cocks up questionably.

He releases a low chuckle at the accusation, “It’s not for my consumption, it’s for my newest acquaintance here–”

“Hi, that’s me, is the book you got in called To Have and To Hold ?”

“It is,” She confirms, “You’re just in luck, it’s been flying off the shelves all morning, I believe there’s maybe two or three copies left over there –” she points towards a set of bookcases a few feet away.

“Thank you so much.” You shoot both her and Zhongli a grateful smile before rushing over in search of the fast-selling novel. 

As your eyes scan each and every spine in search of it, you fail to notice that your new company has yet to stray from your side. Not until he asks, “What’s this novel about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh! Well…” You can feel your complexion grow warm as you turn to face him directly, stammering over your next words, “It’s um, a romance novel. It’s the fourth one in the series and it revolves around the uh… the main character’s wedding.”

Zhongli’s expression remains stoic, no hint of the usual distaste you’ve seen on others. In fact his next words prove the complete opposite.

“I see, I’ve never been one to explore fictional stories much, would you recommend the series?”

“Huh?”

“Would you recommend the series to others?” He’s entirely unphased by the perplexed expression you wear as he reiterates, “Or is there another novel you’d suggest for someone who’s never dabbled in the genre?”

His inquisition has you almost speechless, almost , “You don’t think they’re…dumb?”

“Not at all, I find it fascinating the fictional stories one can come up with from their mind alone, but have never taken the liberty to experience it for myself, consider me uncultured if you will.”

You’re unsure just how long you spend standing between those bookshelves with Zhongli, animatedly explaining your favorite series and which you recommend to the novice himself. He’s listening intently the entire time, nodding and occasionally providing his own input. 

The conversation eventually evolves into his own reading habits, recommending you quite a number of books on Liyue’s centuries-old history. You’re not one who often reads historical text, but the way he describes some positive events with mirth dancing in his eyes – you find yourself making a mental note to grab one or two in the near future. 

It’s not until another customer clears their throat in an attempt to get by that the two of you realize just how much time has truly passed.

“It’s getting rather late in the afternoon…” Zhongli comments as he glances up at the sky in search of the sun’s placement.

Dread begins to envelope your frame, realizing that you’re about to part ways despite the nagging inside you asking for more , “Thank you for helping me find my way here, by the way, I’m definitely going to check out some of the books you recommended once I get my next paycheck.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear, I will do the same,” He grins softly, “It was a pleasure to speak with you today, may our paths intertwine in the future.”

And with that, he begins to take his leave, slowly striding towards the bridge that connects the two sides of the harbor’s inner streets.

Just as he reaches the top of the arch, a single word falls from your lips before you even have a chance to think about its repercussions.

“Wait!” 

Zhongli turns quickly, but gracefully, his expression remaining neutral as he waits for you to speak, “Oh?”

“I uh, well–” You speed-walk over to where he’s standing, not wanting to create more of a scene than you already have, “You seem to be really familiar with Liyue, maybe you would be willing to give me a tour sometime, if you’re not too busy?”

His initial silence has you internally panicking, what a stupid question, you’ve bothered the man enough today. You’re just about to retract your statement when–

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind,” He agrees easily, reaching up to tap at his chin, “I have quite a handful of work tomorrow, but the day after I could, where would you like to convene?”

“Well, maybe the tea house I work at? It’s the new one by the docks, I get out of work at four that afternoon.”

“I will see you the day after tomorrow, then,” This time he makes it across the bridge without interruption, though you’re too busy trying to process what just occurred to watch his silhouette fade into the dissipating crowd. 

Eventually, a goofy smile spreads across your lips. Finally .

You were fully prepared for the loneliness moving to a different nation would bring, but it didn’t make the weeks of evening solitude any easier. There were many nights you spent seated on your balcony, watching the people below gather and wander the harbor with joyous smiles lifting their complexions. Fortunately, your full-time job at Kai’s Teashop grants you some socialization and time away from your quiet, empty home.  

For the first time you’re walking home with an extra perk in your step, your chest raised just a little higher at the prospect of a potential new friend. It’s almost like a smack in the face to those back in your home nation who had less than kind words for you when they discovered your plans to move.

“How could you possibly give up the life you have here? Don’t you consider that selfish?”

“I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

“When you come crawling back to Fontaine, I’ll be sure to make a beautiful bride out of you–”

You’ll prove them wrong – whether they witness your success or not, you’re more than determined to live a fulfilling life away from the one you once knew.

The sun’s half-way set by the time you make your way to your apartment, a studio located above Chen the Sharp’s food vending stall. It’s a small space, something you’re still adjusting to, but you’re proud of the way you’ve shaped it into your own personal sanctuary of sorts. 

You trudge up the creaky wooden steps towards your front door, squatting down halfway to greet the stray that’s seemingly made its home there. On multiple occasions you’ve offered the small gray cat entry to your apartment, but it has yet to accept your invitation.

Reaching the top step, you take a quick glance at your mailbox expecting nothing – as per usual – but instead your eyes land on a single, yellow envelope. It’s not hard to figure out where it’s from when you pick it up and spot the royal blue wax seal keeping its contents sealed. 

“Great,” You huff, realizing that the novel you picked up from Wanwen Bookhouse isn’t the only thing that arrived on that ship from Fontaine today. 

The letter is unceremoniously tossed onto your kitchen counter when you finally enter your home, refusing to even entertain those who sent it. It’s unsurprising that they discovered your new residence – you were quite honest when you announced that you’d be moving to Liyue, though of course you didn’t know where you’d be residing until you arrived.

It’s easy for you to forget about the envelope while preparing and eating dinner, taking your usual spot on the balcony, diving headfirst into your brand new novel. Not only that, but the plans you’ve made with your newest potential friend, Zhongli, has you looking forward to the days ahead for the first time in quite a while. 

[mypoisonedvine]

claimed || alpha!Andy Barber x reader

summary: an interrogation with an alpha is no place to have an unexpected heat.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (dub con; the reader goes into heat and can’t think clearly enough to say no), a/b/o dynamics, loss of virginity, mentions of misogyny/discrimination against omegas, vague noncon and violence references, kinda housewife kink, possessiveness, breeding kink, praise, overstimulation, knotting, slight bondage (reader is handcuffed), slight pain kink, implied/subtle age gap, pregnancy mention at the end, kinda soft!dark andy but he's really not that dark

"This would be a lot easier for both of us if you started telling the truth."

You chewed your lip, looking away from the man across from you; it was impossible to keep eye contact when his gaze bore into you like that, when he gave you that stern, dominating look.

Andy Barber was so obviously an alpha, he was one of those types that just reeked of it. Figuratively— with the way he towered over you, his masculine body and strong features— but also literally considering his scent was filling the room now: pine, cinnamon, sage, and something a little bit sweet that made your mouth water.

It made sense for an alpha like him to have a high-powered, high-pressure career like this; he probably got a real kick out of squeezing information out of scared betas who couldn’t stand up to him.

And that was the role you were going to play now, because he was wrong: it would not be easier if you told the truth. If he knew what you really were, you’d be doomed.

You’d been hiding successfully as a beta for a long time by now, and you weren’t about to give it up now, even if it would likely have the charges against you dismissed. Omegas lived sheltered, oppressed lives; sought constantly by alphas, they had their pick of the finest since omegas were so rare, but until mated they were extremely vulnerable— and afterwards they were usually made to be subservient housewives, constantly bearing children as a consequence of their extreme fertility.

Maybe some omegas were okay with that, plenty probably loved that lifestyle since it was sort of the instinctual habit of an omega by nature, but not you. Never you. You wanted a life, a real life, your own life as more than an alpha’s mate. Thankfully you’d found the right mix of suppressants and perfumes to hide your scent, the right work schedule so you could always be home for your rare heats, and voila: to the rest of the world, you were a beta.

Being a beta meant being unnoticed, unacknowledged, never pursued and never courted. And that was exactly how you wanted it.

If Andy Barber knew that the man you’d stabbed was an alpha trying to force himself on you, there was a chance he would understand that it was self-defense and let you go. Then again, a lot of alphas seemed to think that being forced to mate was just par for the course for an omega; surely Andy wouldn’t be one of those types, as a man of the law, right?

“I can’t,” you finally answered.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he assured, some of his anger shifting to a soothing tone. It really did calm you down; he must have been using his ‘alpha voice’ on you, and the fact that it worked should’ve been a red flag but you didn’t notice. “Let’s start from the beginning. You said you were at home but no one has confirmed your alibi. You said you didn’t know the victim but you obviously reacted when I showed you his picture. And, you said you weren’t there at the time of the murder but we found your DNA on the body.”

A little smile pulled at the corner of your lips, exactly not the reaction Andy had been expecting. “You’re lying,” you whispered.

He tensed up as you called his bluff. The DNA found at the scene was in the process of being analysed, sure, but it would be weeks until the results came back. “How can you be so sure?” he pressed.

“Because I.  Wasn’t. There,” you hissed, glaring back at him; he shook his head solemnly..

“No, that’s not it. I can tell when you’re lying, too, you know,” he warned.  “Tell me how you know I don’t have your DNA at the scene?”

“Because… because…” you breathed, blinking a few times as the room started to get warmer. Your head was spinning, your thighs clenched together— and when Andy reached out to rest his hand on yours and ask if you were alright, his touch sent it all into overdrive.

No, no, it wasn't your time yet. It shouldn't have come for a few more days, and you’d arranged to be bailed out tomorrow so you’d go into your cycle safely at home and not in jail. But now it was beginning and you had no way to stop it. Had the smell of an alpha really been enough to start your heat early?

Andy watched you start to pant and sweat with a furrowed brow, unsure what he was witnessing because he’d never had the opportunity to see it before. His ex-wife had been a beta, he'd never even met an omega before— they were quite rare after all.

But what he lacked in experience, he made up for in instinct; his body told him everything he needed to know about what he was seeing. “Omega,” he growled lowly, watching your whole body erupt into shivers at the timbre of his voice.

As far as alphas go, Andy was relatively level-headed, not as preoccupied with instinctual desires to dominate, to claim, to impregnate. A lot of alphas viewed mating with a beta as settling, although it was the much more likely outcome, statistically speaking. Andy, though, never really saw it that way, even knowing how much harder it would be to have a child with a beta. Their fertility was significantly weaker, both the males and the females, and Jacob was the product of years of trying; in all their marriage him and Laurie had never used any contraceptives and she only got pregnant the once.

But an omega? Especially a young one like you? He could knock you up right now, if he wanted. That power was intoxicating. It was exactly what he never knew he needed so badly.

