#Do you know how weird it is to write a POV change? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

euphoria-looney · 6 months ago

Text

Credits to the idea:

Batfam X Neglected Reader ( Squid Games)

Creds to the dividers: (?)

The Winner Takes It All by ABBA

When do humans get so desperate they give up their own lives for that small chance of money?

Money is a category in your history class dedicated to why money is the basis of your life. Economy.

I first witnessed someone leave everything had for money, my mother. When I was 5, I didn't know why my mother was leaving the manor with a huge suitcase, filled with cash.

My mother engaged to Bruce Wayne who only allowed her in as they procreated me. In her words, both sides should take responsibility, it takes two to tango, and why should she be the only one to deal with the consequences.

Which now is very hypocritical as she ran away taking everything but me.

I didn't want sympathy, but I didn't want to be treated like dirt for a mistake I didn't make.

For the next 13 years of my life, I tried to stay on the down low, no matter how many dirty looks, and the insults, not even when Damian would hurt me.

I just hoped they wouldn't mind if I stayed with them a little longer until I could find a stable way to leave.

That hope burst when Alfred came to my room and told me “Master Bruce has decided to kick you out and disown you, I'm so sorry, [name].”

I tried to somehow make it, promising myself, it was going to be okay.

I got into college, and the debt collected from that was massive, so I had to go get loans at the bank, and then get into a part-time job, but every day seemed like we were always getting robbed. My manager had no choice but to let me go.

“I'm sorry, sugar, but we aren't pulling in enough customers and I can't afford to keep too many employees, there's no easy way to say this but, you have to quit. I don't want to fire you, it'd look bad for any job you'd apply for next.”

I held onto her hand like a lifeline I begged and pleaded with no avail.

I tucked my tail in and went to the Wayne manor.

"Um, It's [name], could I... um..." I swallowed my words, afraid to say them, I mean, this was humiliating, 13 years since I'd seen them and the first thing I asked for was cash? "... borrow some money."

No surprise I was rejected, but that didn't hurt me it was the comments, how I was so much like my mother.

I waddled to the train station, if I was lucky, the train wouldn't be hijack or filled with gas tonight.

"Hey, you want to earn some money?" A guy next to me.

"No, thank you."

"10,000 dollars. Just a child's game"

I lifted my head to stare at him. I couldn't see his face, hidden behind a mask.

"It's a Korean game, visited it a few days ago, so would you mind playing it with me?" He gave an authoritative vibe, it made me want to back away, his aura was sinister.

I had already hit rock bottom, what could be lower? I hesitantly nodded my head.

I don't know how many times I lost, but I finally did it!

Handing me the cash and then handing me this weird card.

"If you ever need more, contact us." with that he walked away.

Third POV

“B, are you sure this is the right spot?”

‘Positive. Are you sure you want to join on this mission, Dick.”

Despite what anyone might think Batman, otherwise known as Bruce Wayne cares and loves his kids.

Changing into suits and golden animal masks, they went to the VIP room, make some bets on random numbers.

Oracle was doing the background work, hacking into everything, it wasn't like the movies and the stress was on.

The court of Owls was not just one villain working but a cult that was not only wealthy but influential, with their own members, called Talons who were armed and ready.

On the screen 456 players appeared.

“Today, we have prepared the game red light, green light. A child game.” The frontman introduced the V.I.P’s at the start of the first round.

[name]’s POV:

Waking up, the clothes I was originally wearing changed into the tracksuit outfit with a number on it.

A person caught my eye, it’s Astro! From the law department, I couldn’t help but approach him.

“What are you doing here?” Word got around that he was an academic genius, and many had hope for his bright future.

I could only remember how fond his mother was when talking about him, I thought I saw her the other day working.

“Oh, [name]. It’s been a while hasn’t it? What are you doing here?” He dodged the question.

“I… couldn’t afford college and took out a loan, eventually I got a lot of debt.” Our conversation got cut short as we headed to this random room.

Going to this machine it said ‘smile’

I gave a gummy like smile before making my way to the field

Playing red light, green light.

After explaining the rules everyone started running, nothing was wrong until a person got spotted moving during the red light, poor guy, going home penniless after making it here-

Spat

Oh.

There’s blood on my shoes.

It was like a stampede of people running to the door, stacking on top of each other. I was frozen out of fear.

Wha-

What do I do?

I’m afraid.

Someone tell me, what do I do?!

Before I knew it, I made it to the end.

Third POV:

Thankfully no one found the bat family suspicious or they would’ve noticed how they tensed up seeing as their daughter/sibling had the first contestant’s blood splattered not only on her shoes but also on her clothes.

A break had ensued as the game was over and everyone made their way to their individual rooms.

“What are they doing there?!”

“Should we stop it now?!”

“How?!”

“Quiet down!” Bruce had stopped the panic, but in reality he, himself didn’t know what to do either.

[name]’s POV:

Going back to the room, I felt like a doll and everyone sat on the floor.

The sickening feeling of seeing the gold lighting illuminating the clear pig, with money dropping down into it.

I could feel my stomach drop just thinking about it.

I didn't know what was happening until Astro got up and rebutted the guards.

“Clause three, The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, right?”

Thankfully, ending this sick and twisted game.

That didn’t last long though as a day had passed and I was back in this building. I think everyone who left was.

I talked to new people, especially this one old man who reminded me of Alfred.

“I could say the same to you. You’re young, and your debt is lower than most people here, so why continue risking your life for this money?” I shook my head, my face holding a sad smile.

“No matter how hard I try I just keep gaining then losing debt. But it’s different for you sir. Doesn’t the government give insurance and medicare for the elderly?” I held his hands in mine.

“The government isn’t as nice as you think, corrupt up in their high-paying jobs, but still greedy for more.”

As the games ensued I could feel myself deteriorate.

Third POV

Gripping onto the couch arms, and bouncing off one's feet could symbolize when someone is... anxious.

Or it could be showing anticipation.

So let's pretend that's what Bruce Wayne is feeling right now.

And if we asked his opinion on number ###, [name] [lastname]...

Most people would think, "Yes, he must be anticipating her death, how the blood would splatter, whether it be from losing a game or betrayal from another contestant." That's what most people would think of that entire family.

How could you not?

They shamed her, bullied her, and scorned her away from their home.

Wouldn't even provide financial aid much less.

Isn't that why she's here in the first place?

It was like they wanted her to grovel and die, die a death that would have no meaning, not even to this unforgiving world.

However, you'd be shocked that's not correct.

Anxiety is a scary thing it makes you make rash decisions. Good or bad.

It was nothing new to these vigilantes.

But oh. seeing her tired eyes, sweat dripping down everywhere, from her head to her legs. Her trembling form.

If you didn't know the context you'd already think she was a corpse.

No! That's wouldn't couldn't be true.

They couldn't allow it to be, she was going to be safe.

She had to be.

She was forgotten, but now, everyone's eyes were on her.

Anxiety is a scary thing, and with the current event, situation, there was nothing they could do but hope for the best, bounce their legs, and grip the couch.

It’s time for the next game.

“For this game we’ll be playing the marble game.”

—

There will be 2 endings choose which one. (I'll be making both.)

-> Thank you… for playing with me.

-> Astro!

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento (I think these are all the ones that wanted to get tagged idk though 😍)

#yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfamily x reader #neglected reader #yandere batfamily

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olderthannetfic · 2 months ago

Note

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/784181809513644032/in-fandom-racism-discussions-in-cases-where-an

Never mind that many, many of Hollywood’s most pernicious problems are in the cinematography, lighting, and editing.

I want to hear how the cinematography, lighting, and editing affect things! Can you explain or link some articles?

Sure!

The big thing to understand about film is that there is such a thing as "film grammar", and this is a lot of how we read meaning into film.

Think of it like when comic book ladies get drawn in the broken spine pose so you can see T&A at once and some defensive clown is like "Um, um, the comic said she was the main hero! She can't be objectified meat!" But the dudes are not drawn like that. It doesn't matter what the comic said. It matters what it showed.

We know how to read that art even if we aren't consciously aware of it.

We also know how to read film.

A character looks down. We see a shot of a book on a table. We know the book is what they're looking at. A character walks out of a door. We see them in another room. We know it's just a second later and a room away, not three years later on another continent. We see a soft dissolve and we know we've gone into a flashback. How do we know? Film grammar.

The problem is that because this has not been taught in a verbal and explicit way, we often have trouble articulating why film feels a certain way.

That makes it easy for a film (show, whatever) to undercut a character while pretending that isn't happening. It also makes it easy for somebody with a few one-liners to feel huge, and no, it's not just fans randomly picking for no reason.

The classic early concept everyone talks about is the Kuleshov Effect, a.k.a. the experiment that showed how/that montage works. Basically, if you take the same clip of a stoic-looking actor and pair it with three very different things, people will talk about the subtlety of the acting. He looks so sad when looking at the dead baby! So hungry when looking at the soup! etc.

Another important concept is that closeups of faces are where a lot of the film's story is told. It's often not the dialogue that's being spoken but some other character's reaction to that dialogue that matters.

Part of film grammar is that breaking the forth wall feels weird (i.e. looking directly into the camera and making eye contact with the audience), but looking very close to the camera is intimate, while being shown in profile is not. (Being shown from behind is POV-y though and makes us feel like we're with the character.)

Film has POV, or rather "narrative perspective". It's more complicated and more prone to changing than POV in a novel, but it's there. If you cut to a particular character's reaction to show which dialogue mattered or you cut to them having a thought and then end the scene, they're important. If you cut after they decide something or exit, they're "driving the cut" and we're "with" them. In effect, they're the POV character.

Cool, sexy action dudes with a lot of abs are hot. They punch things in wide shots. But for a single perfect tear woobie, we need a closeup. We need interiority.

This is often not granted to the characters of color or the female characters unless they are definitively the lead or are in an ensemble that primarily focuses on nonwhite characters/female characters/etc. Your MCUs and your ensemble cop shows might do a good job with everyone, or they might prioritize a particular white guy while paying lip service to the idea that the whole ensemble matters.

A lot of us were taught to analyze writing in school and/or we've just spent way more time doing that on our own. It is therefore tempting to look at a script and make too much of it. But the staging is incredibly important. Lindsay Ellis has a video about Transformers where she shows a scene where the girl is saying plot important stuff that makes it clear her character is interesting... while leaning over the engine and being ogled by the camera. Nobody remembers the dialogue. They remember her butt.

Characters can be standing behind others in group shots. Characters can be only in group shots.

If the script tells you that all five of your ensemble are important and they all have equal lines, but only White Guy McScenestealer gets a closeup, then he is the main character, and he is the only one who matters.

Specifically, he is the one whose feelings matter.

The reason it's all of cinematography, lighting, and editing is that the editor is the one actually putting those closeups in or juxtaposing the characters in a way that highlights them... but for them to do that, the correct shot needs to exist. That shot also needs to look good enough.

Not only do a lot of racist, sexist crews fail to get adequate coverage, but many of them were also taught by people who never had to light dark skin and thus they also do not know how to light it or shoot it. This doesn't apply to all POC, obviously, but it's the kind of thing that can fuck up a shoot with good intentions. If the dark-skinned black lead's closeups are lit like shit and their facial expressions are the least visible out of everyone's in the group shots, the audience won't be able to feel their emotions or connect with them. The editor might leave out a lot of their coverage simply because it looks less professional even if they'd originally wanted to highlight that character.

The director probably has final say on the cut in an indie film, producers for TV or a lot of big budget stuff, but you know what I mean: someone made this choice at the cutting stage, and it might be going against what the script was trying to do.

Prioritizing the character of color needs to happen during all phases of the filmmaking or they're going to get shafted. Ditto filming women like leads and not pointing the camera at their butts all the time, etc. etc. (Substitute whatever minority. I'm sure you'll find the same pattern with non-Han characters in Chinese media.)

It's not that hard. Leverage managed to light for the pastiest, most light-reflecting blown-out shot nightmare and someone with pretty dark skin. The key thing to understand is that lighting well for this scenario takes a little more time than lighting two people with the same skin tone, and time is money.

Other types of choice may not take more time, but they do require a director or cinematographer who's really on top of things to go "No, don't do the stereotypical shot. That's telling the wrong story."

The camera tells us what to think, and what it is usually saying is "Sidekick", "Love interest", "Person number three who is here to infodump and whose feelings do not matter".

I made a couple of little video essays to try to explain this stuff more clearly. They both use The Losers, one to show how POV/objectification works and the other to show how dialogue and even minutes on screen are much less important than how a character is presented.

Aisha is the Object; Clay is the Subject

Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez: Human Exclamation Point

In my experience, fandom actually does not elevate five-second randos all that often. Fandom likes the character who cried in a closeup.

Who that character is is neither random nor equitable.

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emmiesoverthemoon · 4 months ago

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GIRL your writing is ama-ZING!!! i need answers of why you arent like globally FAMOUS by now like—-

if youd like, could you maybe do something like headcanon-y?? like bigbang as your bf doing __ or something idk!

i know u will spit out something incredible like you always do ;) THANK U SO MUCH ☺️

that is so nice of u to say tysm! ill try my best to do as u wish:)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he’s so boyfriend

Pairings: choi seunghyun x reader / kwon jiyong x reader / kang daesung x reader

Word Count: 4,315

Summary: just cute little scenarios between u and each guy as requested :)

part two part three

note: i purposely didnt include taeyang because he’s married and it felt weird to me so sorry about that! pls forgive me🙏🏻

pov: you got a haircut

seunghyun: nonchalant teases

You walk into the living room, your newly styled hair catching the light just right, feeling a little nervous but hopeful. Seunghyun is lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking effortlessly relaxed. You stand there for a moment, waiting for him to look up, your hands fidgeting slightly as you wait for his reaction.

