#Dreamy demise

[stickydrawingportraitlamp]

sebastian solace x reader? Anyone?

too bad :P

Sebastian Solace X Reader

Genre: Fluff, Found family

Warnings: None

Summary: After having been thrown into this hellhole, at an unreasonably young age, you find yourself trying to accomplish the task at hand; Find the Crystal. Whilst you are on your journey, you encounter a rather large angler man.

Author note: oh tod he's so dreamy guys. ALSO !! i made the reader into this sort of introvert where they're like "oh god people" kind? Not the "Oh no! People :(" kind of introvert. Reader is 14 by the way !!!!!

(spot the poppy playtime reference MEHEHRMRBR)

Screaming of an unknown enemy closes in quickly. Wanting to avoid certain death, you dive into a locker you made sure wasn't inhabited. It's screaming grows louder, tormenting your eardrums. You can't help but bring your hands to shield your ears from potential deafness and pain, a factor you wouldn't want in this place.

Hearing the screeching Angler pass it's way through, you burst out of the locker to cough out your lungs. The amount of dust your poor, overworking lungs hacked up was nowhere near healthy. Dust, grime and sweat had been imbedded into your diving suit, gross. You hope theres an open hole leading to underwater diving that would be able to wash away all the sweat and dirt off of your body.

Maybe, just maybe, if I'm able to get that crystal, and get out of this place... I can go home.

Home? Is that even a place anymore? Maybe it's the fact that the human mind finds so many things to cling onto when faced with impending death. One last hope to hold close. An unknown family, friends and maybe even a potential lover you could of had the chance to grow old with, and had many laughs in the house you grew up in. That... Sounds like paradise, but you are far away from that dream, the bile and sweat sticking to your swimsuit, a threat. Escaping this place is only a small plea, begging for anyone to hear your cries. To anyone, who could give you that boost to keep going.

'Door 46, am I almost halfway through?' You're surprised you even managed to get to 40, surely there's a surprise around the corner? A potential medkit would be fantastic. Your vitals read 35, that's nowhere near good. Batteries? Your lantern could use it. You only have enough to accompany your lone self through an empty, cold... Dark place.

The swirling thoughts in your head only manage to cease after encountering the door that finally indicates you are halfway through this hellhole. Door 50.

The dripping of a broken pipe drives you insane, every drop makes your fight or flight activate. The rapid pitter patter of your feet scurry to the next door, automatically sliding open once it knows there is a human presence.

The next room, however, is dimly lit. Two portable lights shining in the direction of a vent. How... Interesting? Is this where you need to crawl into? Your thoughts are quickly misguided as a gruff voice emits from the emit, earning a harsh flinch from you in response.

"Hey, stranger. Over here." This voice calls out to you, alluring your oh so close demise.

You have the thought to immediately scurry to the door, not wanting to take your chances. Fight or flight? Flight, surely. Your sweaty palms land on the door with a soft thud, realising that the only way out of this room requires a keycard. A code breacher is out of the question, seeing as you hold no such thing on you.

"Don't be so scared... I don't bite. Maybe." He utters that last part quietly, making a chill run up your spine. Will you really have to find out if this is something that will rip your spine out? But... It's the most friendly voice you've heard in hours, aside from the other angry prisoners from earlier that practically took everything you scavenged.

Investigating the vent, you crouch down to a level where it's most easy to be able to crawl in through. The size of the vent is no problem for you, since you are a 14 year old who could easily slot your way through tightly fit ventilation systems, or a blocked room.

Albeit, the diving gear on your back made it just a tad bit challenging to slide through, it was an easy feat. Your eyes dart from each side of the room, looking for the one who'd voiced out their friendliness. You definitely weren't expecting a 10ft terrifying Angler humanoid.

"Welcome, welcome! Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Sebastian, your only friend."

... With teeth. Sharp ones.

"Now, I'm betting that your supervisors gave you instructions to acquire a certain orange coloured crystal, no?" He words out with a certain amount of sarcasm dripping from his voice. Supervisors? You're only 14.

"However— Oh." He stops, suddenly. Normally, he wasn't one to take in the appearance of a fellow prisoner, seeming as it 'deemed unnecessary.' You, were younger. A lot younger than he expected.

"What the.. What the hell's Urbanshade doing sending kids down here...?" He was muttering to himself, his hand reaching up. Thinking that he was about to grab you, you recoil in fear. You find however, that your fear is misguided and that he'd only brought up one of his three hands to grab his chin in thought.