“I don’t need the results of your DNA to know what you are,” he explained firmly. “I can’t believe I didn’t know before— you must have tried really hard to keep it a secret, little one. You must be so afraid of who you are… and who I am, for that matter.  It must scare you to imagine what I could do to you.”

You whimpered, the noise tugging his heart in conflicting directions; to comfort you, or to make you do it again.

“I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you think,” he assured. “Not if I can help it…”

Honestly, he wasn’t so sure he would be able to help it; he felt his own sanity slipping as he watched you writhe and cry, instinct overtaking logic in the both of you.

"Alpha, please," you shuddered, the title making his cock harden instantly, uncomfortably filling the trousers of his suit.

"You smell so good," he purred, taking his jacket off as he stood up to cool off a bit. "I can smell your heat, Omega. I bet everyone in the building can—” he glanced to the locked door— “but I'm the only one here."

"Need you," you whined, tugging on the handcuffs that kept you bound to the table.

"Stand up, bend over," he commanded, and he'd barely finished speaking when you'd already done it, bent at the hips with your forearms resting on the table as you waited for him. "Good girl."

He rolled up his sleeves and took his place behind you, caging his body in with yours, nuzzling into your neck to get a deep breath of your scent.

"Fuck, so sweet," he groaned. "Waited so long for this. To feel an Omega on my cock. Never thought it would really happen. Has an Alpha ever taken you before?"

"No, I never… no."

"Not just unclaimed but a virgin. Christ, am I dreaming?"

But he was too far gone to take any more time to appreciate his luck— he needed you now, and he was taking you all for himself.

If he wasn't so overcome with need he wouldn't have thought to tear your clothes off, but now he didn't even think to question the idea, shedding you of your clothes like they were made of paper until you were completely exposed to him, your wet core vulnerable while another wave of your sweet scent filled the room.

"Look at all this," he grinned, kneeling down to lap at your folds and taste your slick. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your channel craving to be filled. "All for me, Omega?"

"Yours, it's all yours…"

"Doesn't it feel good to be claimed, little one? To be owned?"

"S-so good," you agreed. "Want your knot, Alpha. Want your mark."

A growl echoed in his chest when you said that, and he craved nothing more than to bite your neck and bond you to him for life.

But, it would be better if he saved that for a little later.

He stood up again and gave your ass a quick slap— nothing too rough, just enough to make you yelp all cute and whiny— before grabbing your hips to pull them back into his. You gasped and pushed back onto him, shamelessly rubbing yourself against the thick outline of his cock.

"Gonna make a mess on me with all that slick, Omega," he growled, but it was by no means discouragement.

"Want it in me, please," you sobbed. Unable to resist your begging anymore, he hastily opened his belt and fly, sighing with relief when he wrapped his hand around his cock and pulled it out. Your whole body visibly quaked when he swiped the swollen head through your folds, coating himself in your plentiful arousal.

Without any further warning, he pushed his cock in with a loud moan, a cry tearing from your throat as he tore into your body. "Shh," he soothed as his fingers rubbed your spine, "that's my girl, that's my pretty Omega."

But pain wasn't really your issue; it hurt, yes, but what made you cry was that you were already on the edge, about to come from hardly anything. When he thrusted once, you lost it and your legs quivered as a new wave of slick started to dribble down them.

"Are you coming?" he asked darkly.

You could only nod, biting your lip to try to keep from moaning too loudly.

"Oh my god…" he groaned, amazed at how sensitive you were. Clearly he wasn't the only one realizing how powerful and incredible it could be when an alpha and omega mated.

He started to really pound into you then, each brutal thrust knocking you forward.

"Feels good when you come for me, Omega. Do it again."

You couldn't help yourself; his voice had complete control over your body, his words a command you were helpless to resist. With a broken whimper you came again, walls squeezing his cock in a weak and stuttered rhythm.

"It's better than they say it is. Even better than I imagined. So fucking good," he sighed. It felt so right, that was the thing. It felt like your body was made to be claimed and owned by him.

"Want your knot," you whined, "please, Alpha—"

"If I give you my knot, you're mine. My Omega. You will never allow another Alpha to touch you. You will not speak to another Alpha, look at another Alpha, even Betas are off-limits. When I bite you, you'll be bonded to me and become my wife, you'll never disobey me or leave me. When I knot you, you'll give me a child. Is all of that perfectly clear?"

It was everything you'd wanted to avoid just an hour ago. Now it was your greatest dream come true. "Yes, Alpha. Yours, Alpha."

"Want to be bred, Omega? Bred by your Alpha?"

"Please!" you sobbed.

"Then keep coming and I'll let you have it soon," he promised. "I'll give you all my come like you need so badly."

You whimpered as your walls seemed to try to suck him in deeper, gripping him so tight that it made his head spin. Orgasm after orgasm washed over you, too many and too numb to count, each part of you slowly stripped away and replaced with pure, all-consuming pleasure.

The base of his cock began to swell and you mewled proudly— that is, until, it just kept growing and you couldn't imagine taking anymore.

"P-pull it out," you begged instead.

"I told you that you would take my knot, was I not clear?"

But you hadn't realized how big it would get, how far it would stretch you— and it was still going. "It hurts, Alpha, please!"

"You'll get used to it, gonna keep it in you all night and give it to you every day so you'll have plenty of practice. Take my fucking knot while I come inside you and breed your cunt."

When his knot finally grew to its full potential, streams of hot come began to fill you, deeper than you had ever imagined possible. It was overwhelming, apparently unending, and one final orgasm rocked your body as you milked his cock for all it was worth.

He wrapped his arms around your body, holding you close and soothing you as you shivered and cried, his kisses trailing up your shoulder to your neck where, finally, he sunk his teeth into your skin and left his mark on you.

Your walls quivered around him at the feeling of being claimed, mated for life. In that moment you didn't notice or care that it was to a man you barely knew; he was your Alpha now, that was all that mattered.

He kissed and licked over the sensitive bitemark, whispering praises your ringing ears couldn't quite process yet.

At least you were getting bailed out a day early.

//

Andy kept his promise about exactly how owned you would be. For the first few months you didn't even leave the house, he was too busy filling you with his cock every day. Although he was happy to claim you anywhere he happened to find you— the shower where he hopped in randomly, the kitchen where he bent you over the counter, the living room where he pinned you onto the couch— his favorite place was the bed. It was rougher and more animalistic in the other places, but in bed he was possessive in an entirely different way.

"My wife, my sweet little wife," he whispered in your ear as he slowly thrust all the way into you, making your back arch until your chest pushed against his. "My Omega. All mine."

"Yours," you agreed.

The protectiveness increased tenfold when your scent changed during pregnancy, even more when you started showing; he was obsessed with the way you looked full of his baby.

As for you, omega life was better than you'd expected. At times you felt smothered by him, but simultaneously you felt worshipped and loved like you never thought you could deserve. He certainly spoiled you, though he expected your unwavering loyalty in return.

That part was easy, though. Love, not fear, kept you in check when other alphas had a wandering eye. They knew you were mated, the bitemark scar (which Andy never, ever let you cover) and ring (which Andy never, ever let you take off) were sign enough along with the change in your scent to them. Occasionally one would shoot his shot and get unilaterally rejected by you before getting his ass kicked by your husband. If only they knew what you'd done to the last alpha that tried to creep on you; how you met Andy in the first place.

In the end, maybe it wasn't so bad to fall into your instincts, your natural role in society. Andy sure made it pretty enjoyable with the way he brought you to the height of pleasure over and over every night. "Mine," he promised you in deep whispers, "from the moment I saw you."

[christowhore]

Making You Mine

pairing: chris evans x professor!fem!reader, chris evans x oc!female (brief)

summary: you and chris have your first date.

word count: 3.0k

warnings: !!! 18+ minors dni !!! slight smut, fluff, age gap (reader is 28, chris is 39) suggestive conversation, two dorks in love, alcohol consumption, heavy making out, dry humping, orgasms, rpf

notes: ngl to y’all i didn’t even mean to make it include some smut, but i ended up getting carried away. this is the second part of the ‘Pining for Professor’ series. i hope you all enjoy it and make sure to let me know what you think! *i do not give consent for this fic to be reposted or translated*

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MAIN MASTERLIST • SERIES MASTERLIST

The next few days that passed after your encounter seemed to fly by. You were busy working on your dissertation while Chris was attending ASP interviews.The two of you would text from time to time, just keeping the other updated about your life.

Chris had planned the evening out. Before considering what meal he wanted to make you, he made sure to ask you about any dietary concerns or allergies that you might have, and he was thankful that he did. You informed him that the only food allergy you had was apples. Part of him thought you were joking because he never heard of that being a restriction one could face, but after sending him a photo of one of your allergic reactions, he trashed every single apple he had stored in his fridge. A dramatic reaction, yes, but he wanted to make sure you were both completely safe and comfortable.

He decided on making a simple pasta dinner, something easy that he believed he couldn’t possibly mess up. It wasn’t until he was googling wine pairings when he remembered the woman he was supposed to have this same evening with just a few days ago; Lindsey.

Chris had been so preoccupied with you that he completely forgot about the woman. Looking at his phone and opening their messages, he saw that he had been accidentally ghosting her for the past three days. Not knowing how to deliver the news, he decided it would be best to break things off over the phone than through a text.

Clicking on her contact, he dialed her number and listened to the dial tone ring in his ear. He was pondering on what to say when he heard her voice through the phone. “Hey stranger, I was wondering when you were gonna call me back.”

“Hey Lindsey, sorry I got a little busy with life. Can we talk?”

For about the next five minutes, Chris tried his best to not give the cliche ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse, but in the end he had to explain to the woman how he met somebody else, you, and that he didn’t want to string her along any longer. The call ended with some harsh words from her which he expected. Even though he hated that he hurt her feelings, in the end all he kept thinking about was you.

A couple miles away from his home, you were at your house going through your entire wardrobe trying to find the perfect outfit to wear. Did you want to go the fancy route and wear a nice dress or something casual like jeans and a blouse? Even though Chris told you the plans he had scheduled for your rendezvous, you were still feeling nervous about the whole affair.

Thankfully with the help of your friends, they were able to ease your worries and help you out with your ensemble.

The night before the planned evening, the two of you lay awake, plagued with nerves. Worried about messing up and ruining the chance to be with the other.

With how his morning started the day of his previously planned affair, Chris made sure that nothing could stand in the way of tonight. He had his suit pressed, the ingredients needed for the meal prepped, and a bouquet of red roses bought fresh from the florist resting in a vase of water. Scott went with Dodger over to his sister Shanna’a house, leaving the home to himself.

The day proceeded quickly and soon enough it was time for the date. You agreed to drive over and meet him at his home, arriving there around eight in the evening.