"Hey, Seunghyun," you call, your voice a little unsure. "Notice anything different?"

He does not look up immediately, his thumb scrolling lazily across the screen. "Hmm? What, did you get a new outfit?" he asks nonchalantly, as if he doesn’t even notice how different you look. You feel your stomach flutter nervously, unsure if he’s joking or actually hasn’t noticed.

You were about to say something when he finally looks up at you, his eyes scanning your appearance. "Ohhh wait... I know," he says with a teasing smile. "You got your hair done, didn’t you?" His voice is full of feigned nonchalance, like he’s somehow too cool to be impressed. Your face flushed in embarrassment.

Then, Seunghyun’s grin widens, and you catch the gleam in his eyes. "You look gorgeous," he says, his voice soft and sincere, but there is a hint of mischief in his smile. "I just love seeing you all flustered for a second."

You blink, realising it was a playful tease. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns on you, and a small laugh escapes your lips. "You’re awful," you say, shaking your head in mock exasperation, though you can’t help but smile.

He chuckles, standing up and walking over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I know. But you look amazing, really," he adds, his tone softening, and you can’t help but melt at the sincerity in his voice.

jiyong: private hairdresser

You sit in front of the mirror, fingers gently running through your hair, wondering whether it’s time for a trim. Jiyong, who has been quietly observing you from across the room, catches your gaze and flashes a knowing smile. You both know well that when it comes to your hair, you can be particularly picky. He had learned this first-hand after the time he dyed your hair for you for the first time—meticulously mixing the colors, then giving it a gentle trim. When he finished, you were thrilled with the result, and his confidence as a stylist only grew from there.

"You want a trim, don’t you?" Jiyong asks, his tone light yet sincere, his gaze fixed on you with an almost intuitive understanding.

You nod, not even needing to say anything further. He had always been attuned to what you need, especially when it comes to something as personal as your hair. After that first experience, where he’d so carefully tended to your hair, you’d grown to trust him with it completely. And, as it turned out, his skills were impeccable. From that day forward, whenever you wanted a trim—or any little change to your hair—you knew you could rely on him. No appointments, no salon waiting rooms. Just him, a set of scissors, and a calm, focused energy that made you feel completely at ease.

With a soft chuckle, he pats the chair beside him. "Come here, I’ll do it. You know I don’t mind. Just tell me how much you want off."

You smile, feeling a wave of warmth. It’s one of those simple, intimate moments—where he not only remembers the little things about you but also goes out of his way to make sure you feel cared for in the most thoughtful ways. Jiyong is not just cutting your hair; he’s taking care of something precious to you, and it’s that quiet, gentle understanding that makes you appreciate him even more.

daesung: loving overthinker

The moment you step through the front door, Daesung’s eyes immediately light up, his smile widening in delight. “Wow, your hair looks incredible!” he exclaims, practically bouncing on his heels. His enthusiasm is so genuine that it almost feels like a celebration of your new look. “It looks so beautiful on you! I love it!”

For a split second, he pauses, his gaze flickering between your face and your hair, as if considering the implications of his excitement. The realisation hits him like a wave: he does not want you to think that he is implying you looked bad before. His hands fly to his face, and a flurry of nervousness floods his expression. “I mean, not that you didn’t look amazing before! You always look great, but this… it’s just so fresh, you know?” he stammers, trying to assure you that it’s not a comparison, merely admiration.

You can’t help but laugh at his adorably flustered reaction, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. He is certainly the type to pour all his love and affection into every moment, and right now, his heart is spilling over. Without a second thought, he moves closer, running his fingers gently through the ends of your hair, as if savoring the feel of the fresh cut. “It just feels so new,” he says, almost in awe. “I think I might be in love with it.”

Every touch, every word, is soaked in pure affection—Daesung never holds back when it comes to showing how much he adores you, and this is no exception. He cannot help but marvel at how something as simple as a haircut can make you even more radiant, and he has all the love in the world to give.

pov: helping yourself to his wardrobe

jiyong: fashion cultivator

Jiyong’s eyes light up with that signature gleam whenever he sees you in his clothes. It’s a small thing, but to him, it feels like a sweet, intimate form of affection. One evening, after an effortlessly casual suggestion, he tosses you a selection of designer outfits he believes you will stun in. "Hey, try these on," he says, his voice light but filled with fondness. "I think you will look amazing in them."

You raise an eyebrow, amused, but decide to indulge him. Stepping into his clothes, you feel the fabric hang differently on you—larger, looser, but somehow more comforting. You do a little walk across the room, giving him a playful twirl.

Jiyong watches with that same adoration in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes. His voice, low and teasing, fills the space. "Wow, you look so hot, so gorgeous in my clothes baby," he says, the words slipping out in a way that only makes you blush more. You laugh, shaking your head, your cheeks heated from the flattery. "Oh my gosh, Jiyong, stop."

He doesn’t stop, though. In fact, he grins wider, clearly enjoying every second of it. But it is not just about how good you look; it is the way he can see how much you enjoy the moment, how you trust him enough to play along with his little games, that makes his heart swell.

Although Jiyong absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes, there is a small, playful part of him that finds even more delight in the moment when it is time to take those clothes off. The teasing glint in his eye when he tells you, “But, between you and me, I think I enjoy taking it off you just a little more,” makes the room feel warmer. You roll your eyes, laughing but secretly enjoying the playful flirtation.

A balance between admiration and affection, between the thrill of seeing you dressed in his things and the even sweeter joy of undressing you, not just physically, but in every other way, too. With each moment, he makes you feel not only loved but like the most important person in his world.

daesung: returns the favour (tries to)

Daesung’s eyes widen the moment you step out wearing his new jacket. His reaction is immediate, his mouth parting in surprise. “You look better than me in that,” he exclaims, his voice soft but filled with genuine awe. Without missing a beat, he adds, “Please, have it. It suits you so much more than it ever suited me.”

You watch as he freezes in place, his cheeks flushing a soft pink, as if the realization of how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life just hit him all at once. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, the admiration in his eyes clear. “I really scored,” he mutters under his breath, almost in disbelief, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. His heart swells with affection for you, and his shyness only adds to the sweetness of the moment.

Unable to resist the playful urge to return the favour, he opens one of your drawers and retrieves a shirt, grinning. However, once he attempts to slip it on, it becomes immediately apparent that the shirt is much too small— his muscular frame is too broad for the fit of your top.

Daesung freezes once again, his face going an even deeper shade of red as his biceps stretch the fabric to its limits. His arm muscles are so defined that they make the shirt look comically small, and the sight has him utterly flustered. “Ah, uh… maybe not,” he says with a sheepish laugh, trying to adjust the sleeves with a nervous chuckle. “It seems like I’ve made a bit of a mistake there. My muscles might’ve just ruined this.”

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, still blushing, but he cannot hide the fact that he finds the entire situation endearing. It’s moments like this, small and tender, that remind him just how much he treasures you in his life.

seunghyun: playful annoyance

Seunghyun has this endearing way of acting “annoyed” whenever you casually grab one of his clothes, but anyone who knows him well can tell it is just an act. The moment you reach for one of his favorite jackets, his eyes narrow playfully, and he crosses his arms with a mock sigh. “Princess I just washed that. I didn’t even get to wear it yet,” he says, his tone dripping with exaggerated annoyance, though the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips betrays him.

What he doesn’t admit, however, is that he purposely places his items—especially the ones he knows you adore—in the most obvious spots. His shirts, jackets, and accessories are always within easy reach, as if he’s leaving little hints for you, an unspoken invitation for you to take whatever you like. It’s his subtle way of telling you that you can have anything, without ever needing to say the words aloud.

While he may joke about it, there is something profoundly genuine behind his actions. Seunghyun is the type of man who believes that actions speak louder than words. He doesn't need to express his affection through grand gestures or declarations. Instead, it’s the small, everyday things—like leaving his clothes lying around for you to claim as your own—that convey just how deeply he cares for you. His playful “annoyance” is just a cover for how much he loves the idea of you wearing his things, a silent yet meaningful gesture that shows how much you mean to him.

pov: missing you while you’re at work

daesung: a little clingy

As soon as you step into work, Daesung begins to text you, his messages coming in rapid succession. “I’m withering away without you,” he writes first, followed almost immediately by another: “Answer me now or I’ll die.” His playful exaggeration masks the truth—he misses you deeply. Every minute that passes without you feels a little too long for him. He can’t help but send these messages, his affection for you pouring out in the most dramatic, endearing ways.

By the time you return home, if you’ve had a good day, you can expect Daesung to greet you with a flood of warmth. The moment he sees you, he is all smiles, his arms opening wide as he practically envelops you in a tight embrace. “You’re finally here,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you with a kind of quiet intensity. “I missed you so much.”

If you hadn’t had a rough day, he would refuse to let go, his arms locking around you as though afraid you might slip away again. It’s not a possessiveness, but rather the deep affection he holds for you—his desire to keep you close, to feel the comfort of your presence. His playful texts earlier were just a small indication of how much he cherishes you, how the simplest moments without you feel incomplete. If you had had a bad day, expect a bath if your preferred temperature drawn for you, equipped with anything you could him for to help you relax. Massage? Solitude? Wine and a meal? Daesung has got you covered, no questions asked.

seunghyun: subtle but sweet

Seunghyun is the epitome of calm when you’re at work, sending the occasional text or casually checking in, but never overwhelming you. He is cool and composed, his messages lighthearted and easygoing, giving you the space you need during your day. It’s clear, however, that he misses you. The moment you walk through the door, the change in his demeanor is subtle but undeniable.

Without saying a word, he takes a few steps toward you, his hand brushing gently against yours as if confirming you are really there, as if his mind needs a little reassurance. He does this repeatedly, not in an overwhelming way, but with soft, fleeting touches—his fingers grazing the back of your hand as you walk past, a hand resting lightly on your shoulder as you take off your coat, or the softest tap on your arm as you sit down. They are brief moments, just enough to remind both of you that he is there, that you are there.

It’s his way of showing affection, of expressing how much he missed you without saying a word. There’s a tenderness in how he keeps his touches gentle and brief, knowing that you’ve been working all day and don’t need any added pressure. But the more he touches you, the more his fondness for you is revealed—his quiet way of letting you know he is happy you are home, and that his world feels a little more complete with you in it.

jiyong: bragging rights

While you’re at work, Jiyong is never far from your thoughts, and he makes sure you know it. He sends you playful pictures throughout the day—pictures of the cats in their most mischievous poses or snapshots of him pulling silly faces. “You could be having so much fun with us right now,” he teases in one message, “but you're at wooorrrkkk ha ha ha.” His lighthearted tone brings a smile to your face, and even though you’re busy, it’s hard not to feel warmth from his affection.

By the time you return home, the energy shifts as Jiyong greets you with that familiar, cheerful smile. “Yay, you’re home!” he exclaims, as though he’s been waiting for this moment all day. He’s already thinking of ways to unwind with you, his favorite part of the day. “Let’s have a nap, or something,” he suggests softly, his tone filled with a kind of quiet contentment. His hands gently pull you toward the couch, and you can’t help but melt into his embrace.

It’s in these moments, when the silliness and sweetness merge, that you realize how much he treasures the simple time spent with you. It’s not about grand gestures—it’s about the little things, like sending silly pictures to brighten your day or wanting nothing more than to curl up together and rest. In his eyes, being with you is the most natural and beautiful thing in the world.

pov: a person talks about wanting you when you’re not around to him

jiyong: secure and confident

Jiyong is the kind of person who exudes nothing but pure confidence, especially when it comes to you. It’s not arrogance; it’s the unshakable security he feels in your relationship, the deep trust and certainty that you two are exactly where you're meant to be. When someone mentions you in his presence while you're away, his smile turns just a bit smug—he can practically feel their gaze lingering, but he knows better.

"She’s amazing, isn’t she?" someone might say, a hint of something more than just respectful admiration in their voice. Jiyong’s response is immediate, dripping with confidence. “You wish she would look at you like she looks at me,” he says casually, the words smooth but laced with a subtle challenge. He knows that no one can take your attention away from him—not even if they tried.

"Want her?" Jiyong continues, his tone almost mocking now, his confidence radiating like a shield. "Get in line. You’ll be waiting for a long, long time." His smirk deepens, and there’s an almost playful menace in the way he claims you. It’s not that he’s territorial; it’s just that you’re his, and he’s fully aware of it. No one else stands a chance, and he has no qualms about making that clear.

He’s secure, so secure in the bond you share that he doesn’t even need to raise his voice or act possessive. His quiet self-assurance says it all. You are his, and there’s no room for doubt. Even when others try to make their presence known, Jiyong’s smirk tells them everything they need to know—he’s not worried, not jealous. He’s too busy being confident in the fact that you chose him, and that’s more than enough.

daesung: chaotic and lighthearted

Daesung’s reaction to jealousy is a little more chaotic, a lot more playful, and full of the kind of silly energy that only he could pull off. When someone dares to show interest in you while you’re out, he doesn’t hold back. The moment the interaction happens, he’s already making his presence known, albeit in his own quirky way.

“You want her?” he says loudly, with a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Well, that’s too bad! She’s already spoken for… by me!” His voice rings with exaggerated confidence, a mix of playfulness and possessiveness, though it’s all in good fun. It’s clear to anyone within earshot that he knows you would never leave him, and he’s just having a bit of fun with the situation. He’s not worried, but he sure does like making his claim known.

But it doesn’t end there. After the interaction, Daesung can’t resist sending you a message, a mix of amusement and endearing insecurity creeping into his words. “Someone told me this, can you believe it?” he writes, adding a string of laughing emoticons. “Tell me I’m your favorite right now.” His playful tone betrays how much he craves that reassurance, even though he knows you’d never even consider anyone else.