Walking up to the home and knocking on the door, you kept cracking your knuckles, a nervous tick of yours whenever you got anxious. Once the entryway was opened and Chris stepped into your sight, all of those pesky jitters suddenly left your body.

Chris was clad in a tailored black suit that clung to his frame. The white button up he donned was crisp and clean, you could make out a few of his tattoos peeking through the material. Accessorizing his attire, he wore a black and silver watch, the silver in the band matching the Saint Christopher medallion clasped around his neck showing through the opening of his top. His hair was perfectly gelled, making him look fresh out of a photo shoot.

He looked absolutely delectable and part of you didn’t even care about the meal, you just wanted to know how the material of his clothes felt against your skin.

When Chris opened up his door he knew you’d be there, beautiful as ever but he didn’t expect the sight that he was met with.

Your regularly curly hair was straightened, cascading off your shoulders and perfectly framing your face. The makeup you applied made your features light up. He took notice of the lipgloss you put on and all he wanted to do was grab you and taste the substance that was lucky enough to touch your lips.

Looking your body up and down, he noticed your black silk dress, a tie in the middle cinching the material together. The material stopped at your mid thighs revealing your velvety smooth legs and high heeled shoes. Thoughts of him trailing his hands up the sides of your calves while he pinned you below him flashed in his mind. Quickly he shook the image out of his mind to put back all of his attention on you.

“You look absolutely breathtaking,” he whispered in awe.

“You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As you entered his home, he placed a hand on the small of your back tugging your frame into him so he could place a kiss on your cheek. The same butterflies you experienced when he pecked you that night in the parking lot reappeared by the dozens.

The smell of sautéing onions and garlic filled your senses, instantly making your stomach lurch around. “Whatever it is you're making smells amazing,” you commented to the brunette.

He bashfully smiled, “Thank you, I’m almost finished, though I should let you know I’m not the greatest cook.”

You laughed at his comment, unconsciously placing your palm against his upper arm. “It’s alright Chris, at least you have your looks right?”

It was his turn to laugh, your playful matter had him buzzing.

The two of you made your way through the kitchen, him to the front of the stove while you sat in the high chair behind the counter top. Before he returned to cooking the vegetables, he grabbed the bouquet of red roses he had ordered and handed them to you, a smile instantly appearing on your face.

You thanked him for his generosity and the two of you continued on in lively conversation while he focused back on finishing dinner.

Laughter filled the room while you two chatted in his living room. You two had finished dinner, Chris making a wonderful shrimp scampi that even he was surprised tasted good.

Even though you spent three hours talking that evening in your office, you two didn’t have any difficulty finding new topics to explore.

You spoke about your family and how life was growing up without siblings. How it felt being at an advanced academic level at such a young age, which allowed you the opportunity of being employed at the university at 21. Surprisingly, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around the man, something that you had never done before. It was something about his demeanor. His presence was inviting and captivating, and all you wanted to do was continue to be around the actor.

Chris was at a loss of words with how to describe how you made him feel. You had such a hypnotizing way to yourself. He would listen to your laugh and drink it in as if it were the last time his ears would be blessed with the sound. Your smile was so genuine, stretching from ear to ear and all he wanted to do was keep that look on your face till the end of his days. He didn’t know he was staring at you until you waved in front of his face, regaining his attention.

“Earth to Evans. Are you okay there?” Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed while you stared intently into his eyes, waiting for his response. He didn’t even think about the next words that came out of his mouth when he spoke.

“I know that we just met last week, and this is only our first date, but would you do me the honor of being able to call you my girlfriend?”

The statement that was rushed out of his mouth had you choke on your glass of wine. Regaining your composure, you set the drink down and looked up at Chris.

There wasn’t any humor in his eyes, just determination as well as a bit of trepidation.

You were about to speak when he started up again. “Usually when meeting someone, I go on about two to three dates with them. Get to know them and go through the ‘what if’s’ possibilities. But with you I realized I can’t wait that long. The only thing I care about is being able to see that smile on your face, and have the melodic sound of your laugh ingrained in my life. And I don’t want to waste another second trying to determine ‘what if’ we’re not a match when I already know that you’re the one for me.”

This time you were the one at a loss of words. Emotions wrangle throughout your body. You were nervous, but the nerves that stood on end were due to the fact of being scared of how quickly you were falling for him.

Without saying anything but donning a beaming grin, you nodded.

Chris immediately leant forward and molded his lips with yours. The kiss was soft and delicate. His right hand slightly cupped your cheek, and in that moment you felt safe, you felt at ease. There was no other place the two of you wanted to be than right there in each other’s embrace.

When you pulled away it felt like time was at a standstill, nothing else mattered but the two of you being together. Even though he wasn’t a photographic person, Chris felt this overwhelming need to document this moment.

He quickly pulled out his phone and asked you if it were okay to take a photo of the two of you, a personal keepsake so to speak. You nuzzled into his side, shoulders touching, breaths fanning across each other’s face. Chris extended his hand with the camera app open and aimed towards the two of you. Though you were looking at the screen, a beaming grin stretched across your features, he was only looking at you. Admiring you as if you were his entire world, which you were slowly but surely becoming. Snapping the photo, he locked his phone and tucked it away back into his slacks.

With the close proximity you two shared, he took advantage of the opportunity to kiss you again. He was desperate to feel you, touch you, taste you. The flavor of your strawberry lip gloss inviting him in.

You melted into him, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket pulling him closer into you. He leaned into your touch, causing the two of you to lay back against his couch.

His hips were slotted in between your legs, crotch rubbing against your warm core. The friction drawing out a low moan from your chest.

He continued to feverishly attack your mouth. This kiss was different from the first. This was pure hunger. You two were desperate to feel the other. His tongue slotted into your mouth, tasting the leftover remnants of the Pinot Grigio you consumed. Notes of grapes and honeysuckles on your tongue made him push deeper. The intoxicating taste and the effects of the alcohol had him unconsciously grinding into you, rubbing his cock against your covered mound.

You ran your hands across the expanse of his body. Rubbing his arms, slightly gripping his ass, tangling your hands into the brown tuffs of his hair, you couldn’t get enough. He felt amazing against you. The rubbing of his hips were drawing out moans that you didn’t even try to suppress due to the unwavering desire you felt towards him. You felt him lift your leg up, giving himself more room to rut against you. The movement caused your dress to hike up, showing the lace of your black thong to your now boyfriend.

The two of you continued with your actions. Tongue slapping against each other as you sloppily tasted the other. The movements of his hips against your cunt accelerated to a rigorous pace when he felt a wet patch growing on your panties.

You felt like honey teenagers, dry humping each other like a pair of desperate virgins, but in that moment it was perfect.

Drawing away from each other, Chris nestled his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath sending shockwaves of arousal straight to your core.

You were both close to reaching your respective peak, your moans were getting wilder and his hips were becoming unruly.

It only took a few more bumps of his crotch against your covered clit for you to gush in your panties. An erotic moan left your lips and filled the room while your back arched, pushing your breasts against his chest.

Hearing the near pornographic sound that left your body, while feeling your peer nipples press against his front allowed him to reach his release as well. Biting down against the column of your neck, he came in his pants, filling his boxer briefs with his seed.

Chris collapsed on top of your panting body, the two of you trying to regain a steady breath. He lay there in your arms, your nails dragging along the nape of his neck.

When he finally regained composure, Chris raised up on his palms and looked down at you. And as if your minds were synced up, you both erupted in a fit of giggles.

After coming down for your laugh attacks, you excused yourself to the bathroom to freshen up.

You stood in front of the mirror, examining your reflection. There was still some adrenaline flowing through your bloodstream causing your hands to slightly shake. Your lips were red and swollen due to the attack on them moments prior. But what you couldn’t ignore was the dopey smile that seemed to take permanent residence on your face. You felt like a giddy schoolgirl, though you weren’t complaining.

Your recently ended relationship with your ex Justin was not great. The reason for the break up was due to the fact that he didn’t make you feel special. Looking back at it now you don’t even know why you agreed to start dating him in the first place. But you were thankful it concluded, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, with a man who looked at you like you hung the moon and placed every star in the sky yourself.

Back in the living room, Chris paced around the living room for your return. Happiness surged through him, making him pump his fist in the air like he was John Bender in The Breakfast Club.

He's been with plenty of women throughout his life, even getting engaged to one, but it was in this moment he realized he had never been so infatuated with someone until you entered his life. You made all of the hairs on his body stand up just by looking at him. It elated him but also scared him. It scared him due to how fast he was falling for you. But he didn’t care. Though this feeling was foreign, he had no problem welcoming it with open arms.

After a few moments consisting of composing yourself, you made your way out of the bathroom and back to Chris. You two stood there, just smiling at each other like idiots. It was him who finally piped up.

“So that was some first date.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his comment.

“Tell me about it,” you replied.

The two of you conversed some more before it got late and you decided to call it a night. Making sure you had all of your belongings, including your roses, he escorted you to your car.

Resting against the door, you couldn’t resist temptation so you pulled him into you, attaching your lips to his once more. This kiss wasn’t the apprehensive one you first shared, or the hungry and desperate one that came after. This kiss was full of passion. It was the type that made you breathe out a sigh of relief into the other's mouth, glad that your bodies were in union in such an intimate manner. Neither of you wanting it to end.

When you finally pulled apart, Chris rested his forehead against your own, trying to savor the moment a while longer.

“I’ll call you when I get home, alright?”

Repeating the actions yet again of your first meeting, he went to open your door, waiting for you to slide in before shutting in. After turning on the engine, you rolled the window down allowing Chris to rest against the frame on his forearms.

“See you later, girlfriend.”

“Right back at you, boyfriend.”

Giving you a fleeting kiss goodbye, he stood up and watched as you pulled out of his driveway and back to your home.

Chris stood there in his driveway for a while. He thought about how the date went twenty times better than any other one he’d ever been on. How you made him feel like the greatest man in the world. The way your lips met his and how it was like they were made to be caressed by his. The smile that crept on your face when he called you his girlfriend. And he thought about how now nothing else in this world mattered except for keeping you in his life and making sure that wonderful smile never left your features.

A/N: so the song True by Spandau Ballet is the song i envisioned when Chris opened the door. it’s that one slow 80s song they play in movies where it’s goes like ‘ah ah ah ahhh ahh’ it's all romantic and what not, y’all know the song i’m talking about, that one. cheesy i know, but i works.

anyway baby, i know there’s not a lot of dialogue, i’ve come to the realization that it’s one of my weakness but i’ll be working on it.

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* dividers credit: @firefly-graphics *

[karlswrites]

Big Vs. Little Spoon

Demon Bois + Non-Dateables Edition

This game is my newest hyper-fixation, so please bear with me. I know there are a lot of head-canons about the boys cuddling, but here’s my rendition. Boy howdy, this one’s a little long...

Warnings: Pure Fluff 

❤️ Lucifer: Because he’s the Avatar of Pride, Lucifer loves feeling bigger than you.  His pride inhibits him from being the little spoon, so he often opts for being the big spoon. Luci can’t help but admire the way his arms completely envelop you when he’s the big spoon. However, if he decides that you’ve been “a good little Main Character,” then he might acquiesce to your request, allowing you to lounge over him. Additionally, Luci prefers that the two of you cuddle in his bed, as it is rather large and extremely comfortable. Seeing you sprawled out over or curled in his comforter fills him to the brim with pride. Being able to hold you close to his chest gives him more pride than literally anything else. Being the elegant fella that he is, he will always lower himself beside you gently, careful not to disturb you. He won’t jump on the bed like some people. 

(I’m so sorry you had to read that one line of dialogue, if you can even call it that.)

💛 Mammon: A true switch on top of and underneath the sheets, Mammon is more likely to be the little spoon than his elder brother. He will never admit to you how much he enjoys feeling your arms slumped over him, but he does love it. He’ll never object to being the big spoon, though, as having his arms and legs draped over you is a HUGE ego booster. Mammon often feels little in the company of his brothers, so knowing that you feel safe and comfortable in his hold makes the guy’s heart melt. I must warn you, though, that Mammon doesn’t hesitate to leap unto your bed, effectively smothering you with his love and adoration. In the private on your room or his, because he loves showing his stuff off, he’ll entangle himself in you. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to him how you’re lying, as long as he gets to stay with you. If you satisfy his greed, and you always do, he will never leave.

(My friend thought of an adorable Mammon x MC Piggy-back ride idea, but that’s for another day, hehe)

💙 Leviathan: This poor boy isn’t used to physical touch, much less having someone in his room almost every night. His only experience comes from a Ruri-chan body pillow, and that thing does not compare to your warmth. At first, you have to be the big spoon. Although he’s embarrassed, Levi adores the feeling of your arms and legs hooked around him. He always takes the opportunity to take his hands and intertwine them with yours over his chest and waist. Now, if Levi gets jealous, then that’s a whole other story. If he notices a few too many people crowded around you or hugging you throughout the day, he’ll find his confidence and trap you into him. He’ll pull you into the bathtub with him, lay you down on his pillows, and act clingy so that nobody mistakes you for theirs. Good luck leaving the tub, ya hooligan. 

💚 Satan: Out of the two options, Satan is probably the big spoon most of the time. He likes holding you close, being able to enjoy some peace and quiet with you. He’s not so much of a ‘little/big spoon’ as he is a ‘two forks lying snuggly together in a drawer’ kind of guy. You lie next to him, your arms looped around his neck or his chest. Satan holds a book over the two of you, reading aloud softly. His free hand is snaked under your waist, his thumb gently stroking up and down your spine with each sentence he reads. On the other hand, if it’s late at night or super early in the morning, he’ll indulge in that prime spooning opportunity. He’d probably place his chin in the crook of your shoulder. He’ll probably have his hands anchored in your waist. He’ll probably - most definitely- slowly turn you around in his arms, letting his hands wander back towards your spine. Satan loves having you pressed against his heartbeat and vice versa. Your heart is the perfect sound for him to fall asleep to. 

💗 Asmodeus: This guy is a little spoon. With how much he loves himself and you, of course, he will curl himself into you. Asmo doesn’t like as much for his back to face you, so he always ends up turning around in your arms. He wants you to have constant access to his face. Whether you’re looking at him or kissing him, it doesn’t matter; Asmo wants your attention on his beautiful face. Being constantly suggestive, especially when it comes to you, he slowly weaves his legs between yours. He doesn’t hesitate when playing footsies, too. In terms of his preferences, he loves hosting you in his room. If you ever want to cuddle in your room, though, then he’ll eagerly agree. Asmo looks forward to leaving the scent of whatever fragrance he’s wearing all over your bedsheets. He wants you thinking about him 24/7 after all. 

(If anyone disagrees with this one, in particular, square up in a Denny’s parking lot.)

🧡 Beelzebub: As long as you’re eating food during cuddling, Beel could care less how you’re placed over him. He’s a big boy, so he’s often the big spoon. One of his arms will snake its way underneath you, holding you tightly around the waist. His other hand is preoccupied with a bag of chips or another tasty snack. Unlike Asmo, Beel is not nearly as handsy. He keeps you in his strong hold the entire time. When he’s done eating, he moves his hand up to your head. His digits will stroke and play with your hair. It’s so soft, and Beel can’t get enough of how relaxed it makes the both of you feel. Another position he likes, which isn’t necessarily spooning, but him lying on his back with you on top. Beel loves, loves, loves your head on his chest. The way his chin rests upon your head is so nice to him. He drapes his arms down your back, hooking his legs over yours. He keeps you in place, and you feel so safe. He is a legitimate teddy bear. 

💜 Belphegor: The Avatar of Sloth is the best cuddler, hands down. He has so many pillows and, upon request, can provide pillow forts, beds, nooks , or whatever you need. You always fall asleep within minutes. Cuddling was a bit difficult at first, as you didn’t always trust him. Actually, it was Belphie’s attempt to gain your trust that led you to be cuddle-buddies (besides your mutual pining, of course). Like some of his brothers, he doesn’t prefer one position over the other. He can be a big or little spoon. You say the word, and he’ll fall into the position with ease. He covers you with blankets, making you appear as a burrito/cocoon. He is definitely warm each and every time you snuggle in close. Belphie clings to you as a sloth clings to its branch, never letting go, even when you wake up. 

❤️ Diavolo: Another big boy, Diavolo is the - drum roll, please- big spoon. He has the broadest shoulders, biggest hands, and widest chest that’s perfect to fall into. Whenever you cuddle, he silently hopes you choose his castle. He’s always so excited to bring you over, and this guy has a massive bed. It’s literally made for a king. Since he’s a ray of sunshine, Diavolo will playfully tug you onto the mattress with him. He holds your face, caressing your cheeks. He grabs your waist, pulling you in even closer. He doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to. Sometimes, Barbatos has to come in and drag him away from you. Diavolo is completely smitten by you, and his affection only grows every time he relaxes against your back. Furthermore, cuddling with you is the perfect way to end a stressful day of dealing with the crazy demon brothers. 

💚 Barbatos: Barbatos may be a butler, but something about him screams big spoon. He loves scooping you up in his arms. The feeling of his heartbeat against your back brings him the greatest sense of comfort. When keeping you tangled up in his arms, he asks now and again if he can move in anyway, get you anything, or do anything to make you feel even more comfortable. He likes his control, but he always aims to please. Barbatos and you never stay still for long. His fingers run along your arms, sides, and shoulders continuously. He, too, likes playing with your hair. If you fall asleep before him, he places kisses on the back of your scalp, neck, and shoulders. He never goes past that, but cuddling allows him ample time to indulge in some innocent physical attention. Expect to be carried out of bed bridal style when the two of you wake up. 

🖤 Solomon: As the Devildom’s official special snowflake, you might never know what you’ll get with him. Solomon prefers feeling your back against his chest, though he will, like Lucifer, reward you by being the little spoon. He’s very calm and cool, so being the little spoon doesn’t embarrass him. He only cares about encasing you with his arms, hands wrapped around you in a big hug. He’s not as outwardly affectionate with you as another guy might be, but Solomon delivers some high-quality snuggles. You feel small and safe against him, and that’s all he could ever want. In terms of location, the two of you typically end up in your room. However, on days when the demon boys are at it again, he will coyly invite you into his dorm. He loves when your scent seeps its way into his bedsheets, but he also loves it when his gets lost in yours. Solomon is always left floored by how such simple affection can make him feel so warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t need to worry about spells with you, and you don’t need to worry about anything with him. 

🤍 Simeon: Similar to Levi, Simeon isn’t used to physical touch, but he’s not as shy. Cuddling you sounds as good as heaven, and he relishes in the feeling of your soft skin against his. Another true switch, in my humble opinion, he is content with being a big or little spoon. He’s an angel, and his greatest concern is how comfortable you are at all times. He’s inexperienced, so he will more-than-happily follow your lead. He never moves without your consent. You might have to reassure him a few times that moving is totally fine. In fact, it’s welcomed. Once he gets that through his noggin, he finally relaxes into you. From behind, Simeon grazes his hands over your stomach, loving the warmth you emit. If you’re behind him, he’ll seize the opportunity to clutch his hands in yours, loving the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He sleeps so much better with you.

[merlinfic]

group ask for lost fics #41

Hi y’all! Below are a few lost fics that us mods just can’t seem to find. That being said, we’re hoping that you lovely followers are able to help! If anyone knows any of the fics below please reply below or send in an ask with which anon/user and group ask that the fic corresponds with when the ask is back open!

Note: previous group asks and all lost fics!

Anon 1 asked:

Hi! I hope you can help me find this fic. It's set in modern times and Arthur has a history of being toxic and abusive with his partners and then he starts dating merlin and during a fight he tells him to leave because he doesn't want to hurt him. This is all I can remember but I hope you can help me, thanks 

Anon 2 asked:

hi! i was wondering if you could help me find a lost fic where arthur met merlin in uni and pines for him, i'm pretty sure arthur had like an alcohol problem and had anger issues in previous relationship. i vaguely remember details like merlin moving away and coming back, he then had a party arthur first decided not to go but went when merlin asked, and merlin got non alcoholic beer for him. im sorry if this is too vague and i really thank you for your help!

Anon 3 asked:

Hi really love the work you do! I'm addicted to your blog cuz it's all of my cravings combined in one!

Anyway I once read a fic a while back and can remember it's name. I'm not entirely sure of the premise. From what I remember was this;

1) pairing: Merlin x Arthur but it was like a missed opportunity due to Merlin being so focused on Morgana

2) Morgana knows abt Melin, his magic and Emrys

3) Morgana and Merlin hides the secrets from Arthur. And feels that Arthur doesn't try enough to help people of magic but really he is doing all he can about it and that matters.

4) Arthur is somewhat aware but didn't confront them because he hopes they would trust him enough to come clean.

5) Merlin is in love with Arthur. Arthur in love with Merlin but due to secrets they didn't get together.

6) Arthur meets someone another guy. Original Male Character or one of the knights idk. Merlin doesn't even realize it  because he was preoccupied with magic and Morgana till he finds out Arthur is in a serious relationship

7) Merlin is upset when he finds out Arthur has a lover. Morgana gets super defensive cuz she feels Arthur is better off with Merlin.