It’s in these moments that Daesung’s bright nature shines through—he’s not afraid to be a little extra when it comes to you, and he loves making sure you know just how much he values you. There’s something so charming about the way he mixes his lighthearted teasing with his unwavering affection for you.

seunghyun: collected and soft

Seunghyun, ever the composed figure, handles the situation with a quiet, collected air. When another man makes his interest in you known, he stands firm, his demeanor cool and dismissive. “Cute,” he might say, the words measured and calm. “But she’s happily with me, so I’d rather you didn’t say all that. It’s disrespectful.” His voice remains steady, his expression neutral—he has no need to raise his tone or escalate things. He’s confident in your relationship, and he knows that no one can truly take you away from him.

But as he returns home to you later, the interaction lingers in his mind. Seunghyun has always been secure in your love, and you make sure he knows you choose him every day. Even so, there’s still that fleeting, subtle twinge of insecurity—something he won’t fully admit but can’t quite shake. It’s the way his mind keeps replaying the encounter, and despite his outward calm, he can’t help but feel a little put off by it all.

When you greet him, sensing something is off, you offer the reassurance he needs in your usual way. “That guy was probably ugly as hell anyway,” you tease with a playful smile. “I hate him.”

In an instant, Seunghyun’s posture shifts. The slight tension that had been pulling at him dissolves, replaced by a softer, possessive warmth. His gaze softens, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he takes a step closer. “You are so wanted by many,” he murmurs, his voice tender, but with that unmistakable edge of possessiveness that only he could express so gently. His hands wrap around your waist, tugging you flush to his torso, a smirk spreads across his face. “But you are all mine. I don’t like to share.”

His words, though possessive, are laced with affection and a kind of quiet pride. It’s not about control or doubt—it’s about the way he cherishes you and the security he finds in knowing you are his, always. With that, the lingering insecurity melts away, and all that remains is the warmth of his love for you.

pov: you have a moment of insecurity

seunghyun: actions are louder than words

There’s a moment, one of those quiet, unspoken instances, where Seunghyun sees a part of himself in you. It’s subtle, but it cracks his heart just a little bit—watching you wrestle with your own insecurities, feeling that weight of self-doubt that he’s familiar with all too well. He’s not one to say much about feelings, preferring instead to show them through actions. So, when he sees you struggle, he doesn’t need to fill the space with words right away.

Instead, he pulls you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you with that quiet certainty you’ve come to know. His hands slide through your hair gently, the motion soothing, a physical reassurance that he’s here, that you’re safe, that you are seen. He lets you vent, allowing you the space to voice your frustrations, your fears, whatever is troubling you in that moment. He listens intently, his touch a grounding force, offering nothing but patience and understanding.

When you’ve said everything you need to, and there’s a fragile silence between you, Seunghyun’s voice breaks it softly, but with an undercurrent of sincerity that can’t be denied. “You don’t need to be perfect,” he says, the words carefully chosen, weighted with meaning. “I love you exactly as you are.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries the weight of everything he feels for you—the love that doesn’t demand perfection, the acceptance that goes beyond superficial flaws, the devotion to the real, raw person you are. In that moment, his words are not just reassurance; they are a promise. A promise that no matter what, you are enough for him, just as you are.

daesung: pure loving disbelief

Daesung is completely astonished when he hears that you’re feeling insecure. To him, you are nothing short of perfection—an angel sent from heaven, someone so effortlessly radiant that the very idea of you doubting your worth confounds him. He can’t fathom it, and his heart aches at the thought that you might not see yourself the way he does.

Without a second thought, he showers you with affection. His voice, warm and genuine, fills the air as he starts to heap compliments upon you, one after the other, each word more sincere than the last. “You are incredible,” he says, his tone full of admiration. “No one could ever compare to you.”

As if his words weren’t enough, Daesung’s hands are all over you, not in any overwhelming way, but in a gentle, comforting manner. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose—each kiss infused with love and tenderness. The rhythm of his affection is steady, like a gentle reassurance that you are more than enough, more than what you give yourself credit for.

And, slowly, as his kisses and words sink in, you begin to feel it—his love, his unwavering belief in you. “Don’t let anyone make you feel less amazing than you are,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice full of certainty. The softness in his voice carries a deep, protective warmth, and as you look at him, you can’t help but smile. His ability to see you as perfect, just as you are, fills you with a newfound sense of confidence. In his eyes, there is no one better than you.

jiyong: tender, simple yet meaningful support

In your moment of vulnerability, Jiyong’s presence is a steady, calming force. He’s not one to rush in with words; instead, he allows the silence to stretch between you both, giving you the space to gather your thoughts or share whatever is on your mind. His quiet understanding fills the space, an unspoken comfort that lets you know he’s there, ready to listen if you choose to speak.

When the silence lingers, he finally reaches for your hands, his touch warm and gentle. His fingers move in slow, soothing circles, a soft reassurance that grounds you. He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with sincerity and a depth of affection that words could never fully capture.

"I’m not going anywhere," he says, his voice low and steady, the promise wrapped in every syllable. "You are the best thing I could ever ask for."

His words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything he feels for you—his unwavering commitment, his deep love, and his absolute certainty in who you are. In that moment, his reassurance is all-encompassing, easing the weight on your heart, making you feel cherished and secure. With Jiyong, you never have to worry. He is there, always, loving you exactly as you are.

i hope you enjoyed reading those! my requests are open if you have anything you’d like from me

thx for reading!

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suunani · 5 days ago

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how to fall in love [ park sunghoon ]

sunghoon totally sucks at pretending to read but can’t help falling for you in the library anyway.

❛ content 1.2k words, book-smart! male reader, fluff, mutual pining, sunghoon’s pov, light humor, just sunghoon being a hopelessly whipped disaster.

sunghoon’s reputation was a lie. a big, shiny, six-foot-tall, fan-letter-magnet lie.

cool? him? god, no. not when he was sitting across the library trying not to pass out because you just pushed your sleeves up to your elbows. and he didn’t even like arms. he wasn’t an arm guy. but somehow your forearms — yeah, your forearms — had him contemplating marriage and naming your future cats.

why is that hot? is this a thing? are rolled sleeves supposed to be this sexy? god, i’m losing my mind.

to the outside world, sunghoon was the campus heartthrob. the untouchable athlete. the boy who glided across ice like poetry and looked like he belonged in a luxury skincare ad. but inside, he was just a man — a man who once tripped over a hallway trash can because you smiled at him in passing.

you probably didn’t even remember that smile. but he did. oh, he did.

it haunted his dreams.

sunghoon didn’t belong in a library. he knew that. the library knew that. the book in his hand, wuthering heights, definitely knew that.

but you were there. and that changed everything.

you were at your usual table near the window, the late afternoon sun catching in your hair, and sunghoon… he was trying not to visibly combust. his palms were clammy on the book cover. he couldn’t feel his knees. his stomach was doing full axels and botched landings, flipping over itself like it was warming up for the olympic.

you hadn’t even looked at him yet today, and he was already dizzy.

every time you adjusted your glasses (god, glasses — his new favorite invention), or hummed quietly as you read, or chewed the tip of your pen while thinking, it was like his brain short-circuited.

how are you real? how is a person allowed to look like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day? you have dimples. DIM. PLES. do you know what that does to me?

he glanced down at the book and realized he hadn’t turned a page in twelve minutes.

catherine and heathcliff are… doing something. probably being dramatic and depressed. i relate. i, too, am being dramatic and depressed. over you.

suddenly, you stood up. sunghoon’s breath caught. you stretched your arms above your head — the stretch, his weakness, why must you test him like this? — and looked around. your gaze landed on him.

eye contact.

sunghoon blinked. froze. half-smiled. probably looked like a terrified deer. his heart rate shot into sprint mode, and he hadn’t even stood up yet.

you tilted your head and walked toward him.

walked. toward. him.

sunghoon panicked.

he tried to make it look like he was reading. realized he still had the book upside down. flipped it — too fast. the pages made a dramatic fwump sound and people turned to stare. he smiled weakly like 'ah yes, literature'. and then you sat down across from him.

that was it.

time of death : 4:37pm. cause : proximity to perfection.

“hey,” you said, so soft and so warm. “is that wuthering heights?”

sunghoon opened his mouth. closed it. tried again.

“yeah,” he croaked. “it’s… really height-y.”

you blinked. “height-y?”

“yeah, you know. wuthering. and. heights. both of those… things. are in it.”

what am i even saying what am I SAYING what is this gremlin noise coming out of my throat oh my god he’s gonna leave—

but you just chuckled. softly. like you were genuinely entertained. “you’re kind of weird.”

sunghoon’s whole chest lit up.

you didn’t say it like it was a bad thing. you were smiling.

oh my god. oh my god you think i’m weird. in a good way. i’m gonna write that in my diary— i don’t even have a diary but i’ll get one. just for this.

you glanced down at the book and tilted your head. “it’s upside down.”

sunghoon looked at it, betrayed. “again?!”

you laughed. you actually laughed. it made sunghoon feel like sunlight was running through his veins.

“i knew it,” you said. “you don’t actually read, do you?”

he winced. “not… really.”

“and yet i’ve seen you in the library like six days in a row.”

he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very aware of how warm his face was. “i was… trying something new.”

you raised an eyebrow. “trying me?”

his ears exploded with heat. he choked.

“NO—i mean—i wasn’t trying you, that sounds—not that i wouldn’t! i would! i mean—”

you laughed again, leaning forward, chin on your hand now, looking at him like he was really fun.

sunghoon felt the air shift.

you were so close. close enough that he could see the little freckle near your jaw. close enough to smell that faint clean scent you always had — like strawberry and paper and something uniquely you.

his legs were trembling under the table. he willed them to stay calm.

“i think it’s cute,” you said. “you pretending to like books just to talk to me.”

sunghoon’s breath stuttered.

“you do?”

you nodded. “yeah. i think it’s kind of… sweet. dumb, but really sweet.”

sunghoon laughed breathlessly. “that’s fair.”

a beat of silence. the kind that felt full, not awkward.

you tapped your pen against the table. “you wanna learn, though? like for real?”

he blinked. “learn what?”

“how to actually read something. like, together. i could help. if you want.”

you smiled — soft and shy and radiant.

sunghoon felt like he was sitting in the sun.

if this is a dream, please never wake me up. i’ll stay here forever. i’ll learn how to read, i’ll read the dictionary, i’ll memorize every single book you love if it means i get to sit across from you like this. you’re…

“…amazing,” he said out loud before he could stop himself.

you blinked, surprised.

sunghoon slapped a hand over his mouth.

“i didn’t mean to say that. out loud. that was supposed to be in my head.”

you just smiled.

“you’re kind of a disaster,” you said.

sunghoon nodded solemnly. “i am. a total disaster.”

“but i like disasters.”

sunghoon’s heart did a triple axel, landed it, and threw a bouquet. “i—uh—cool. yeah, cool. so. reading date?”

“reading date.”

you looked down at the book in his hands. still upside down.

“and maybe we start with something easier.”

that night, sunghoon walked home with the book you lent him (the little prince, because “it’s sweet and short and also kind of weird, like you”) clutched to his chest like a precious treasure.

he read every word of it. twice.

and underlined his favorite line, just in case he got the chance to read it to you someday :

'it is only with the heart that one can see rightly ; what is essential is invisible to the eye.'

to sunghoon, that line meant one thing :

you’re everything, and you don’t even know it. but i do. and i’ll keep showing up every day just to sit across from you and hope someday, maybe, you’ll look at me the way i look at you.

he smiled into his pillow that night like the lovesick idiot he was. and maybe, just maybe, the next time he saw you, he’d hold your hand.

but only if he didn’t pass out first.

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 25 days ago

Text

What Are We Doing?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV, Din POV

Summary: Moving is hard, but being in love with your roommate is even harder. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the seventh fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Mutual Pining, Fluff, SLOW BURN, Miscommunication (just gonna keep it going), Stubborn!Din, Forced Proximity, Idiots in Love.

Word Count: 7.2K

Warnings: Anxiety, Lil bit of cursing (3ish words?) Fluff, Angst, FLUFF, Miscommunication (I'm sorry?), Idiots in Love (That Are So Stubborn It's Killing Me), Grogu being a little cutie, Karga having the WORST timing in the world, The reader is really soft, likes to bake, and take care of Din and Grogu? Reader being a little bit self-deprecating? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: The slow burn is burning...

Guide:

Cyare: Beloved

Cyar'ika: Sweetheart

Burc’ya: Friend

Reader POV

This is weird.

You think to yourself as you walk up the dirt path towards Din’s house with the sun on your back.

It had been a few days since he'd recovered from his cold, but you'd been back every day to make sure that he was okay. Cleaning around the house, making sure that he was eating, and taking care of Grogu while Din was asleep. Grogu had developed his own little version of Din's illness, sneezing and coughing occasionally, so you'd taken to walking around the house with him strapped in a make-shift sling on your body while you did little things in Din's home and Grogu slept soundly with his head on your chest.

But true to Din's word, he still wanted you to move in, which you still thought was a little odd.

Odder still was that it seemed like your relationship had changed.

In the week since you'd taken care of Din things had been different. On several occasions while the two of you walked through town, Din had reached for your hand, holding it in his as you wove through the crowds. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you didn't care.

Not when Din was holding your hand like he didn't want to let go and you didn't want him to.

There was unfortunately a little part of yourself that missed the feeling of his skin against yours. His leather gloves didn't compare to the feeling of his rough, worn palm clasped against your own.

You were thoroughly confused by Din's sudden change, but you didn't ask him why he was doing it, because that might mean you would have to tell Din that you loved him and that wasn't an option.

And you were also afraid that he was only doing this because he was trying to again ward everyone off from coming near you whenever he wasn't around.

So you just let him do it.

Din is walking beside you holding an overloaded box of your books. How he was doing that by himself you didn’t know. It was heavier than you and Din acted like it weighed absolutely nothing, which was doing wonders for your imagination. It was difficult not to admire the way his muscles flexed under the Beskar as he followed you, but all it did was make you remember the glorious burnished skin of his arms that Din had shown you the other day when you'd stumbled into his home and he was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You really were trying to forget that image.

The image of his perfect golden skin flecked with the occasional freckle, covered in the thin white crisscross of scars you wished to trace with your fingertips and know by heart. Which probably is why you were having so many sleepless nights, because each time you tried to close your eyes the memory of the strong feeling of Din's unarmored body wrapped around you and the sound of his honeyed voice slipping through the darkness of your bedroom.

It was getting even harder to pretend that you weren't attracted to him and that you weren't in love with him. Especially not when you had spent practically every waking moment this week with Din and now you were moving in with him.

Oh marvelous meatpie madness, I'm moving in with DIN!

You didn’t really know what you were to him. He’d continued to use the words Cyare and Cyar'ika more often over the past few days, and each time he did you were disappointed. He was calling you friend and yet he asked you to move in and he couldn’t seem to stop holding your hand.

Of course you were sleeping in the guest room not in his bed-

Your cheeks warm at the thought of sleeping with Din in his bed. The memory of the way his voice sounds without the helmet sending a wave of heat through your entire body.

“Are you alright? You’re unusually quiet.” Din says as you walk up the steps to the front porch.

“Yeah I was thinking.” You step into the living room and begin to maneuver down the small hallway towards the room that was now technically yours.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

You can’t help but notice that Din sounds a little disappointed when he asks that.

Why? If he cares about me living here only because he wants me to be safe, why does it feel like he's disappointed for another reason?

“No. I want to move in, but-“ You enter your new bedroom and stop so suddenly that Din bumps into you, the box of books in his arms jostling. “What is that?” You point with your free hand at a hand carved wooden bookshelf in the corner of the room. “That wasn't here the other day.”

Din had showed you where you'd be staying as soon as he felt like standing up without falling over. The room itself was quaint, but you loved it. Like the rest of Din's house it had a certain amount of charm.

The room itself was already bigger than the apartment you had been living in. Painted cream and held only a wooden chest of drawers made from a light colored wood, a mirror, a small bedside table, and a full-sized bed with a simple wooden headboard. There was a small bathroom attached which meant that you wouldn't have to use the communal one in the hall that Din used. You had tried to fight with Din about him moving into this room so he could had the attached bathroom all to himself, but he refused.

“It’s a bookshelf. I made it. You don’t like it?”

“You made me a bookshelf?” You whisper, surprised.

He didn't have to do that. He's already giving me a room in his house.

“You’ve gotta put the books somewhere. And at your apartment they were all over the place. Almost broke my neck trying to get the boxes out.” Din laughs, but you still can't look away from the wood that's been sanded down so soft it's like silk, standing proudly beside the small window that allowed the golden glow of the sun to seep through the thin curtains.

Tears prick behind your eyes the longer you stare at it, everything hitting you all over again. All your confusion and frustration over Din doing something so sweet, something that almost felt like he cared at you the same way you cared about him making the tears roll down your cheeks.

Din notices immediately and places the box of books on your bed. “Cyare? Did I do something wrong?” His tilts your head up to look him in the eye, the roughness of his glove against your chin comforting, but nothing like the feeling of his skin against yours that you longed for.

“No, you didn't.” You sniffle staring up into the opaque visor, seeing the reflection of your tear streaked face in the polished metal. “Just that no one has ever done that for me before.”

“Made you a bookshelf?”

You can only nod. “Thank you Din.” You hug him tightly around the waist, the metal of his chest plate cool against your cheek when you press your face against it.

“You’re welcome Cyare.” He breathes hugging you back.

Being in Din's arms always felt like coming home after a long day, as if he was made purely to wrap his body around yours. It only made whatever was going on between the two of you harder. You wanted so badly to tell him how you felt, but Din was Din.

He was so tightly locked away in that metal armor that you were afraid to tell him how you felt for fear that he'd push you away. And you couldn't lose Din or Grogu. You barely survived when Din didn't come in last week, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to face him if he laughed in your face after you told him you were in love with him.

How did everything get so complicated so fast?

"I-" Din clears his throat, pulling away slightly. "I also got you something."

"Huh?" You look up into his helm, confused. "You got me something? Din you didn't have to get me anything- you made me bookshelves." You say as you pull away and gesture to the shelves in question.

"I got it a few weeks ago." Din continues, but you notice his helmet tilt a little bit away from you, as if he's nervous, hands twitching slightly. "I was going to give it to you the other day, but you were talking to-" Din hesitates. "Your brother."

The mention of Ezekiel makes you pause. You remembered how Din acted when he saw you with Ez, how his shoulders tensed and the cold tone of his voice when he pulled away from you. There was still a little part of you that didn't believe Din when he'd told you that he was having "a bad day," because if that were true, then why had he continued to avoid you all week after? Wouldn't he have come in the next day?

But despite the memory of how Din acted when your brother was in town, you couldn't help but smile.

Each time Din brought you a gift from somewhere else you thought it was unbelievably cute whenever he'd get nervous about it. Mostly because you could imagine that his cheeks were heating with a blush and the thought that you made the big scary Mandalorian that other people avoided like the plague, blush filled you with an unashamed amount of joy.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a small leather, hand-stitched pouch, and holds it out towards you.

"It's not going to bite me is it?" You joke as you take it from him, again wishing that it's his skin you feel when your fingertips brush together.

"Do you think that I would get you something dangerous?" Din sounds worried.

"No, I was kidding."

"Oh."

The tone of his voice made you imagine a bashful smile, and you wanted to see it so badly. The small taste of Din's voice that you’d heard this week only made you long for more. You wanted all of Din, not just the pieces you saw when you were together.

He doesn’t want all of you.

The little voice in your head whispers, as you remember the way Din keeps calling you his friend.

But why doesn't he treat me like one?

You shake off the unwelcome thoughts as you reach inside the small pouch and feel cool metal against the tips of your fingers.

The necklace catches in the sunlight when you pull it from the bag. It's beautiful, a long silver chain, with a circular silver pendant the size of the tip of your thumb. It’s imprinted with the symbol of a Mudhorn, exactly the same one that sits on Din’s right shoulder.

“Do you like it Cyare?” Din asks gruffly, leaning his head in your direction.

“Yes! Thank you.” You beam up at him. “It’s beautiful, it’s just like your armor!”

"Yes."

"But I-" You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to think of a way to phrase this. "I don’t think I can accept this Din."

He stiffens. “Why not?”

Din's heart stutters to a stop in his chest. For you to not accept this meant that you were not accepting his courtship of you, that you were refusing to marry him. Of course you didn't know that, but Din was determined to try his hardest to find the courage to tell you, even if it took him a few months… At least now you were going to be in his house and he wouldn't have to worry about you in the city, but Din wanted more.

He wanted all of you all the time and more than that, he wanted to give you all of him, even though the thought of confessing that to you scared him to death.

Truthfully, Din was already worried that you were having second thoughts about moving in to his home. He had noticed today that you were a little quieter, more subdued, as if you had something on your mind, but you hadn't told him. And all he worried about was that he was doing too much, and now it was scaring you away.

"It must have been expensive and-" You begin to babble. The other gifts Din had gotten you were not as fancy as this one. The small carved figurine, the shell from another planet, a rock- even the hand embroidered apron didn't seem to have been something that Din paid a lot of money for. But this?

You were almost seventy percent sure that this necklace was made of Beskar, and it wasn't a secret how rare and how expensive Beskar was. You didn't want Din to spend all of his money on you, not when he had a little one to care for.

"I mean- You could have gotten Grogu something, new clothes or shoes, or paid for something important-"

"This is important.” Din says firmly. “I want you to have it."

The sigil of the Mudhorn catches in the sunlight again, and there's something scratching at the back of your mind, some inkling, some feeling that you were missing something. All of this seemed so out of the blue.

The bookshelves, Din's reaction to seeing you with your brother at your shop, his continued emphasis on you living here with him and Grogu, Din always bringing you gifts, and now this?

A necklace made of Beskar that had his clan sigil on it?

You knew a little bit about clan sigils. That they were an extension of family- so for Din to give you this seemed a little odd.

"Din?" You whisper, looking up from the necklace.

"Hmm?"

“What are we doing?”

"What?" Din's helmet tilts to the side in confusion.

“Is this weird that I’m moving in? I mean you’re my friend but-“

“But?”

“You hold my hand and you build me bookshelves and you always bring me things back from wherever you go. You walk me home and come with me to the market. And this necklace is beautiful- I love it, but I’m kinda confused.”

“Why?” Din reaches out with his glove to gently cup your chin, thumb curving up over your cheek. You gasp softly with the contact of his hand against your face.

See even this! This isn't a friend thing, this is-

The feeling of his eyes on you makes your heart stutter an extra beat and your mouth go completely dry.

“I- I mean you keep calling me Cyare and I know you told me that it means friend, but it kind of feels like we’re more than friends and I-“ You bite your lip. “I don’t really know how I should feel. Because I kinda- I mean I-“

I love you.

Din breathes your name.

There’s a loud knock on the door and the sound of Greef Karga’s booming voice shouting something indiscernible from the outside of the house fills the air.

Din lets out an audible sigh. “I told him not to bother me today." He grumbles more to himself than to you.

You did find it a little humorous that for someone who never wanted Karga around, Din certainly didn't say no as often as you'd expect him to.

"Din please I-" The tears had begun to prick at your eyes again, a lump of frustration lodging itself in your throat. You're trying so hard not to tell him that you love him at the same time that you are, while also trying to understand what this is. But you can't finish your sentence, instead you stand there with Din's hand on your cheek waiting for him to explain.

And just when you think that Din is going to answer, he raises his other hand to clasp your cheeks between his palms and he tilts his head downward to press his forehead against yours.

You gasp in surprise. You knew what this was, what it meant to Din.

He had shown you the night he killed the Transdoshan for you, told you that this was how Mandalorians kissed while wearing a helmet, but it was so completely out of the blue, and so surprising that you forget how to breathe. The helmet fogs against the warmth of your skin, the few precious moments that Din presses his forehead against yours lasting a lifetime. You raise your free hand to lay solidly over the right indention of his helmet, where his cheek would be, wanting this to last a few more seconds, not wanting him to pull away, trying to reaffirm something, anything in his mind that you want this, that you want him. The smell of Din is all around you, something metallic mixed with the hard smell of leather, gunpowder, and spice.

Familiar and comforting.

You look up into the helm, smiling softly into the visor, feeling the warmth of Din's gaze, the eyes you wished to see with every part of your being focused on where you stand.

Something inside tells you that Din is smiling back at you.

Is this really happening?

"I promise-" His voice rumbles up through the solid chest-plate, his gaze focused on your face through the silver helm. "That when I come home we'll talk." Din whispers, still not moving his hands from your cheeks and his forehead from yours. “I promise you, Cyare.”

The use of the word "home" makes your heart jump and buckle in your chest. It's a reminder. This is your home now as much as his, had felt like home the first moment you walked through the front door a week ago and found Din sick. But with the feeling came something else, a prickling anxiety and confusion at Din's continued use of the word 'Cyare,' even after he had "kissed" you.

"Okay." You breathe softly into the space between the two of you.

Din pulls away and takes a step back, letting your hand fall from his cheek as he does, but he lingers in the doorway for a moment. "Do you like the necklace?"

"Yes."

You did. It was beautiful in every way. Delicate, dainty, but made from the same impenetrable silver as Din's armor. The same metal you were sure that Din had built a wall around his heart with years ago. You wondered how long he had pushed other people away, how long he had used his armor to keep out what you so desperately wanted to give him.

"Do you accept it?" There's a heaviness to the words, some riddle that you can't understand.

"Accept it?"

“A minute ago you said you couldn’t.” Din’s voice shifts into something that sounds like worry.

“I-I do.” You nod your head. “I’m just worried that you spent so much money on me when you could have gotten something for Grogu.”

“Grogu doesn't need a necklace."

You can hear the humor in his voice, but it does little to stop the continued confusion you still had over this whole situation. You wished that Din could just tell Karga to go away and stay with you to ease your nerves.

He turns to go.

"Din-" It slips out before you can stop it and his helmet turns back in your direction waiting for you to finish. "I-"

The three little words were on the tip of your tongue again, each one haunting you like a bad dream. You were so afraid of telling Din how you felt, so afraid to scare him away that it felt like there was a vice squeezing your chest.

You lose your nerve, face falling. "Nevermind."

"I promise that I'll be right back cyar'ika." Din says again, his shoulders tense. "And we'll talk."

"Okay."

He hesitates for another few moments as if he wishes to say more, before he turns and vanishes down the hallway, the heavy footfalls against the smooth wooden floors like distant thunder over the plains.

Please don't go.

Reader POV

Grogu coos softly, running his hand down the worn binding of one of the books you gave him moments ago to make him think that he was helping you unpack, his little nails scratching against the spine.

In another world you would smile at him and laugh, maybe ask if he wants you to read to him, but right now you weren't feeling up to it. Your frustration and inner turmoil was reaching a head, and at this point you were trying to keep yourself from storming out the door, finding Din, and demand that he tell you what this was. You knew that Karga needed him for something, but you wanted him to explain what was happening to you.