8) Arthur gets fed up and confronts her that he can't possibly love someone who doesn't trust him enough. Arthur moves on.

It goes something like this. These were the scenario that I remember, though I can't recall if if Merlin and Arthur get together or not.

Really appreciate it if you can help me find this fic thank you~

Anon 4 asked:

Hi, I'm trying to find a certain fic. I think it's a soulmate Au or possibly true mates kinda thing. Anyway Merlin has been hiding the fact they're soulmates and I don't think Arthur reacts well when he finds out. Was kinda long if I remember correctly and possibly a bit dark? Anyway, sorry for being so vague, thank you!! 

@oceansideopus asked:

I am on the hunt for a fic I read and forgot to bookmark on AO3. Basically Merlin hears Arthur say all magic is evil and decides to suppress his magic by wearing cold iron cuffs under his clothes and he’s slowly wasting away

@randomjblogs asked:

Do you know of a fic where merlin is De-aged to a baby. Igrane is alive, and her and Uther raise merlin as their Ward. I think merlin ages rapidly in the fic. 🤷🏽‍♂️ it may have been a fever dream haha! I checked the age regression tag. Ps y’all are amazing!!

As always, this post will be updated if any fics are found!

[sofreddie]

Scent from Above 2

Summary: The morning after.

Characters: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!Fan!Reader

ABO BINGO: Daisies/Fresh Bread/Pine

Word Count: 1,672

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Scenting, Scent Bond, Smut (Use of condoms, Knotting), Mentions of Marking/Claiming/Mating, Fluff

A/N: Attention thirsty bitches...get your cups ready. : ) Each part of this series will feature an @spnabobingo square.

PART 1

Jensen woke with a groan and a stretch. As he moved, he felt another warm body beside him. He cracked open his eyes, seeing Y/N in his arms, neither of them having moved from the night before. He wasn't sure what to do as he watched her sleeping.

Should he wake her?

Should he try to crawl from the bed and let her sleep?

He quickly remembered that she was in heat as she shifted to her back. Her scent struck him, drawing him in once more, his nose drifting to the scent gland in her neck.

He breathed deeply of her, musing on her scent. There was something flowery, like daisies. Something warm and rich, like fresh-baked bread. He breathed deeply once more, catching the earthy undertones of pine. Each layer brought on a feeling of home and warmth and familiarity.

After a few minutes, he decided that maybe he was being a little creepy, and maybe he should try to occupy himself until she's ready to wake. So he carefully removed himself from the bed and ordered breakfast via room service, not thinking it wise for them to be apart or in public in their conditions.

Jensen took a quick shower and dressed in a t-shirt and track pants just in time for the food to arrive. As he removed the lids and the aromas filled the space, Y/N stirred awake.

"Good morning," Jensen beamed at her as she shuffled into the main seating area of the suite.

"Morning," she blushed at him, running her fingers through her tangled hair. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her and he silently reminded himself it was only the beginning.

"Are you hungry?" he offered, gesturing to the cart, "I didn't know what you liked, so I got a little of everything."

She smiled warmly at him, "Could I take a quick shower first?" she asked, noting he already had. He nodded and silently guided her to the bathroom, watching as the door closed behind her.

He was absolutely not going to think about her naked and wet behind that door.

As he heard the shower turn on, he realized she didn't have a change of clothes with her. He quickly dug through his suitcase, finding another simple t-shirt and pants. He went to the bathroom and knocked on the door lightly, but there was no response. He took a deep breath and cracked the door open just enough to place the clothes on the counter before quickly shutting it again.

Jensen had started digging into the food by the time she came out. Her hair was down and damp, her face free of the makeup she had been wearing. His clothes draped her frame and the Alpha in him felt proudly possessive.

"Thanks for the clothes," she said as she sat on the couch with a respectable distance between them. She was nervous, not sure what to expect, and distracted herself with breakfast, "I'm in another room here," she explained, "Just a few floors down."

"What room? I'll have them send up your stuff."

"What? No," she protested, "I'm perfectly capable of getting my own things."

"It's not such a good idea to go anywhere," he began hesitantly, "And I'm not really sure I could handle it if you did," he added bashfully.

She was surprised. As she showered she thought about the events of the night before. How could she not? She was sure he would politely tell her it was a mistake, it was his rut, anything really to back out of it. But here he was, seemingly still sure.

They ate in relative silence, exchanging smiles and giggles between bites of food. They were both trying to ignore the fact that their biologies were ramping up once more, their urges becoming prevalent.

"Come here," Jensen softly spoke as he tugged at her. She went willingly, letting him guide her to straddle his lap on the couch. He buried his nose in her neck once more, humming in satisfaction as he took his fill of her. She scented him in turn, slowly allowing herself to believe it was real.

He placed a wet kiss on her neck, making her moan. He did it once more, teasing the tip of his tongue and her hips involuntarily ground down against his.

He was so very hard and so very there.

A moan slipped past his lips and Y/N shuttered. It was the most erotic sound she'd ever heard and she felt a swell of pride at being the one to bring it from him. She did it again, slowly and more purposefully this time, teasing them both.

"You want that, Omega?" he breathily asked as he ground up against her core, his hands squeezing her hips.

"So much, Alpha," she replied, before kissing him hard. Jensen responded eagerly, opening his mouth for her as she introduced her tongue. He moaned again, her hips now steadily working against him.

Their clothes were quickly shed, each piece being thrown without care as they bared themselves to one another.

"Condom?" she asked bashfully as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Jensen blindly retrieved one, his face buried in Y/N's breasts as he licked and sucked at her supple flesh. He held it up to show her, still preoccupied. She chuckled and took it from him, opening it with her teeth.

"Wait," he said, finally lifting his head from her chest to meet her eyes after she rolled the condom down his shaft, "Don't you want me to-" his fingers strayed to her core and she shook her head adamantly.

"No," she breathed, "Just you."

She shifted her hips and sunk down on his length with a long moan. His arms wrapped around her back, holding her tightly to him. The breath was punched out of him. She surprised him, he wasn't ready. But at the same time, he was so fucking ready.

Hell, he was ready to take her and claim her in the alleyway last night.

After they both adjusted, he loosened his hold, keeping his arms securely around her. She pulled back to look into his eyes as she began to move, sliding slowly up and down. Her jaw dropped open, the sensation of his thick girth pushing and stretching against her walls amazingly perfect.

Jensen almost couldn't stand the intensity, the intimacy of her gaze. This was quickly becoming the sappiest moment of his life and he couldn't complain one bit.

"J-Jay," she breathed out, adjusting her hips to a new angle and pressing her chest against his. His eyes fluttered closed at the sound of her calling his name. He groaned and went straight for her neck. After a good long scent, he opened his mouth, licking a line before clamping his lips down to suck a dark mark.

She cried out, her hips jerking, and he thrust up in response, sucking harder.

"D-don't claim me," she stuttered, riding him hard for the both of them.

"Not this time," he reluctantly agreed with a smirk.

He wanted to. God did he want to. He knew she was his and he was hers. But he also knew that she needed time to adjust. That she wasn't ready. That she wanted it but hadn't fully let herself believe it. He'd give her all the time she needed.

She panted as she rode him and he thrust up into her. He couldn't get the angle or speed that he wanted. And he wanted to be deeper. With a frustrated snarl, he wrapped his arms around her and dropped her on her back on the couch swiftly, still buried inside her.

She gasped and he plunged hard, knocking her body up the couch a few inches.

"Yes!" she cried out desperately, her nails digging into his shoulders. He growled and gave her all he had, riding them hard through their highs.

His knot popped and his teeth ached as his eyes locked onto her pulse beating rapidly beneath the taut skin of her neck. Feeling himself lose control, he turned his head, biting down into the couch cushion and growling as he emptied himself into the condom.

His teeth didn't release the pillow until his body calmed and he felt the urge pass. He immediately buried his face in her neck, lapping against the dark purple mark he'd left earlier, his mind letting him pretend it was his claim.

They spent the next few days in much the same fashion until her heat and his rut had finally passed.

"Stay just one more night with me?" he asked as she came out of the bathroom in her own clothes. Jensen ended up having her things delivered after all, "My flight's pretty early in the morning. But we can spend one more night," he pleaded, his hands on her waist as she shouldered her Winchester Bros. branded weekend bag.

He didn't miss the opportunity to playfully rib her over it either.

"I can't, Jay," she pouted. She had quickly adopted the nickname for him and he was thrilled with how comfortable she grew around him in such a short amount of time. He did his best all weekend to show - and say - just how much he wanted her and how sure about them he was.

"If you let me claim you we could take Mate Leave," he grinned.

She playfully slapped his shoulder and scolded him, "I just want both of us to be totally sure before making such a permanent commitment," she said for the umpteenth time that weekend.

"Next time then," he joked, wiggling his brows, "I stole one of your shirts, FYI," he added, blushing, "I think I'd go insane if I didn't have your scent around me."

"I guess that's okay," she said, "'Cause I took one of yours too," she looked to the ground bashfully. He laughed before cupping her face and kissing her hard.

"We'll find a way to see each other soon," he promised.

PART 3

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN TAGS:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

@slamminmine

@deanjensenficsandart

@woodworthti666

@charred-angelwings

[flightlessangelwings]

Grant a Name to a Buried and a Burning Flame ~ Chapter 2

Hades!Din Djarin x Persephone!Reader (gender neutral, no y/n)

Chapter 2/3 (chapter 1 linked in my masterlist)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Hades/Persephone retelling, historical setting, hints of soulmate AU, fluff, mutual pining 

Moodboard made by me

~

Over the next week, you didn’t leave your little room, too angry and hurt to face the world. Ironic that you ran away from your kingdom and your castle that felt like a prison to you only to find yourself in a different kind of prison. With a sigh, you gazed out the window and watched as people milled around in the nearby streets. You thought about how happy they looked, and it made you reflect more than you wanted to admit.

Every morning, there was a knock at your door, and every morning you ignored it. You knew who it was, and you weren’t ready to face him just yet. That pull still remained, however, and you felt it harder just before he knocked at your door. And it stayed after he gave up, which compelled you to get up and open the door. When you did, you found a single flower pinned to the outside of the door. No note or anything, just the flower.

You gently yanked it off and smelled it. The fragrance felt like a welcome warmth in the coldness of your current situation, and even though you were still angry for what he did, you found that you couldn’t bring yourself to hate your new husband. Even in your head, it sounded weird: your husband. For the first time since you locked yourself in your room, a faint smile graced your face.