You needed Din.

I always do.

And he'd been gone for hours which did little to ease your anxiety.

“What are you doing?” The hologram of your brother projects from your holopad watching you sort through the box of books on your bed.

“Unpacking." You say.

Your brother had called maybe twenty minutes ago to ask you how to make sweet rolls, and even though talking about baking usually cheered you up, right now it didn't. All you could think about was Din and the "kiss" the two of you had shared. You could still feel the chill of his helm against your skin, feel the sharp but smooth indention beneath the palm of your hand where it rested against his cheek, and you could feel the lingering flutter of the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

The necklace was now hanging from your neck, the cool circle of metal resting against the soft skin between your collarbones as a reminder, proof that what had happened really had, and that it wasn't some fantasy you'd imagined. It really was beautiful, polished to a shine and not too heavy, perfectly balanced.

But what does it mean?

“Unpacking what? Where are you?” Ezekiel squints his eyes as if he can see more of your surroundings, but you knew that he'd only see you standing with a book in your hand.

“I moved today.” You sigh as you stack another book on the pile you were transferring to your bookshelf.

The bookshelf Din made for me. The one that he made me because he's such a good friend.

Your chest tightens again.

The memory of Din "kissing" you had been welcome, but you didn't understand why he used the word "cyare" after, as if he hadn't kissed you and that was just a friendly thing he did.

After he gave me a necklace. A NECKLACE.

A necklace seemed like something that you would give someone who was more than a friend, but again, you weren't sure if you were only mistaking Mandalorian customs with something else.

“You moved? Where? To the shop?” Ez looks confused.

You expected him to be. The last time he was here a week ago, you'd told him that you were thinking about moving into the shop instead to save some money. That was before Din had asked you to move in with him. And you hadn't exactly wanted to tell your brother you were moving in with Din, especially because Ez didn't like him.

“No. My-“ You pause trying to think of what to call Din. “Friend asked me to move in with him.”

Because that's all he is.

“What friend? Wait the Mandalorian? What’s his name again?”

“Din.”

"The jerk?" Ezekiel frowns at the memory of when he first met Din.

Honestly, you didn't blame him for not liking Din given how Din had acted when he was in the bakery and now you weren't sure it really mattered. Before you had been excited for them to meet, because Ez was the only family you had left and you thought that there was a possibility that something was going to happen to between Din and you.

Now you weren't sure at all.

“He’s not a jerk, he was just having a bad day.” You defend, using the same excuse that Din had when he apologized to you.

Even saying it out loud to your brother sounded stupid.

Ez rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “Flimsy excuse. But He asked you to move in with him? Are you guys together?”

“Nope." You say sharply, stacking another book on top of the pile with a loud 'smack'. "Friends, just friends."

"Ooookkkaayyy. What's wrong?"

“Nothing."

"Something's wrong. I can tell."

“It’s complicated.”

"Try me."

You hesitate as you pick up the stack of books and begin to place them on the bookshelf one by one. There was a part of you that couldn't believe that Din had made this, given how smooth the wood was, and how seamlessly it all fit together. It made you think of his perfect kitchen, your dream kitchen, the one that reminded you of where you grew up with your grandmother, the one you'd been lusting after since the first moment you saw it in Din's home.

Like Din's arms.

Your cheeks flush slightly with the thought, remembering again what it was like for Din to hug you when he didn't have his armor on last week and how you longed for the gentle caress of his ungloved hands against your skin.

"I'm not really sure what we are." The words come out before you can stop them. Maybe it's because you're so frustrated or maybe it's because the only person you have or want to talk to is the only person you can't talk to about this because he's so-

Din.

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how is it complicated?” Ez asks, lounging back in his chair. His hair falls forward around his face, reaching his shoulders in unruly dark curls with the movement and Ez reaches up to push them away.

“I don’t know he’s kinda guarded. Doesn't say too much about that kind of thing. But he does things that feel like more than friends and it’s starting to confuse me.” You turn back to your bed where the holo-pad sits.

You couldn't tell if he was back at his small home or if he was in his ship. You figured that it must have been getting late where he was just as it was getting late here.

Thinking about the time only made you worry a little bit about Din coming back and think about the conversation the two of you are going to have.

“Like what?”

The last person you wanted to talk to about this was your brother. In fact, you'd never had anyone to talk to your brother about in the past, there'd only been Din. Just Din in a sea of other men who never made you feel anything at all, which basically meant that you couldn't compare him to anyone… but it really was a desperate times call for desperate measures situation.

Because who else am I gonna talk to about it? Grogu? That might be a little above his level.

Your only other friend was Din, and he wasn't back yet and you still weren't sure how you were going to start the conversation with him. You were hoping that he'd be the one to start the conversation, given the fact that he was the one who said the two of you would 'talk.' Not to mention he had 'kissed' you so maybe, just maybe he would start it.

You look down at where Grogu is playing with the book, opening and closing the front cover. He holds it up to you as if he wants you to read to him, cooing softly. His little ears perk up, dark eyes wide with curiosity.

You didn't want to say no to him, it wasn't his fault that you were so out of sorts, so you sit down on the bed making yourself comfortable. Grogu crawls across the handmade quilt that you'd put on the bed as soon as you got there and into your lap, holding the book in front of him.

“I mean- He walks me home from the bakery at night and to the bakery in the morning, he brings me back little things when he goes off planet, he holds my hand when we're at the market, and he asked me to move in because he said that it would make him feel better knowing that I was safe!" You sigh in frustration. "And today he kissed me!"

"He removed his helmet?"

"No, he just pressed his forehead to mine."

"Ew." Ez scrunches up his face. "TMI."

"You're not helping." You sigh as you gently rub Grogu's ears and open the book to the first page so he can look at the pictures.

“I don't know what to tell you little sis, it sounds like he likes you. Especially if he-" Ez shudders. "Kissed you."

“I know! But he keeps calling me friend in Mando’a and I don’t know why.”

I shouldn't have let him go. I should have made him sit down while I went out there to tell Karga to go home.

“He’s calling you Burc’ya?” When your brother says the word you shake you head.

“No.”

He purses his lips. “Then what word is he using?”

“There’s two.” Grogu makes another small noise to signal you to turn the page, so you do. One of his little hands is resting on your hand where it holds the book. His nails scratch slightly against your skin, but it's familiar and you can't help but pull him in closer to you.

“What two?” Your brother presses.

“Cyare. Sometimes he says Cyar’ika.” You shrug.

Ez snorts so loud that the hologram flickers, his face splitting into a smile.

“What?”

“Did he tell you those meant friend?” He wheezes out in between laughs, doubling over in his chair.

“Yes?”

What is so funny? Why is any of this funny?

By now your temper had begun to flare again, and given the fact that you never, ever, got angry it seemed pretty significant.

I didn't bring this up just so he could laugh at me! I wanted him to help me!

"And he’s been - HA- bringing you little gifts whenever he leaves and comes back?" Ez chokes out, his body convulsing with the force of his laughter.

"Yes. Ezekiel what is so funny?!"

Grogu reaches up for your pendant, grabbing it between his three fingered hand, toying with it while he looks at the pictures in the book, completely oblivious to what was happening.

You watch your brother's gaze lock on the necklace. “Did Din give you that too?”

“Yeah, when I moved in today. Why?”

“Is it his clan sigil?” He leans forward to examine the imprinted sigil of the Mudhorn.

“Yes? Ezekiel I have no idea why you keep asking me all these questions and why you're laughing! What does it-"

Ez interrupts you before you can finish the question. “So he’s calling you cyare and cyar'ika, has been bringing you back little gifts from wherever he goes, he asked you to move in with him, and he gave you a necklace with his Clan sigil on it?”

“I swear if you ask me one more question Ez I'm going to-"

This is it. This the last straw. I'm going to kill my brother.

First, you’d have to find someone who was willing to fly to the Outer Rim and second you'd probably need to get a step-stool so you could be tall enough to reach his throat to choke him out, but you were going to do it!

But he isn't phased by your threat. "I'll be there tomorrow."

Shock ricochets around your head like a thunderclap. "What? You were just here? Why are you-"

“I’m bringing Max with me.”

“Ez for the love of-

“I gotta go baby sis. See you in the morning.”

“Ezekiel!” You shout, but his image flickers and then disappears from the projection, leaving you in the silence of your new home.

Damn it.

Grogu gurgles in your lap, holding up the book for you to see. You glance down at the child, noting the way his big black eyes focus on you, a happy smile on his face.

It tugs at something in your heart to see him look at you that way, it always did. You loved Grogu more than you loved Din, cared for him like he was your own. You figured that somebody had to. Yes Din was a good father, but you wanted to take care of Grogu too.

Grogu didn’t understand why he could feel your emotions jumping and changing so quickly, ones that didn't feel good to him. Emotions that felt almost sad. Grogu didn't want you to be sad, because he was afraid it meant you were going to leave. And Grogu wanted his mother to live with him and his father.

He coos again softly and nestles into your chest, one of his little hands wrapping around your thumb.

"What's wrong buddy?" You ask him with a sigh.

It was fruitless to try and figure out what Ez was going to do, so it meant you were stuck waiting until tomorrow for him to show up with his friend Max in tow. You'd met Max a few times. He was like your brother, always joking around, never took anything seriously, but he was kind to you, sweet.

Grogu touches your cheek, blinking his dark eyes at you, a silent question.

"I'm okay."

You weren't.

Din was still on your mind. He was always on your mind. There didn't seem to be any escape, and truthfully you didn't want to.

"Are you hungry?" You ask Grogu, pulling him up to stand on your stomach, bracing him back against your knees. You had gotten groceries with Din earlier, so there was actually food in the house. And you couldn't remember the last time that Grogu ate. "Come on I'm starving."

Besides, maybe cooking would take your mind off of Din…

Doubtful.

Din POV

The walk home seemed longer today, perhaps it was because Din was exhausted from listening to Greef Karga or perhaps it was because he was eager to get back to you.

The wind rushed from the East, fluttering through Din's cape, and rustling through the small bouquet of flowers in his right hand. He meant to have some at the house this morning when you first moved in, but he figured now was as good a time as any to get you some.

Din hated the way you looked when he left. He could practically feel your anxiety and frustration soaking through the air of the room when he walked out. And Din knew that he probably should have told Karga to go on a long space-walk without a helmet, but… Din was nervous.

He chastised himself.

He was a Mandalorian! One of the best warriors in the galaxy. He'd faced un-winable odds without bating an eye and without feeling fear, but one look from you made Din feel like he was stripped bare. As if you could see beneath the armor that hid him from the rest of the world, as if you saw and knew the things he did and didn't care.

Din couldn't imagine anyone doing that, accepting the kind of person he used to be and…

The kind of person I am.

Din knew that you should run away. That he should have been the bigger person and ignored you that the day he met you in the bakery when Grogu wandered into your shop, that Din should have stayed away, but he couldn't.

It was an addiction, you were an addiction, and he didn't want to stop.

And now you were going to live with him.

Having you here was perfect, felt cosmically correct. This week when you'd made him soup and nursed him back to health, Din had felt things that he didn't think he could anymore. And when you lingered in his home, cleaning, cooking, and taking care of Grogu, Din felt his heart fluttering in his chest, felt the weight lift from his shoulders for the first time in his life. The weight that settled the moment he set out on his own all those years ago, when he walked the path of the Mandalore and his hands stained with the blood of those who stood in his way.

The same hands that you took so gently in yours, fingers smoothing against the rough patches, holding them between the two of you and gazing up at him with the same trusting smile that made Din feel like he'd swallowed an exploding star.

Everything about you was so different from him and yet Din couldn't stop going to you.

Each time you smiled at him, his tongue gained a hundred pounds and sat in his mouth like a dead weight. Each time he saw you in one of those soft fluttering dresses you always wore, his mind short circuited. Each time you touched him and said his name, it made Din lost all semblance of control.

The same control that he tried to hold to tight whenever he was with you, the control that seemed to waver in the night when everything was quiet and Din tried to sleep but all he saw was you behind his closed eyelids, all he felt was the soft curves of your body in his arms, and all he heard was the sound of your voice whispering in his ear.

When he arrives home there is a meal on the stove you’d made beneath a covered plate waiting for him, but Din isn't hungry. His own anxiety over what he's about to tell you is tying his stomach in knots. Din couldn't understand how around you he was reduced to a bumbling buffoon and why the hell he never seemed to be able to say what he was thinking.

Din had never been really good at talking, especially not to you. The gifts were a wonderful way of avoiding it, but today-

A flash of how you looked when Din left crosses his mind again. How anxious, how frustrated, and how upset you looked. Din hadn't wanted you to feel that way on a day like today, a day that should be happy, and yet Din saw the tears in your eyes.

So he'd kissed you. He'd done it to give you some peace of mind, to comfort you, to give you some promise of what he was going to tell you when he was coming home.

The same speech that he'd rehearsed in his head the whole time he'd been with Karga.

I was so stupid. I should have stayed here with her. I-

Din hears a soft sound coming from the living room and he turns his head. You’re laying on the couch, curled under a blanket with Grogu snoozing softly in your arms, curved protectively around him as if you wish to protect him.

Din feels a warmth flood through his body that he's never known the longer he stands there watching you. Watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, the way each breath moves a stand of your hair on the cushion beneath your head, the gentle sound of your snores filling the quiet, and how perfect it seemed that you were here in his house.

Our house.

The correction in his head makes Din's cheeks flush beneath his helmet. Because you were living with him, you had moved in, you were here to stay-. His eyes are drawn down to the necklace that hangs from your neck, the shine of the silver catching in the light.

Something stirs deep inside of Din, seeing you there with his son, wearing his clan sigil- The same primal protective instinct he felt the minute he saw you with the Transdoshan.

She accepted it. Accepted me.

Din contemplates if he should wake you, tell you the very thing that he'd been trying to say over the past week when you were taking care of him, the same thing that he wanted to tell you when you stood up for him with Ms. Cross, the same thing that he'd wanted to say the night that he sat in your bakery gently wiping blood from the scratch on your face while you cradled his hands between the two of you, and the same thing that he'd been trying to say the first moment that he walked into your bakery and saw you standing there with Grogu in your arms while his son looked up at you with a wide smile.

Din places the flowers on the table next to the couch before he carefully pries Grogu from your embrace, walking down the hall to put him to sleep. Grogu coos softly, wrapping his little finger around Din's thumb in his sleep, but doesn't wake.

When Din comes back out to get you, you're still snoring softly, the blanket pulled up to your chin while you slumber. He hates to move you, not when you look so comfortable, but Din's afraid that you're going to get a crick in your neck if he leaves you like this.

As gently as he can, Din picks you up, his arm coming down underneath your knees to pull your body up into his arms. He feels his heartbeat stutter. Din didn't think that it would feel better than whenever you hugged him, but it does.

Your body curled up in his arms, everywhere his cold hard armor clashes against every soft curve of your body. The gentle beat of your heart rattling around in his helmet, each soft sigh fogging against the metal of his chest-plate.

It does something to him. He's reminded again how much he wants all of you and how he wants you to see all of him. The cloying worm that squirms in the back of his head and tells him to forget about his creed and let you have him the way he's wanted for months. To share parts of himself he never wanted to with anyone else.

But he can't do it, not now. Not like this. He thinks it's selfish to wake you when you're sleeping so soundly.

He might also be procrastinating because even though he spent all his time with Karga trying to think of a way to tell you, he still has no idea what to say to you or how to start the conversation.

Din has no idea how to tell you that he loves you and that he wants you to be his wife.

Because there's a little voice inside that keeps asking Din:

Why would she want you?

He starts to make his way through the house, each step careful as he tries his best not to wake you.

Your bedroom is dark, but Din finds his way through the mess of boxes, pulling back your sheets and blankets.

“Din-“ You murmur and for a moment Din thinks that he’s woken you, but all you do is curl further into his chest with a sigh. One of your hands falls against his arm, squeezing his arm subconsciously.

“I’m right here my Cyare.” He murmurs pressing his forehead against yours. It feels like second nature. "I promise I'll always be here."

The loss he feels when he places you in the bed is familiar, it's the same one he feels whenever he has to say goodnight to you or whenever he says goodbye when he leaves to go off planet.

Din figures that he's waited this long to tell you, one more night couldn't hurt, but he still leaves the bouquet of flowers on your bedside table before he walks off to his room, all the while wishing that he could curl up beside you and allow the gentle beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

A/N: Alright... Don't hate me for another cliffhanger, but we're so close to it! And also this chapter was getting long 😅 BUT, honestly I love y'all so much. I had no idea that I was going to get as big a response on this fic series and it's been so wonderful to see 💚

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

Taglist:

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faerievampling · 1 year ago

Text

Miracle

Summary: Years after the defeat of the Netherbrain, Astarion and Tav discover they are pregnant.

link to ao3!

Part 2

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x Female Tav/Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning: 18+. Mention of breeding. breast milk. pregnancy. Astarion being very horny for all these things. body worship. angst. changes in POV focus. brief mention of abortion.

A/N: I'm totally going to write more about these two. I need a pregnant adventuring Tav and protective Astarion.

You had been cleaning off your armor after a long day of running errands for Jaheira and the Harper’s when you notice Astarion’s eyes on you.

You could feel his stare, and as you turn to meet it, the look on his face is peculiar, somewhere between shock and amusement.

“Darling?” You ask, stopping your task to fully soak in his expression. “Astarion -“

“It’s nothing, my love, nothing,” His voice is dismissive, waving his hand as he tries to push beyond whatever he has been thinking.

You notice his ruby eyes don’t leave yours for the rest of the evening. You can’t help but feel as though your vampire is avoiding you.

But you decide to give him his space: this was often the remedy for Astarion’s mood swings.

***

Astarion couldn’t figure it out.

You had rarely left his side for the past few years. When would you have had the time to steal away with another man?

Astarion wondered who he was, what he looked like.

He curses. Why hadn’t he ever picked up the scent of this mystery man? His smell would have been all over your body.

And Astarion knew his nose was working just fine: your change in smell had been the very first thing he picked up on. Astarion certainly thought it strange, but he chalked it up to a weird diet. The two of you had been running through the wastes of Rashemen, and you had eaten a questionable animal that one night.

No, it wasn’t that, Astarion was certain. That little flutter of a quickening he had heard earlier couldn’t be denied. Even though you were just on the other side of the wall, Astarion could hear the gentle thrum of two heartbeats.

He sighs, running his hands through his curls. He’s certain that you don’t know. You weren’t good at hiding things, and you rarely attempted to lie anyways because you are such a sweetheart that it didn’t make any sense at all for you to have bed with another man and cause Astarion pain like this.

Astarion knows he just needs to talk to you, but for the unlife of him, can't figure out where to even remotely begin. Pregnancy and childbirth was…he didn’t even want to think about it.

A child? He can’t even really fathom having one around.

Astarion sits up, having found the resolve to finally confront you, and finds you on the porch of Jaheria’s estate, your eyes mindlessly scanning the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion takes your image before interrupting whatever thought you were having: you were a vision, a rare beauty that Astarion was so lucky to find.

He swears his heart flutters for you sometimes. “Do you like being back in the city?”

You nearly jump, startled by the question.

“Sorry, darling,” Astarion murmurs in apology.

You smile, laughing a bit as you collect yourself. “I do. It’s nice to see it all back together. The rebuilding efforts took longer than expected,”

Astarion fears you’re going to keep talking about the mundane when all he can focus on is the beat of that little heart and how round and plump your breasts look beneath that blouse.

Astarion swears you’ve never filled out before; not like that.

“You’re staring again,” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. Astarion can see the worry in your face. “Just tell me, Astarion.”

Astarion swallows. “Well,” Astarion stumbles, rolling his eyes at himself as he tries to find his words. This hurt more than he thought it would. “You’re with child, Tav.”

***

You’re speechless.

“I’d rather like to know who the father is.” Astarion’s eyes are round, wet, tears already lining them. He blinks them back quickly, trying to compose himself. He almost seemed surprised by his sudden lack of control of his handsome face.

“What?” You ask incredulously.

“I’ve been trying to imagine him, to think about when you could have…” He stops himself, swallowing his upset before continuing to ramble: he keeps talking, stumbling while you’re still processing what he just said.

You interrupt him.“You’re saying that I’m pregnant?”

“Yes.”

You’re silent for a while. You can feel Astarion’s nerves fraying at the seams, his emotions emanating through him, producing an aura that has encompassed you both. It made time feel slow.

“How do you know?” You ask a bit stupidly. You hardly had missed your monthly bleeding, only being a few days off, which was very normal for you.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” His voice is low, guarded. There is a thick moment of silence.

“Surely not,” You almost laugh. But Astarion’s face is still, eyes round and wide as he studies you. He looks devastated, and it makes your stomach drop.

You realize he’s being serious, asking you in earnest if you had been with another. You think you should say something.

“You’ve been my only lover since the clearing, Astarion.” You want to reach out to him, but you think not. If Astarion had hackles, they would surely be raised.

“So you’re going to chalk this up to some immaculate conception?” Astarion spats cruelly, his agitation getting the better of him as he flails his hands. “Instead of just telling me the truth?”

You’re speechless again. You knew he wouldn’t lie about this, so you desperately try to accept the fact that you’re pregnant with Astarion’s child as he, the very man who has bred you, yells at you.

“Close your mouth, darling, you aren’t a fly trap.” Astarion quips, crossing his arms.

The anger is rising inside you, his offense reaching a boiling point. Your fists clench, your eyes narrowing as you try to reason with him.

“Four weeks ago, we were in the Rashemen wilderness with only Minsc and Boo as our company,” Is all you can say.

Astarion’s expression is locked in between confusion and betrayal. “Minsc has his charms.”

You scoff. “You can’t be serious, Astarion.” Astarion’s gaze meets the floor.

As you study your lover, your anger dissipates. You see how hurt he is, how unsure of himself he feels. He wasn’t likely to tell you that outright, but you knew.

You can’t place how you feel, anymore. You aren’t numb, per say, but there is a distinct lack of feeling within you. You hadn’t thought this a possibility. You didn’t know if you were happy or sad, or if you would even be up to the challenge.

You needed some time to think, to let this soak in.

“You know, I just remembered that Shadowheart invited me over for tea the other day,” Your excuse is lame, but Astarion doesn’t stop you as you awkwardly walk down the steps, off to the crowded streets of the city.

***

Astarion was a mess the whole time you were gone. He tried to keep himself busy by doing various things around Jaheira’s house, but he kept finding himself lost in thought, thinking about that little bundle of life inside of you.

He felt greatly relieved when you returned.

He waited for you in one of the spare bedrooms, the one you always shared when you two passed through Baldur's Gate.

He was pretending to read when you came in, trying not to seem too eager to talk with you. He heard the continued thump of the little heart beat alongside your own. His anxiety is paramount, but he feels a wave of relief crash over him at the sound of the life inside of you.

Astarion tried to accept that you hadn’t slept with anyone else: you couldn’t have, it was literally impossible. And he knew you never would have, anyways. But, since you didn’t sleep with another man, that meant that he, Astarion Ancunin, impregnated you.

“How was your date with Shadowheart?” Astarion asks, peeking over his book. You had begun to undress yourself, and Astarion couldn’t help but steal a glance.

He noticed the sway of your breasts as you freed them; the tips of them being especially tight and a darker pink than usual.

Gods. It was like you were purposefully wafting your scent right in his face. You were sweeter than usual, and Astarion felt a bit ashamed at his growing stiffness.

Earlier, he had accused you of sleeping with another man, even though he very well knew you hadn’t. And now, he was ogling you, thinking about all the pregnant women he had seen in his long life: it hadn’t been very many. Pregnant women didn’t often frequent the flophouses late at night.

But he imagined how your belly would swell, how your hips would round, and how your breasts would become even larger…the thought aroused Astarion, far more than he expected it to. He had to stop himself when he imagined your milk-filled breasts; another bodily fluid of yours that your vampire was desperate to taste.

“It was alright,” Your voice was shaky as you finally covered your breasts, to Astarion’s relief. He tried to ignore his swollen cock. “She confirmed. What you said.”

Astarion places his book down, moving to sit at the edge of the bed, placing himself closer to you. He really doesn’t know what to do, or how he feels, but Astarion does know one thing: that he adores you, and he can’t handle the distance between the two of you.

So, the vampire reaches out, desperate for your contact. Astarion feels much better when you take his hand, sitting next to him.

“I’m sorry for my accusation earlier. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around it all.” His tone is good humored, down to earth, as he wants to be sweet to you. You deserved it.

“It’s rare. Practically a miracle.” You say, but your face is absent of the smile that Astarion had expected from you.

Astarion didn’t really know how you felt about children. He assumed you didn’t want them because you chose to be with him, but he expected you to be a little bit happier than you looked.

“There are remedies, you know. If we don’t want this.” You say, looking away from him as you do.

“Well…it’s your body, Tav.” Astarion spoke gently, wanting to be careful with you, because you were always so careful with him. “I can’t tell you what to do with it.”

Astarion imagined that if taking care of seven thousand vampire spawn in the Underdark was something the two of you had managed, then a child couldn’t be too difficult. (Many years from now would prove Astarion very wrong in thinking this).

“What If I keep it? Would you leave me?” You speak quietly, carefully, as if you were treading dangerous waters; asking questions you didn’t actually want to know the answer to.

Astarion doesn’t hesitate, desperately wanting to comfort you. “No,” Astarion squeezed your hand, grabbing the other as you faced each other. “I honestly can’t imagine a scenario where I would.”

You smile a bit, and Astarion smiles back. “So, what do we do?” You ask tentatively.

Astarion sighs, a hand going to caress your cheek, bringing you closer as he pulls you into a tender kiss. “We keep living, of course.”

Part 2!

Masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #dadstarion #papstarion #dad astarion #pregnant tav #astarion smut #astarion bg3 #spawn!astarion

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gotta-spew-words-somewhere · 3 months ago

Text

Countdown: 9

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Azriel is a simp in denial

TW’s: None, minor suggestiveness, I guess not really having any plot yet could count??

A/N: omg I really didn’t expect this silly story to get nearly as many notes you’re all angels and I’d kill and die for you all!!!!