The cycle repeated daily, with a knock on your door that you ignored and a single flower left behind as a gift. Eventually, you had enough flowers piled on your dresser that you were able to arrange them in a beautiful little bouquet. The sight of it lifted your spirits, and you suddenly had a new resolve to actually do something with your time now that you were in this new kingdom. 

You dressed yourself in a fresh robe that was left for you and draped a cloak over your shoulders. The robe was a beautiful color, though more muted than what you normally wore, and it complimented you perfectly. Before you stepped out, you glanced over at the bouquet of flowers and decided to pick one up and tucked it behind your ear. It was the first one that was left for you, and it was by far your favorite.

As you walked the streets of the kingdom, you found that it was actually a pleasant place. The dark and dull skyline that you could see from your castle completely contradicted how full of life this place was. People milled along as they went about their business, and the market was more lively than you would have guessed. It was colder than you were used to, and the sun did not shine brightly in the sky, but overall it was not a horrible place to be. It felt homey and comfortable, which surprised you.

You greeted vendors who had no idea who you were with a smile, and you just took the opportunity to take in your surroundings. Brightly colored fruits stood out from the dark wood of the carts, and they looked too delicious. Beautiful woven robes and dresses lined another stall in deep colors that you never would have appreciated had you not seem them up close. And the streets were cleaner than you would have imagined them to be. 

The thought popped in your head that you completely misjudged this place as you stared at the skyline from afar. You wondered if you misjudged its ruler as well…

A shout from the far end of the street knocked you out of your thoughts, and you immediately rushed over to see what the commotion was about. When you approached, you saw that a man towered over a young woman. She obviously looked uncomfortable with the way he grabbed her, but no one else bothered to do anything about it. Not you, though, you were not going to stand for it.

“Excuse me,” you approached with a fire in your eyes from under the hood you wore, “Are you too blind to see that this lady does not want you in her space?”

The man scoffed and turned his attention to you, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to mind your own business?”

You stood tall, you weren’t going to let this scum of a man intimidate you, “But it is my business,” you quipped back in a pointed tone, “Or have you not heard about the new ruler here?” Normally, you hated to use your rank, but you did not like the way this man threatened others and it was the fastest way you could think to diffuse the situation. You stared him down with a fiery gaze that you hoped would be intimidating enough.

It was, and it stopped him in his tracks as he looked into your face. Realization dawned on him and he immediately backed off, “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled as he retreated.

With a satisfied smirk, you turned to the young woman, “Are you alright?”

She nodded, “Yes… thank you…” her voice was meek and she didn’t dare look you in the eyes as she expressed her gratitude.

No one noticed, but a hooded figure watched the entire confrontation from the shadows. From under his hood, Din couldn’t help but smirk as he watched you. Your beauty and your strength were unmatched, and Din had never felt more drawn to you than in that moment. He ducked away, however, before he felt the pull toward you strengthen and you were left alone again. 

The rest of the day was uneventful and you made it back to the palace without any other incidents. When you reached your room, you found another flower on your door, and you couldn’t help the grin that lit up your face as you pulled it from the door. You thought you felt eyes on you, but when you looked over your shoulder, all you could see were shadows. With a shrug, you went into your room, unaware that Din watched you from the darkness with his own grin.

Somehow, the sun felt brighter when you woke up the next morning, and you decided to head out for the day again. As you opened the door, you came to expect a flower there, and you were not disappointed. You plucked it and tucked it behind your ear as you headed out. Strangely, you didn’t feel the familiar pull that you became accustomed to, and you wondered where the hooded man was.

You let yourself wander wherever your heart led you and you ended up in front of an orphanage. There was no shortage of orphaned children even in your kingdom, so it was a sight you were familiar with, but you wondered why of all places, you brought yourself here. With a deep breath, you stepped inside, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by children was a familiar hooded figure. He didn’t see you enter right away; he was too preoccupied with caring for the children around him. For such an intimidating man, he was incredibly soft and gentle with the little ones, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could tell how much they meant to him. You leaned against the doorway and just watched him for a time, and a new feeling swelled in your chest.

He held a toddler in his arms, and the child looked over at you and cooed when he saw you. That was when Din finally looked up and noticed you. As the child in his lap giggled at you, he tilted his head to the side and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Is this how the rough and tough ruler of the Underworld spends his days?” you joked as you moved closer.

Din replied with a short laugh, “The foundlings are the future. We must look after them.”

You nodded in agreement, at a complete loss for words. You never expected a man with his reputation and who appeared so rough around the edges to be so caring. He seemed so genuine around the children too. The toddler in his lap reached out for you, and you carefully lifted him up into your arms.

“He’s new here,” Din explained as he watched you hold the child and he was never more grateful to have his face hidden, “I found him held captive by mercenaries on the outskirts.”

“Does he have a name?” you asked, unsure of what to say to that. You had so many questions for him, but you felt like that was a conversation for another time when you weren’t surrounded by children.

He shook his head.

You turned to inspect the child’s face. He had big brown eyes that seemed to look into your soul. When he smiled, you could see his little teeth. You don’t know why, but a name popped into your head, “How about... Grogu?”

The child cooed at your suggestion, and Din couldn’t help but laugh fondly, “Grogu?” he echoed you and the baby turned to him and babbled happily.

Both of you laughed softly as you both decided that the name stuck. You spent the rest of the day in the orphanage with him and the children, and somehow everything just felt right. The sun had long set when you two finally left, and you let him escort you back to the palace. Neither of you spoke, but you both felt comforted by the other’s presence.  You even found that you stayed closer to him than you thought you would, and the feeling when his side brushed against yours sent bolts of electricity through you. 

It wasn’t until you reached the door to your bedroom that you both stopped and turned to face each other. Even from under the hood, you could feel his gaze on you, and he slowly and carefully reached out and ghosted his hand over the flower tucked behind your ear.

You felt your skin burn at his barely-there touch, “Thank you for these,” your voice was just above a whisper, but you knew he heard you.

“It suits you,” was all he said in response, “Goodnight Persephone,” he was about to turn away, but your voice stopped him in his tracks.

You told him a name, your name, your real name, and you felt him tense in front of you, “Can…” you took a deep breath, “Can you use my real name?” when he didn’t say anything, you felt the need to clarify more, “I don’t have anything against the name. It just doesn’t feel like mine, you know?”

If you only knew how much he related to that. Din gave you a single nod and said your name in a hushed tone that made your heart skip a beat before he disappeared down the hall. You looked forward to the daily gift of a flower on your door the next morning.

Over time, you spent more and more time with Din, and you felt more and more comfortable around him. He wasn’t much of a talker, but you learned that he communicated in other ways, and you quickly learned what his head tilts and subtle body language meant. And he always continued the tradition of leaving a flower at your door every morning, and you wore it behind your ear for the day.

Most days were spent at the orphanage with Din, and you noticed how much he seemed to relax around the children. It made your heart melt when you saw this hooded, armored man be so soft with the little ones. One day while you walked back, you asked him about his life before ruling, and he told you stories of his time as a mercenary. And for every story he told you, you offered one in return, though you felt yours were far less thrilling than his.

A new routine that started with the two of you was that he would walk you to your room every night. It started the day you spent at the orphanage for the first time, and it became an unspoken thing ever since. It felt comfortable at first, but the more the nights went on, the more you found that you didn’t want to bid him farewell for the evening.

And Din felt the same way about you. He longed to reach out and caress you; the pull he felt never felt stronger than when he was about to leave you for the night.

The two of you lingered in front of your door, neither of you wanted to move. In order to keep him in front of you, you asked a question that had been on your mind since you first met, “How did you find me in the forest that day?”

He put a hand on his hip and tilted his head to the side slightly, a sign that meant he was amused, “I’ve felt a pull for some time and I followed it,” he answered plainly. He paused for a moment before he asked a question of his own, “Why did you run away?”

You sighed, you figured the question would come at some point. But, you wanted to be honest with him, “I didn’t feel right there, you know? Like it was never truly my home. I never wanted to rule, it was just something that was expected of me,” you let out a deep breath as you thought of your home for the first time in a while, “I’ve felt this pull too, so I decided it was time I followed it.”

“I never wanted this either,” he watched as you looked at him with wide eyes, “I was a mercenary most of my life. It was tough, but I was free to travel whenever I wanted,” he paused and gestured to the black sword on his belt, “I won this sword and the kingdom came along with it.”

Silence fell between the two of you as neither knew what to say next. You never would have guessed that this man had so much in common with you, or that your stories were so similar. You fiddled with your fingers as you looked anywhere but his hood. There was another question on your mind, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to ask it out loud.

He seemed to read your thoughts, and after a heavy sigh, he broke the silence, “Din.”

Your eyes met the darkness of his hood, “What?’

“My name,” he spoke in a soft voice as he carefully reached out to you, “It’s Din Djarin,” he rested his hand on your cheek as he spoke, but didn’t let himself relax until you gave him the silent permission to do so. 

You exhaled deeply as you leaned into his touch. A comfortable silence fell over you again, and this time you were the one to break it, “Din…Can I stay with you tonight? If that’s ok?”

Din’s grip on your face tightened slightly as he nodded. His hand dropped and trailed down your arm before he took your hand in his and led you down the hallway to his room. It was just as plain as the rest of the little palace, and it felt like it was more for utility than anything else. And yet at the same time, it felt homey. Maybe that was because of his presence. 

You stood in the middle of the room and bit your lip as he watched you. When your eyes fell back to his figure, you suddenly felt the urge to reach out for him. Without a word, you lifted your hands and gently caressed his face through the hood much like he did yours earlier. You heard him sigh as he leaned into your touch. The two of you stayed like that until Din covered your hands with his own and slowly started to push his hood back.

“Din…”

“It’s alright,” he whispered. In your conversations, he has spoken about the creed he took as a youngster and explained about his covered face. Din had told you that he could only remove his covering in front of his own clan, but you chose not to press it further. You were understanding and never once questioned it, and that only made him fall for you more.

Guided by his hands, you pushed his hood back so that he only had the mask on the lower half of his face. The first thing you noticed was his brown eyes, which held a softness that made your heart skip a beat. His brown hair was messy from the hood, but it looked so soft and you couldn’t resist the urge to run your hand through it once.

Then, you slowly reached for the mask, and you paused when you had a grip on it before you took it off. His eyes told you all you needed to know and you took off the last barrier from his face to the rest of the world. He looked so nervous, which was something you did not expect. The man who walked with such confidence and was always quick to protect those he deemed worthy of it, was nervous in front of you.

Your eyes scanned his face and took in every little detail that you could in the low light of his room. Your hand traced the frame of his face before you cupped his jaw and ran your thumb over his lips. Din closed his eyes and you felt his lips lightly kiss your thumb. He was so handsome, and you couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward and place a soft kiss to his lips.