Also- I promise plot is coming (and the end of this is weird but I didn’t wanna write out like 4 hours of back and forth lol)

~~~

Reader POV

The little friend you’ve made dances between your fingers, tickling the skin with not-quite kisses that make you snort as you stir a spoonful of cumin into your tea.

Heartburn has bothered you from bed, but not from sleep- it doesn’t come as easy as it once did, not since the rumblings of war on the horizon have reached you.

But the little shadow now twisting through your hair helps you focus, helps you forget. At this point, you’re almost sure it knows what a simple relief the company can be in the small hours, the way it dances and plays when your heart feels most heavy.

And, for the second time in as many weeks, burning. Very odd.

You take a deep drink from your cup, savouring the earthy flavour and willing away the discomfort that pulls at your ribs.

The gift from the Illyrian, however, seems far less interested in quiet contemplation than you, changing course and whipping across your counters and walls in a frenzy. The fine hairs at the back of your neck rise to attention, and without thought, you follow the flittering wisp into your shop front, and then to the door.

“What is it? What are you trying to show me?” You’re probably crazy, talking to a shadow, and yet its movements grow more urgent— circling your ankles and then back to the door. It could seep through the cracks— you know this, you’ve seen it in action— but doesn’t. It wants you to open it.

But, you don’t get chance. It swings open itself despite definitely being locked, the little bell eery in the dark. Blinking at the man once again stood uncertainly in your home after hours, you offer a raised eyebrow and a nerve-settling sigh.

“Have you come to pick up your friend?”

——————————

Azriel POV

In the two weeks since he last saw you, Azriel has had little peace. By their own accord (and eventually against explicit instruction), the shadows he usually relies on for state secrets and cautious murmurs have become quite the problem.

Little gossips, he’d called them— rushing to his ear with updates of where you’ve been and how you are. Whether you’ve slept or whether you’ve padded downstairs to drink tea amongst the rubies and diamonds.

It’s odd, but not unheard of. Azriel’s companions had developed this habit before; sneaking away in the dead of night to trail in Mor’s footsteps like lovesick little puppies, updating him of her every move. What makes this so different, so unnerving is the speed in which they chose you— he’s been in your presence for what, 15 minutes total? And yet they’ve abandoned centuries of unrequited affection in favour of your tea and snark in a heartbeat.

Tonight had been more of the same— awake, awake. Sad. Awake. And it was absolutely none of his business, as he’d told them, but the whispers had grown urgent, and he could no longer tell if they were speaking of you or himself.

And so, with no small amount of denial, he’d decided to simply wander by. Another beautiful, sleepless night in the city he loves- why shouldn’t he pass through the cobbled street where your shop windows glimmer in the starlight? What harm could it do?

Then he’d heard your voice- quiet and concerned and muffled by stone and glass, and he hadn’t fought the urging of his shadows to just. Pop in. Check that everything is okay.

But just like the first night, it seems like you’re expecting him.

“Have you come to pick up your friend?”

Azriel’s own hands wave to awaken the fae-lights, and his eyes settle on you with light confusion. You’re in your sleep clothes- a large shirt this time, although your hair seems tamed and your stance a little less steady.

No sleep at all, tonight then.

“My friend?” His voice comes out rough from lack of use, a line forming on his brow. His only friends are asleep in the house of wind, as far as he knows, but he’s discovered Cassian snoring I n enough unlikely places to not completely write it off.

Instead of answering, you raise your hand, and he catches the tail of a flicker of dusk racing to hide from his sight on your palm.

“Go on— go to your, uh, Dad?” Your voice takes the tone of a mother soothing a small child, and he realises with a jolt that you’re speaking to one of his shadows like that, smiling softly at the darkness that sends most running.

He hopes you can’t hear how fast his heart beats.

“Are you their Dad? Or is it more of a pet-owner type of situation?” You turn your wrist, trying and failing to encourage the little traitor that still hides from its masters sight, before offering him a crooked smile. “I think this one likes me.”

“You’d be correct. I’ve never seen one do that before.” He side-steps the question- more because he’s not too sure himself, before outstretching his own palm and silently willing the little shadow to return home. It does, but your eyes follow the movement to his hand and the sort of shame he hasn’t felt in decades fucking burns through his veins.

You didn’t notice the scars before, he’s certain. There were no lingering glances or wrinkled noses, no prying questions. And he’s not sure why it matters- you’re some crazy fae who drinks too much tea and sleeps almost less than him—- but it doesn’t stop the itch under his skin as your eyes linger for half a beat.

But then they move up, trailing his wrist in a slow drag, finally settling on his shoulder, and just for a brief second, he swears your eyes turn sad.

You’ve been following the shadow. Watching it crawl back to him with the sluggish pace of a scolded child, and you’d looked sad as it left.

Stay. Want to stay with her. Sad. Alone. Stay Stay Stay.

He barely has a moment to process this— his shadow outright choosing another?— before you’re once again smiling and trying to usher him further inside.

“So the little thing decided to stick around all by himself?” The warmth in your voice is nearly enough to distract him from the way you’ve walked around— a careful distance from his wings— and shut the door with a gentle tinkle of a bell that wasn’t there before. “Tell him I enjoyed his stay, will you?”

And frankly, Azriel is drawing a blank between the incessant pleading at his ear and the way he has somehow, once again, ended up at the cluttered table.

“Do you want another tea? I just made a batch for heartburn but I can whip up some calming mix if you give me a few minutes?”

He ducks his head, fighting the strange and sudden urge to fuss at her—- and tell her he’s been suffering the same of late. A fresh side effect of too many thoughts and not enough rest.

“The-uh, heartburn one would be lovely, thank you.”

You offer a raised eyebrow and a nod, before again slipping out of view, night shirt swishing with the sway of your hips.

He drags his eyes away from your retreating form with purpose, swatting at the dark curl of shade by his ear that will not stop murmuring about how pretty you are.

Of course, he agrees, but the embarrassment of how something as simple as a bare shoulder effected him last time still heats his ears.

Get it together.

——————————————

Reader POV

Cauldron’s tits, he’s sexy.

You stir the steaming water into his cup slower than necessary, using this moment of separation to will your uncooperative body to relax.

Something about that unruly hair and quiet, uneven smile is enough to send you into the kind of tizzy that you’ve not experienced since adolescence. It’s bordering on pathetic, really- and yet the slight spring in your step lingers as you make your way back to him.

“There,” you mutter, pushing the cup along the well-worn wooden table surface toward him, grin splitting across your face as your little friend practically leaps from his shoulder to tangle at your fingers. “Hey, buddy.”

Azriel’s eyes are on you, you’re sure, but you focus on the shadow as you take your seat. “Am I a shadow-singer now too? Just with a really small hoard?”

The smile in his voice drags your eyes up.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Mother, he’s beautiful—- but tired again. Hazel eyes are dulled by a ring of dark, and although his expression seems content, the lingering exhaustion is so plain to see.

Your heartburn pulls, and so you take a sip of your tea.

“So it won’t whisper to me?”

He does this half-snort that you remember from last time, and you’re no longer in control of your smile. “Not unless I ask it to.”

Now, that’s intriguing. Your eyebrow raises in challenge, and you try your best to ignore the way his eyes flicker to the curve of your lips—- I must have tea leaves in my teeth— before nodding. A silent agreement, even if he offers a put-upon sigh.

A glance from the man across from you, and your little friend curls it’s way up your arm, wiggling with giddy intent. You feel it settle at your ear, the cold-kiss of its touch forcing you to fight a shiver.

Pretty.

It’s not quite a word—- not quite spoken. But somehow, you know beyond a doubt that is its tiny message, and your eyes lock with Azriel’s.

“Pretty?”

“What?” He sits straighter, brow furrowing and now glaring at the curl of dark at your shoulder.

The laugh escapes you before you have chance to reign it in— a rough bark of noise, startled by the change in his demeanour and pink tint of his ears. “Is that not what it said? I could’ve sworn—“

“It’s not what I told it to say,” and now his voice edges on a grumble, pink spreading to the apple of his cheeks, and your grin has never been wider.

“Can’t control your shadows, eh?”

“That one does seem determined to embarrass me.” He offers the offending creature— is it a creature?— a final warning look, before rolling his eyes. “It was only meant to say hello.”

“I guess my feminine wiles are enough to win over even darkness itself.” It’s meant as a joke, but the intensity in Azriel’s eyes makes your own cheeks begin to colour, and so you clear your throat and quickly switch gears. “So, why are you back again? See an emerald you couldn’t stop thinking about?”

And… he tells you. How he couldn’t sleep, and how the shadows whisper your name and now he knows why—‘little traitor’—, and you tease and try so hard to drag that little not-quite-snort out of him.

It’s good and it’s warm and it’s not quite so lonely, being awake in the dead of night when the man who controls the darkness itself can join you in the dim light of your home. Light that gets brighter and clearer long after your cups are empty and the streets start to stir; dawn is here, and you almost resent it.

“I better go.” His voice is soft with reluctance which curls warmly in your chest, and you offer him a gentle nod as he moves to the door.

“Bye, Shadowsinger.”

And your little friend pools in the dip of your collar bone, in sight but not called away, even as his master slips out into the morning rays.

#part two baybeee!!!#thank u all sm for the notes ur all v v good to me #I hope the difference between az (serious inside thoughts) and reader (more conversational) is clear #ANYWAY #countdown #azriel x reader #azriel x you #wip #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #fanfic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger

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starlightandfairies · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii 🫶🏼 I hope you're still up for doing an Elijah request! 🤗 I can't get this man out of my head haha

Soo it would be an idea where they met somewhere in Mystic Falls and immediately felt some bond between them, so it happens that they start falling in love (she's human but knows about vampires) but she's too afraid to get hurt so she also tries not to get too close to Elijah. One night he sees some stranger following her home from the Grill and even starts attacking her, Elijah is immediately there saving her and taking her home with him to treat her wounds (mostly some scratches) and he's just super worried. There she realizes that Elijah would never be the one hurting her and they finally share their feelings with a lot of kissing and cuddles afterwards and he holds her, telling how much she means to him.

Oh I hope this is not too weird at all 🙈❤️

Description: Upon meeting Elijah Mikaelson, the feelings start to come but in fear of being hurt, the reader decides to keep her walls up to protect herself. This changes after Elijah protects her after being attacked.

Warnings: fluff, small angst, physical assault (mild), she/her pronouns, maybe swearing?

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thanks so much for making this request! I can never get sick of Elijah, this man is always on my mind and please feel free to request again if you wish :) I really enjoyed writing this, thank you again :D

Key: Y/N = Your Name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 2,125

First Person's POV

Tonight at the Grill was a ‘live acoustics’ night, some of the performers were good and others were quite frankly not that great. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline were off on the next big adventure for the vampiric save-the-day business and while I knew about all the vampires, witches, werewolves and all that extra fun stuff. Besides Matt, I was the only human in the group and somehow I was pushed aside to be kept ‘safe; despite Matt always being dragged into the whirlpool of drama even if he didn’t want to be.

“The music is wonderful for the atmosphere tonight, don’t you agree?” That voice would haunt my dreams, haunt my every thought, I couldn’t fathom how gentle and warm a voice could sound. I glanced to the side, shooting a polite smile to the impeccably dressed man and nodded in agreement.

“I do agree, I feel like I’m in like a cute little romance story, the warm lighting and the music-“ I cut myself short, realising I was babbling to a random stranger who more than likely did not care for my ideas and thoughts.

“I can see how you would see that.” Oh, gosh- those eyes! That smile! This man would haunt me forever, picture perfect and everything I would want in a man. I continued to share a polite smile with the man, fiddling with the straw in my chocolate milkshake and turned myself slightly to face the man a little better.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…?” Realising that he was waiting for my name, I placed my drink down and took his hand.

“Y/N L/N” He softly cupped my hand, shaking it and proceeded to share his name.

“Elijah Mikaelson.” I wish I could’ve hidden my reaction better, my eyes went wide, and my smile flattened for a moment before I quickly made sure to continue to be nice and polite. Elijah carefully rested my head on the bar, took a small sip of whatever his drink was and gazed at me with a quizzical look.

“You know who I am…” His tone was neither harsh nor hurt, Elijah seemed to have suspected my knowledge of his name and he even seemed curious by the idea of my knowledge.

“I know of your brother Niklaus… Elena told me about you, I think she might have exaggerated a bit. You don’t seem like the antagonist she kinda painted you out to be. From what I’ve heard, you’re the nicer brother… the noble one and I'm sure first glances can be deceiving but… I don’t know- you don’t seem like a bad man.” He briefly licked his lips, eyes shooting up to the ceiling and seemed to be contemplating his next moves.

“I suppose you know-“

“That you’re a…” I leaned closer to whisper so people passing by wouldn’t hear.

“An Original.”

“You don’t seem to be phased.”

“Team doppelgänger has built up my immunity to supernatural beings.” I let out a weak chuckle, cringing internally and turned my focus back on my drink. I wanted to keep speaking with him, I really did want to keep speaking with him but I knew the world that I happened to live in and I didn’t fancy the idea of being bait or hurt as collateral damage.

“It was really nice to meet you Elijah but I have to go.” He nodded, that handsome smile appearing once more, his actions made me gush and brought butterflies into my belly as he grabbed my jacket and assisted in placing it back on.

“I hope that you have a good evening, Y/N”

“Same to you Elijah.” He seemed to have a thought pop into his head, I stopped in my tracks, allowing for him to have the benefit of the doubt and give him the chance to speak his mind.

“May I have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

“Maybe… There’s always tomorrow.” I knew I had given myself away, I could feel my heart skip a beat, I’m sure he could hear it, his facial expression didn’t change but I could feel that he knew what I was feeling.

“Have a good evening,” I whispered, brushing past him to carry on my way.

+++++++

I had seen Elijah a couple of times since our first meeting, we had small conversations and I tried my best to conceal my heart, I didn't want to get close to this man despite enjoying his presence, his voice and the true appearance of his gentlemanly ways made me fall into a daydream greater than any story or dream I could ever have or read.