He froze at first, but quickly leaned into your touch and wrapped his arms around you as he deepened the kiss. It felt like a burst of flames between your bodies as you embraced each other. It was as if every decision in each of your lives led you to exactly this moment, and nothing had ever felt more right. 

“You know,” you whispered with a smirk when you broke away for air, “If I had seen your face earlier, I wouldn’t have stayed mad at you for long.” 

Din gave you a quick half smile before he cupped your face with one hand and pulled you back into another kiss. This kiss was much more heated and passionate. You moaned into the kiss as you felt Din shuffle your bodies towards his bed, and you were more than happy to let him lead you there. 

Din broke away just for a moment to say your name. He waited for your eyes to open and meet his before he spoke again, “I love you.”

You smiled widely as you kissed him again, “I love you too, Din.”

~

Notes: Thank you all so much for the amazing response to chapter 1!! I really appreciate all the love on this!! This chapter was really just fluff and falling in love before the dramatic climax in the last chapter. I hope you all are enjoying my take on this tale! Taglists are open so let me know if you’d like to be added to my Pedro characters, Din Djarin or just Hades!Din lists.

[genshin-impacted]

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (1)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy. 

Notes: female!reader, eventual mutual pining, fake political maneuvers, mentions of death (yes, this is a set up to a harem drama, but Zhongli is focused in this), Zhongli POV

[Next]

hello welcome to the AU I made up; hope I finish this someday :)

“You are unfit to lead this country.”

Not two weeks after a tragedy that hits the royal family, leaving you the sole heir to the throne, that is what has been said to you over and over again. The royal court adjourns without delay, placing you in the middle of it-- though you could care less.

You hold whatever you have been able to salvage from the fire: a necklace momento from your father, the dress that your mother had woven herself. And in your hands, you hold in an urn the ashes of what remains of your family. 

There is nothing else on your mind except for the fact that you are alone as the lone heir to the throne, the only living princess of the royal bloodline, and soon-to-be Empress of a nation that you are not prepared to lead.

You just want to mourn.

.

.

.

Zhongli has lived long enough to understand that politics will always be the determining factor in which his life will be led. It does not matter what he dreams of doing or what he desires. As the only born son to one of the oldest and most prestigious families in the nation, his life has never been his own-- though he supposed no one born of royalty has ever been truly in control of their path.

Still, Zhongli finds ways to play what cards he has. He earns praises for his wide array of knowledge in tradition, politics, and culture alike, but it is easy to know something if you are interested in it. He remembers vividly when Guizhong teased him, calling him an old soul when he delved personally into the traditions of tea ceremony, of calligraphy and poetry, out of his own volition because he enjoyed learning. His skills in the polearm-- also passed down in his lineage-- have also not been neglected, for he finds that it is similar to dancing, an elegant and respectful pastime that he often admires in operas and shows that he indulges himself in. If he could do anything with his life, Zhongli thinks he would be a writer or a teacher, or possibly even a historian.

("Old man," Guizhong had said to him affectionately for the last time before she left the compound to serve her duty as a princess, like many others. "One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

"I doubt anyone would listen to what I have to say willingly," he had said, and his friend had only given him a soft look and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

"I don't," she said.)

It has been years since he has entertained the idea of living a quiet life writing his knowledge onto paper and even longer still since had long last seen his childhood friend. Zhongli finds himself in the fray of politics that he knows so much of and has no choice but to delve into when he is invited to the royal capital.

"It is a great honor," his father had said to him, hands behind his back, "to be meeting the Princess of the royal family. Make a good impression; this is of the utmost importance."

Political maneuver, Zhongli thinks immediately, not doubting the intention of an invitation coming from the palace, especially after the incident he has been told of. A fire of great destruction, the burning of a whole wing with the royal family trapped inside-- one would think it was a plot to overthrow the Emperor, but if anyone were to stage a coup, they would have burned the inner walls of the palace where the man resides, bedridden. A great coincidence to have the royal family unable to escape, but it almost seems too malicious to call it that. Gross neglect? Bad luck? Karma? Truly, a tragedy as the death of many could not be described worse than as an accident. 

Zhongli thinks it is much too early to be moving the chess pieces so soon after half the board has been razed to the ground, but he supposed the world has never been that kind.

With a trained expression, Zhongli picks up the tea that had been brewed and takes a sip (too bitter, stepped too long, he thinks, wincing slightly, and putting the cup down). "I understand, father." He pauses for a moment and considers his words. "Is there a particular reason for this invitation?"

"The Princess is in need of education due to her lack of preparation as an heir," he says, "though I also hear she is in need of a husband as well."

The tea leaves in the cup trembles for a moment before sinking. "Father?"

"This is an opportunity of a lifetime, son."

And Zhongli thinks about his role, his abandoned journal, and books yet to be read and nods. "I understand," he says, wondering why, even though he expects where his life has been leading, he feels disappointed by the outcome anyway. "I will bring honor to our family."

"I expect nothing less," is what is said to him, and Zhongli swallows the bitterness of the tea down.

.

.

When Zhongli arrives at the palace, he is welcomed with all the excitement that is to be expected from the arrival of a son whose family holds prestige. Maids of many numbers cater to his every whim, and the few court officials who seem to favor him welcome him to the royal palace, which is broad and grand just as history would describe them. 

Briefly, he wonders if it is professionalism or greed that maintains the palace’s daily businesses after an evident tragedy.

"I would like to extend my greetings and gratitude to the princess for allowing me in her castle," Zhongli says carefully, his voice even and words like silk-- just as he was taught as an educated man-- and watches in confusion as the nobleman who had barely kept his pleasure at his presence suddenly deflate. 

"Ah, yes, of course, you would like to see the Princess," he says, a nervous lilt to his voice. "But I'm afraid she is preoccupied with another commitment at the moment. My apologies."

Invitation from the Princess, he remembers reading from the telegram, thinking it strange that someone would invite someone without intentions of welcoming them. It's easy to come to the conclusion that the Princess had not sent the message-- and the thought that she may not even know of his arrival also comes following after. Instead of speaking, Zhongli nods, much to the noble's relief as he continues to parade and provide him the tour that he has not asked for but appreciates nevertheless.

His room is two halls down the main chambers where you live. If the location and proximity to royalty were not enough, the room itself was also vast and much too big for one person, but he supposes luxury and decadence can be shown in empty space as well as it can with beautiful trinkets and trophies. Zhongli has always admired such things, as he does with the ornate statue sitting on top of his vanity and wonders when, if he ever does, he will be able to explore the castle in between whatever responsibilities the court deems him in need for.

"Maid," Zhongli says gently, but the young maid startles anyway when he addresses her. 

"Yes, sir?"

"Would I be allowed to stroll the gardens of the west side of the palace?" He says, "The moon is to be full tonight and I wish to view it."

She flushes, for reasons that Zhongli knows not for. "I-I believe so. The guards should be patrolling at the moment, but you are a recognized guest of the palace, so all should be well."

When Zhongli steps out onto the carefully maintained rock garden, he spots a few men walking down and up the inner walls of the castle. He briefly thinks about the number of them but thinks no further, for now. Instead, he thinks the moon is best viewed when its reflection is in the water, clouds are nowhere in sight, and all is quiet. He comes close to the perimeter of the garden inner castle, expecting to see no one. 

Zhongli steps into the moonlight and watches as you sit onto the grass and lean your head against the lone lantern post.

Perhaps you are here to moon-gaze as well, he thinks and goes to alert you with his presence by clearing his throat. He doesn't know why his earnest attempts to be unalarming go unwell, but he startles you into turning around. 

Zhongli does not know what the Princess looks like, nor has he had anyone describe you to him. But Zhongli knows who you are if not solely from the emblem you carry on your headpiece and the way you hold a funeral urn in your lap like it is the only thing tethering you. As such, he expects the caustic demands of his name and stature, as expected of a Princess, but he is surprised to find that you look at him instead like a deer in headlights, arms tense around the urn.

"My apologies for startling you, my lady," Zhongli begins, "that was not my intention."

"Oh, no, it's okay," you stammer, and he has to blink for a moment at the manner in which you speak. "I should have probably noticed you coming. I was distracted."

Princesses and princes of the royal family are taught three things from birth: power, manners, and tradition. Nothing says more about your status than the way you hold yourself and the way you speak, especially if you are of royalty, and so every word that one must speak seems carefully crafted and intricately woven with elegance. A tad bit obnoxious, if anyone could say, but it is a mark of the elite, regardless of the former. 

But you, who hold possibly one, if not the most, powerful title in the country, speak casually and without bothering with a mask of neutrality, as though you are unused to the burdens of sovereignty.

Your eyes are gentle, almost excessively so, and the way you hold yourself as though you want to be unnoticed are both strange but corroborating evidence of your peculiarities of a noblewoman. Though Zhongli has yet to understand why this is so, the instructions his father listed and his role in the castle has become clearer.

Zhongli has many questions, too many to ask about to a person who has no idea who he is. 

Decorum takes him before his curiosity overwhelms him, and he lowers his head in deep respect. "My name is Zhongli, Princess. Thank you for allowing me to stay as a guest within the palace.”

"Oh," he hears you breathe out, "you're the one that came today." You turn your head toward the koi pond that beautifully reflects the moon. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you," you say mechanically, trained.

"No, that's quite alright," Zhongli says mildly, glancing down at the urn still in your hands. "I'm sure greeting a stranger would be the least of your concerns at the moment."

At this, you smile at him. It is not a happy smile, but rather a pained one that strains your lips and pinches your eyes. Zhongli thinks back on his first lesson to maintain his expression, to keep composure, and almost marvels at the emotions clear on your face for him to see. 

(He thinks this may make your life harder for you, to wear your heart on your sleeves. But he finds himself selfishly wanting you to stay as you are.)

"I've been told one week is all I should be given to mourn, as typical of a funeral ceremony. My parents' ashes should be released but…" You glance up at the night sky dim with stars. "I know in my heart this is not the place for them."

"Then what is the place?" Zhongli echoes and holds his breath when the smile you give him is gentle beyond measure.

"Some place where the wind blows," you say, "where the earth is clean and the ocean is near. That way, my parents can choose freely where to find rest." You laugh. "That must be a pretty tall order, isn't it?"

"You are a Princess," Zhongli finds himself saying, and you turn back to him. "I believe you are allowed to demand only the very best, for yourself and your loved ones."

"I believe," he continues, when he sees your eyes mist over, "that I am here to tutor you in the ways the court deems fit. I have been praised to have a wealth of knowledge and the privilege of history in my family as well as the power of my lineage; I will guide you as best as you need me to." He pauses. "And… if you require a geographical lesson on the highest peaks, the widest oceans, and the most open plains, for reasons beyond academic, I will be available to you."