The next time I saw Elijah was three months after our first meeting, as I said we had multiple different meetings and they were all the greatest moments of my life despite how much I tried to protect my fragile heart. I had left my home for the park, I wanted to read outside of my home and get some fresh air away from the stuffiness of my bedroom. I rested the picnic blanket underneath a large tree, I read three chapters of my book before I felt a presence looming nearby, I placed the book to the side and stood up, surveying the area for a figure and jumped in my skin seeing Elijah approaching me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, may I join you?" I nodded, smiling at the man, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and sat down with me on the picnic blanket. He gently picked my book up, staring at the cover with intrigue, I observed him with butterflies growing in my stomach, a blush wanting to form on my cheeks as I continued to drown in what was possibly a huge crush for the Original Vampire.

"Ignite Me by Tahereh Mafi... I'm not sure I've heard of this one before."

"I doubt you would've, I don't exactly picture you reading a book like this?" He smiled, tilting his head slightly, a deep chuckle leaving his mouth and he handed me back the book.

"Why is that?"

"Well... I don't know, I picture you reading older books nothing from the late 20th century to the early 21st century." Elijah briefly nodded in agreement, I smiled proudly at my guess and fiddled with the tassels hanging off of my bookmark. The vampire took off his suit jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his button-up, I bit the inside of my cheek, begging myself to remain calm and avoid giving away any kind of emotions being revealed.

"Enlighten me, will you though, please? What's it about?" I cleared my throat, leaning closer to him with joy forming, giddy that he was showing interest in something that I liked and enjoyed.

"It's the third book in the series, I've read it before, and this one is one of my favourites. Essentially the series is all about control some people have these powers and the leaders are trying to control these people. The relationship of the main characters is what I happen to enjoy the most about it, I love how Tahereh created their bond from..."

"Why did you stop?" Elijah gently questioned, his face furrowing in concern, I wanted to cringe but I forced the words out before I could let that show. Taking a deep breath, I turned my gaze back to him, scrunching my face up briefly and proceeded to explain to Elijah what was going through my head.

"Whenever I ramble on to the Salvatores and all that, it's clear that they don't care and I'm not wanting to force that onto you. I'm sorry." Elijah tutted, shaking his head and holding out his hand for me to take. Hesitating for a moment, I finally rested my hand in his, holding my breath for a moment and kept my eyes focused on him as he rested his other hand on top of mine.

"You do that too often, Y/N, I can see you trying to protect your heart and you have a wide range of information waiting to come out and you shut yourself down because you expect everyone else to do that. I hope you find someone... someone who makes you realise you don't need to do that."

"Could possibly end up being you, Elijah," I whispered.

+++++

When someone unknown came into Mystic Falls, it was always a concerning event, the vampires were always the most suspicious of strangers and most of the time they were typically right for not trusting the stranger. It was late when I left the grill tonight, Elijah was growing on my mind more and more, and I would be hit with a wave of memories at random moments.

"Up ahead, there's an alley to your right, walk down it. Try anything-"

"Okay... I understand." I whispered, complying as I walked a little quicker and turned down the alleyway. I cried out as I was instantly shoved against the wall, my head ached and the world spun around me, I bit back a sob as I hit the ground and hissed as the gravel bit into my skin. I kicked off my heels, not fancying a broken ankle and lept to my feet running towards the street but missed as the man tackled me to the ground and which resulted in blood slightly trickling down my forehead and more cuts forming against my skin.

It felt like something out of a vampire movie, I heard a whoosh and then a light thud. Elijah appeared, holding the man against the wall effortlessly with one hand and easily compelled the man to walk off and not commit any sort of crime again. I let out a few sobs as the pain sunk in and the adrenaline started to fade away.

Elijah swooped me into his arms, effortlessly taking me to his mansion and rested me down on his obnoxiously large bed. He crouched down, gently cupping my face in his hands, observing my facial features and swiftly disappeared somewhere before running back.

"Are you okay?" He questioned, focusing on grabbing the things from the first-aid kit to treat my wounds.

"I'm okay..." I whispered, hissing as he wiped an alcohol wipe across the graze on my palm and watched as he apologised profusely for inflicting any added pain onto me. Elijah was so attentive to my needs, he cleaned the blood and dirt away from my cuts and grazes. Covering them with bandaids, doing what he could to assist in caring for me. It was as he was lingering for a moment, observing my form that I realised that Elijah Mikaelson would never hurt me. He would never cause any harm to me, Elijah Mikaelson would protect me and I knew that I wouldn't need to worry any longer.

"You wouldn't hurt me..." I whispered, staring at the vampire as he grasped my face and held eye contact with me.

"Y/N L/N I would never dream of hurting you, you... you're perfect... Y/N you are the epitome of perfect, I haven't met someone as intelligent, kind, sweet, and funny in a long time. Y/N I love you and I hope that you'll allow-" I pushed myself closer to him, carefully cupping his face to kiss the man who had possessed my dreams too often.

"Elijah, please, never let me go, I can't keep guarding myself-"

"Shhh, I've got you." He kissed my forehead, pulling me into his arms and pushing himself to lay against the headboard of his bed. I inhaled, holding onto the warm and mesmerising smell of his cologne, I curled into his chest and hummed gently as he rested another kiss on my forehead.

I felt protected, Elijah was my guardian angel, and he made me feel warm and gooey. Made me giddy and the butterflies a constant swarm in my belly, I fiddled with his hands, staring at the family ring that rested on his finger and glanced to him as he pulled my face to meet his. I hummed as he rested a kiss against my lips, sucking in another deep breath and curling in closer as he strokes my hair, his touch comforting and loving.

"Can I stay here? Just in your arms? Where I'm safe and with you, you Elijah who looks after me and takes the time to listen and know me?" Elijah's smile made the butterflies come to life, my cheeks flushed red and his simple words reassured me for an infinity of time.

"Always and forever."

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midnightdevotion · 5 months ago

Text

Not Real (1)

Hi Guys!! I mentioned writing this fic back in august??? anyways sorry for taking so long. I'm trying to have more balance with my creative hobbies and do them more regularly.

Description: Hangman, ever elusive and avoiding commitment finally finds the one. Except she doesn't think love is real anymore. Part 1

Warnings: Depression, Reader loses themselves, Slow burn, and I do use y/n so sue me ig

Pairing: Jake Seresin x female Reader

Readers POV

It's an uncharacteristically rainy day in Southern California. You heave a small sigh at the ever lasting grey clouds. To be completely honest, your life has felt like an everlasting grey cloud recently.

Heart broken one too many times, seemed to take the color out of life. You were someone who looked at fuzzy bumble bee's and grinned. Who felt the wind blow against her skin and let it relax any tension.

Now it was like nothing but grey existed in your mind. You didn't know how to escape the hallow shell you have turned into. It felt like the person you were is so far gone and yet you still vividly remember every thing. Every thing you loved about the version of you, you just can't seem to reach any more.

The easy laughter no longer came, the yellow sunshine your personality was described as now ashes and dull. The worst part of all of it was nobody noticed.

Nobody put together how your entire world was ripped away and nobody saw how it changed you. How you could barely get through the day, crawling back into bed as soon as you get home.

These endless grey days lasted months. A good thing would happen, you got a raise, and cried to yourself later that night. It was good, why didn't anything feel good, why didn't you feel like enough anymore.

------

You could feel the change, not sure when it happened but it felt like it was so slow and then all at once. One day you couldn't imagine being happy ever again, and suddenly, one day you had your spark back.

You'd never wish on your worst enemy the 8 months you had just lived through, the thoughts that haunted you now just painful memories you can push to the side and leave behind.

You found friends you genuinely feel happy to know. Who have your back in every scenario. It started with meeting Phoenix, or rather Natasha. You first met Natasha after forcing yourself to go to the gym regularly. Hoping the endorphins that release from exercise would help your depression.

In ways they did, like the butterfly effect. You went to the gym, every day for a week and Natasha noticed. She noticed the empty eyes, and came up to you one afternoon. She introduced herself and asked if you wanted to be friends, In her exact words

"I'm sorry if this sounds weird but I work with all dudes and I genuinely need someone to talk to that doesn't rage testosterone, soooo brunch Sunday?"

And it sparked a real laugh out of you, a sound that use to be so common to you now unfamiliar to your own ears.

It's been six months since then, you and Phoenix have grow very close, She has introduces you to a few of her coworkers 'the safe few' she has dubbed them.

It was a usual Thursday night for you when you get a call from her, asking you to come to the hard deck. Which is unusual for her, she usually liked to keep her aviator life separate from her friendship with you.

It didn't bother you, her reasoning of pilots are assholes and your aversion to getting hurt again made it pretty straight forward to take her word for it.

So when you pulled up to the parking lot of the infamous bar she frequents with her navy friends. It feels a little like going into the lions den.

You roll you shoulders and sigh. An old version of you tickling the back of your mind that this is what you should be doing when you're young and single. Not moping because your heart got shattered beyond repair. Or so you believed anyways.

The loud ambiance of the bar was startling slightly, for a Thursday night the bar is packed. A sea of never ending khaki it takes you a few minutes to find your friend.

"y/n!" Rooster calls, one of the few 'safe friends' you have met. He has always been nice to you, and in fact regularly joins your girls nights.

"Hi rooster" you grin at the mustached golden retriever. Giving him a side hug, trying not to feel intimidated by the eyes on you. "nobody told me khaki was the move tonight" you laughed

Rooster shook his head grinning. "I know, it's bad isn't it" and okay it definitely isn't the look for some, but you will definitely attest that rooster and every in this area seems to pull them off well.

"oof" a grunt leaves your lips as you are suddenly hugged from the side, a slightly taller brunette almost taking you down with her on impact.

"Nat what on earth" you laugh.

"I-II knew you would c-come!" She slurred her words and her eyes looked at you unfocused. You furrow your brow and help balance her.

"uh phoenix why did you ask me to come? do you need a ride home?" there was a small part of you that was hoping she would say yes and you could leave the loud crowd, especially feeling like a sore thumb being one of the very few people in denim shorts and a tank top.

"No- No, si-silly. Hangman here said I didn't have any friends, so I bet him I did and that you would come here and prove it." you laughed because Natasha was always betting on things, especially when she gets tipsy. "he owes me fifty bucks now" she grins

"HANGMAN!!" you wince as she shouts in your left ear. You hear a slow drawl that sounds like he's somewhere from the south in reply.

"Yea yea Phe, I will get you cash tomorrow" You turn your head and notice the tall blonde man leaning against the wall. Clearly watching this whole interaction. He gives you a wide grin, one you can tell right away means he gets what he wants and has no problem breaking hearts.

"what I can't figure out is why phoenix has been hiding you all this time" his eyebrow raises when he notice you grimace, his clear attempt to be charming not impressing you.

"probably cause pilots are assholes" is your albeit maybe a little to monotoned reply. It's not that you wanted to be mean. You just had to shut down any attempt at flirting. You don't think any version of your heart could ever love again.

What you didn't expect was for him to cock his head a small smile playing on his lips.

"well Phoenix has always been smart that way" not offended that you basically called him and half the people in this bar an asshole. "I'm Jake though, or as you heard earlier, hangman"

You just nod, finally getting introductions to the rest of the group. Excluding bob and rooster, the only other pilots you had been introduced too.

Despite only being called upon to win fifty dollars (which phoenix is buying brunch for on Sunday) You found yourself enjoying the company and getting to know the people Phoenix spent most of her time with. Finally putting names to faces she has definitely complained about.

At a certain point rooster goes up to the piano, something you had heard he does before coming tonight. You exited the bar for a few minutes to breathe. Thinking about the past and how the old you would be relishing in the socialization, singing along with rooster and the others, no worried and unbroken.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you startle looking to the left and seeing hangman leaning against the wall to the bar.

"Trust me you don't want to spend a penny on those" you laugh, but it feels a little hallow.

"why not, I already spent fifty bucks to prove you existed" that laugh comes a little easier.

"why'd you do that by the way?" you question. he had to have known you were real.

"honestly because phoenix talks about you a lot, and rooster and bob started mentioning you and I was curious"

"curiosity cost the cat fifty dollars apparently" you throw a grin at him, walking out to the sand kicking your sandals to the side to feel the coldness of the sand touch your skin. You weren't surprised when he followed, you kind of expected it.

"it sure did... but I have a gut feeling it was the best money I've every spent" It makes something old and dead flutter inside you, and it scares the shit out of you.

"I don't know you ever spend fifty bucks on pizza when it's just you? cause that's some pretty good self care to me" you can't tell how he takes your evasion of his comment.

"that's pretty good too, but my gut feelings are usually right." in the past maybe heat would've rushed to your cheeks at his comment. Now though, fear rushed to your heart. You turned to look at him. No response on the tip of your tongue, and you were scared how awkward this interaction was going to get.

"well goodnight Darling, hope I see you again soon" and he smiled at you, then turned and walked to his truck. You watched as he pulled out of the parking lot, until his taillights faded. You headed back into the bar to say your goodbyes.

Later that night as you crawled into bed, mind blazing over everything that happened unexpectedly and knowing you'll be in for a tired tomorrow.

You couldn't get the thought of a certain blue eyed pilot out of you mind.

----

Jakes POV

He'd been hearing stories about you for months, Funny, sarcastic, kind, caring, every thing you could imagine in form of stories for months. At first he thought nothing of it, Phoenix having a girl friend is probably good when she deals with him everyday.

Then Bob started talking about you and funny stories with you and Phoenix. Then Rooster added into the group. It was safe to say Jake was feeling severe FOMO.

He had a plan. Get phoenix tipsy and she's pretty suggestible to anything, especially betting. So yes he planned on getting you to the bar, shamelessly flirting with Phoenix's friend and annoying Natasha the next day.

The universe had other plans, because when Jake laid eyes on you, it was like a spotlight was shining on you, he couldn't see anyone else. The bitter rage he felt at roosters hand on your side when you gave him a sheepish hug, burned hot.

So when he hit you with a flirty one liner, and you retorted, usually he wouldn't have given up. He saw it though, in your eyes, the cold dark fear. He became curious, what happened to make you so guarded, and why did he want to solve that so badly?

He sat in that bar and watched you laugh and joke, the smile never really reached your eyes though.

So Jake went home that night, focused on a new goal.

He wants to make you smile-- really smile.

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