.

.

.

Zhongli returns to his room (two halls away, he reminds himself, from you), and it is only then he realizes that he has not looked at the moon at all. Not directly, he thinks, but he supposes he did see a glimpse of it, as it stands behind you as a backdrop to frame the smile you gave him that was as bright as starlight.

[furikakyo]

a return to roots | 3

pairing: kita shinsuke x f!reader

summary: y/n is a rising star in the music industry, having almost everything you could have ever hoped for as a small-town country girl. now after releasing two triple platinum albums in consecutive years, you face the dreaded artist’s burnout… in order to recover, your manager suggests, you should return to your hometown in hyōgo for a long-deserved break. 

genre: socmed/smau, slice of life 

warnings/tags: timeskip!, mutual pining, slow burn? more like rekindling, slight canon divergence

masterpost 

You finished sending your texts to Osamu and sat back in your bed, tossing your phone aside and then pulling the covers over your head. As you tugged and curled into your blankets, your phone fell to the wooden floor of your bedroom with a heavy thunk. Cursing, you drew back the covers and reached over the edge of the bed, trying to find balance. All of the blood rushed to your face as you huffed, still attempting to rescue your phone without actually laying foot on the ground.

Once you finally recovered it, you sat back onto your bed with a heave, any sleepiness you had now gone. You stared at the ceiling, wondering what you should do that day. A hand fisted itself into the thick blankets as you tossed and turned, trying to find some comfort in your plush bed. You hadn't been able to sleep well the past couple of days, for whatever reason. Your neck hurt, your back was sore, hell, your entire body ached for some reason, restless and yet so tense at the same time.

You sat up suddenly. What was it Kuroo had said to you? You weren't sure.

"Ugh..." You buried your face into your hands, memories of last night's conversation rushing back to you; remembering how you'd started talking about Kita when you were nodding off. It had been over two years since everything between you went down. Why couldn't you stop thinking about it? You could feel the burn of embarrassment and shame behind your eyes, your throat beginning to close up. Sniffling, you opened your phone and scrolled through your contacts. Who wouldn't be busy? Your hand stilled, and your face brightened, if only for a moment. Kenma. He had a calm and comforting presence, which never failed to mellow you out. Plus, he didn’t really talk about emotions or feelings so he wouldn’t ask you about anything related to Kita, nor would you be tempted to talk about him.

You texted your bodyguard and driver, Ichiro, who agreed to pick you up from your apartment and then drive you to Kenma’s. Thanking him for coming on such a short notice and then reminding him to not text and drive, you got dressed for the day, choosing to wear your comfiest hoodie.

A few minutes later, your phone lit up again with Ichiro’s standard “here” text, and you were out the door, not forgetting to bring a hat and sunglasses with you, though. After locking the door and slipping your accessories on, you rushed into the elevator and then made your way down to the car.

The car ride itself was silent, as Ichiro seemed to have picked up on the mood you were in and decided not to comment. Although he was usually stoic, he always maintained a conversation if you initiated it, his responses albeit short. By now you knew that the brevity in which he spoke was not because of anything against you, however, but because he was naturally a quiet person. You wouldn’t have had anyone else for the job, though.

The car softly jolted you as it pulled to a stop, and you unbuckled quickly after realizing you were already at Kenma’s apartment. “Thanks!” you called out, opening the door yourself and then shutting it. You smiled and waved before Ichiro merged back into traffic, watching the car eventually disappear in the long stream of vehicles.

Feeling somewhat better, you entered the complex after buzzing in. and then made your way to Kenma’s apartment, knocking on the door and patiently waiting. There was a long pause and some shuffling behind the door before it opened a crack. Two large yellow eyes peered out into the hall, and then landed on you. The door shut and then opened without the door chain to stop it this time, and you stepped in.

“I brought my Switch,” you proudly announced, looking to the side of the corridor where Kenma was standing, a little hunched over and slouching. You held up your video game console, which was covered in skins and cute accessories you'd purchased. Some of them you'd gotten for free from Kenma though, who got sent free stuff all the time.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, a soft smile on his face. He pulled half of his hair back with a hair tie and followed you back to where he streamed his games, settling into the chair that all of his fans could recognize by now. “We can play Minecraft, if you want. I haven't gone on our world for a while, so we could both go on.” Kenma swiveled to look at you inquisitively, waiting for an answer.

You lazily waved a hand at him. “No! Today you’re supposed to stream, right? I just crashed your place so I don’t really have a say. You should record and then if you have time after we can play,” you insisted, sitting on the bean bag behind his gamer chair. “I’ll watch or maybe work on my own world.”

Kenma thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded, setting up his microphone and monitors. “Last chance,” he mumbled, then put his headset over his ears, blocking out everything else. You watched in the background with mild interest as he went through his usual monotonous introduction, one that his fans seemed to adore despite its lack of flair. Perhaps it was exactly that what made him so endearing to the internet. Smiling, you glanced back down to your Switch, and opened up Minecraft.

Setting your phone down for a second after replying to Atsumu, you called out lazily: "Oiiii, Kenma.” After a beat of silence and no response, you called again, "Kenmaaaa."

He had been just finished streaming, and pulled off his headphones. "Hm?"

You sat up excitedly, startling Kenma. "When I move, you should visit! Once I get settled in, at least."

He blinked, looking up at the ceiling as if calculating the pros and cons. "Too many bugs," he finally responded with a small grimace. "And it's gross and hot outside."

At that, you broke out into a laugh, the heartiest and most meaningful you’d had in a while. His particular comment wasn't even that funny, it was just- it was just so him. Was your sense of humor breaking? “Maybe I'll be able to change your mind," you mused. "We can even stream a video collab with the both of us- we should try Animal Crossing!" You clapped excitedly, beaming. "Kenma, let's do Animal Crossing once it comes out!”

He squinted his eyes, scooting away from you and your blinding enthusiasm. "Fine," he muttered, hunched over his phone now. He scrolled for a few minutes before speaking again. "Did you see that we're trending? On Twitter and YouTube." Kenma handed you his phone, stifling a small laugh into the collar of his sweatshirt as he sat back.

"I did," you snickered, laying his phone on the table and lying back on his bean bag chair. "My favorite response is the one about the Kodzuken simps," you said, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at Kenma and then cackling when he turned completely the other way from you. "Kenma, they're devastated!" You gasped dramatically and then draped an arm over your forehead, fainting.

He rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head. "Shut up, Y/N."

After your giggles died out, you saw him offering a controller to you. "Game night!" you cheered, accepting it and sitting up straighter. "We should get takeout!"

Kenma lifted a brow, as if to say why are you even telling me this? "Already on its way.”

The two of you chatted as you played Minecraft, Kenma being a little more open when his mind was preoccupied with gaming. He was, of course, much better than you, eyes glued to the TV screen which had been hooked up to the game console. "Has Kuroo told you who's going to the Olympics?"

You shook your head, then remembered that Kenma wasn't looking your way. "No," you replied slowly, focused on getting out of the water so you could escape the mobs that were chasing you. "But a few of the boys from Inarizaki are. As for Kuroo, I think he was going to say something, but I fell asleep last night. He said something about you and an advertisement, though?"

Kenma smiled, finally breaking his gaze with the screen and looking at you. "Hinata Shōyō from MSBY is collabing with me, to promote the 2020 Olympic games."

Your eyes lit up in recognition. "That's right! Atsumu is teammates with him. I haven't talked to him one-on-one, though. He seems sweet!"

Kenma turned his attention back to the TV, where he was almost done building a house. "He played volleyball in high school too. They beat Inarizaki his first year at Nationals."

You stopped to think, your hands stilling on the controller. Your breathing slowed. In your third year, Inarizaki hadn't progressed further into Nationals, like everyone predicted. Despite being assistant manager, you hadn't thought it would be a big deal to miss their first match in the competition; assistant managers weren’t even allowed on the actual court anyways. You had all thought you were going to get further. You had thought you would get to see your boys play one last time. You had thought you would get to see Kita lead his team to Nationals, as team captain.

You had missed out on that opportunity for signing a record deal.

Beside you, Kenma noticed how quiet you'd gotten but didn't comment, instead going to the door when the buzzer notified him of their takeout delivery. You picked at a loose string on your hoodie, remembering why you didn't often go to Kenma when in distress. While you knew he cared about you and your wellbeing, you also knew that heart-to-heart conversations weren't his strong suit. When he returned a few moments later with your favorite foods, you pushed down the eruption of guilt and self-loathing with a bright smile. "Sorry, what were we saying? Something about Kuroo..." You strained to keep your eyes crinkled and happy.

Kenma's brow furrowed. "Kuroo-"

You interrupted him, and he let you. "Oh yeah! Kuroo and I are gonna hang out on Thursday! Wanna come? I'm leaving Saturday morning, so unless I see you before then, this will be the last time you see me before I leave for Hyōgo."

You watched his face run through a couple of emotions before settling on contemplation. Kenma blew a wisp of stray hair from his eyes and then begrudgingly: "Sure..."

This time, you gave him a true smile and clapped excitedly. "Yay! Should we try to get some of the others to join us? Lev? I want to be able to say goodbye to all of you in person, if possible." Then, swiping the plastic bag from Kenma, you opened the bag hurriedly and began pulling out things. "Here are the plates... and the chopsticks..." You set everything out and then let him load his plate with food first. Soon after, the two of you were back to playing Minecraft, squabbling over who got to use what equipment. After Kenma finally relented and let you have first pick, the both of you set out to fight the swarms of mobs gathered near your shared house.

"Hey, Y/N."

You had looked away for only a couple seconds, but you were blown up by a Creeper. "BITCH," you screeched, "I just fucking died?!"

Kenma snickered, running past your character and stealing everything you'd left behind. You gasped even louder. "BITCH-"

a/n: i said there weren’t going to be as many words as the last part but 🤡 also currently the fic is moving slowly and going day by day but it’ll pick up the pace soonish

taglist (pm me to ask to be added!): @papiibuprofen​ (i didn’t know if i should just respond to your ask publicly sksksk but i added you) 

some ~fun facts~

- y/n’s bodyguard/driver is named after ichiro, one of my fav baseball players

- his name in y/n’s contacts is “bonecrusher 👹” lmao 

- he is stoic but actually a softie; he’s about 30 and has a wife and one kid, both of whom he loves very much 

- i had kenma and y/n playing animal crossing instead of minecraft at first, then realized that it wouldn’t have been released yet, since this takes place in 2020... DAMN YOU TIMELINE

- do i have a map of hyōgo so i can write this fic? yes 💀