It had been a good 7 hours since you'd spoken last, other than the occasional screaming and crying. Your throat, croaks out at first which earns a cringe from yourself.

"I'm 14. I'm not a kid." Your throat feels like it was tortured from the amount of screeching you'd emitted running away from Anglers, and threats. That stupid Wall Dweller was one of those threats.

At your response, he chuckles amusingly. Sebastian finds your bravery endearing for someone your age. "Haha, alright. You're not a kid. What's someone your age doing here anyway?" He voices.

Observing the place, you talk as you walk around to analyse your surroundings, finding this small talk pointless.

"They threw me in here, I was trying to find my mum. Told me she'd be in here, just need to get a crystal first. Then they'd take me to her."

....

An uncomfortable silence passed by, before he frowned at you.

"are you that gullable? Thought 14 year olds were supposed to be semi intelligent." That earned a slap from you onto his tail. He hisses at the contact.

"Ow! Fuck, you little..." He hisses.

"You deserved that. She was here last, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Shut up, and give me your ware so I can get out of this shithole." You were obviously pissed, upset that the 10ft Angler guy offered no solace. (haha get it?)

"Alright, alright. That was a fault on my part, just.... Why did they throw you in here? You can't be here. You can't stay. Look, kid. I know they told you that your mother was here somewhere, and if she was then she's gone now. She probably made it back up to the surface." Though you narrow your eyes, you can sense a hint of comfort in those words. You can tell, he's genuinely worried about you.

Sebastian see's many people come and go, only to see that they inevitably meet their dark fate. He hopes, that this won't be the case with you.

"..Look. Urbanshade doesn't tell the truth, they lie to get what they want. I'm sorry to be the one that breaks it to you, but your mother was used as a false hope to get you down here. The more hands they have on the mission, the bigger the possibility to get the crystal. Take it from someone like me." he'd muttered that last part, he can understand your situation.

Urbanshade had lied to him too, told him that his Freedom would be granted. He just need to pay a price first. Be their puppet, be their experiment.

Sweat beaded down your face, this isn't what you wanted to hear. Had they really lied to you? Used you as a move like chess on a board? Sebastian can see your distress. How you came to the conclusion that he was indeed right, even if your mother was here... She would be nowhere to be found.

why were you even here?

Sebastian knows you can't be sent back up, Urbanshade will track your location and come to the conclusion that you're heading back. They would blow you to smithereens because of the bomb device around your neck. You're obviously too young to continue this harsh journey to ensure your families existence. A 14 year old shouldn't have to die in an agonizing way, especially when they're so young and have a life ahead of them. shit.

He really has no choice, does he?

"Agghh.... Fine!! Fine fine. You, are gonna stay here with me. Capish?" He inquires, your head shakes fervently. Your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water, wanting to reject this idea. He stops you before even a single word can come from your mouth.

"Don't worry about the crystal. Urbanshade will send more prisoners to do their dirty work. I'll get you food, and that damn collar off of your neck. Other than that, stay here. You'll be safe with me, and I will try and find out as much of your mother as I can. I trade these supplies for the data you come across. I should surely have one of your mother." Every single thing he says has you shaking your head. But, deep down... You know he'll be the closest thing that leads you to your mother.

"Oh. What's your name kid?"

...

"[Name]."

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

ALRIFHT so im done !!!! if this actually goes viral i will actually turn this into a full blown story on Ao3. pls comment and let me know if you want more of the family trope with Sebastian cause we just don't see enough.

Part 2 is out now!

[dreaming-of-lu]

A/N: Cause I'm in a soft, gooey mood. I'm thinkin of the Links being married.

~~ Imagining Wild smiling so softly down at a letter, looking so love-strucked yet yearning at the same time. Of course, one of the boys called out to him in a teasing way, wanting to know what got him all head in the clouds like their fellow skyloftian knight. He huffs softly and replies with a voice filled with longing, "My spouse wrote me a letter, basically wishing me safety and sweet dreams of them to soothe me."

~~ First normally kept to himself about his s/o, wishing to keep them safe during his time in prison for 4 years. Pushing you away from Demise's grasp with one last kiss, as he headed off to fight hard and long til his last dying breath. Only to reawaken in a coffin, tumbling out and wondering where he was.

His first thought after was wonder of if you were alive and kicking. He rubbed his left ring finger in a panic, sighing in relief when the metal met his skin. The impression of your bright, sweet smile soothed him, made his heart beat fast until the sound of a screech reached his ears.

~~ The look on the chain's face when a body slammed into Legend was hysterical yet made him shy under their wide questioning gazes. He wanted to squirm out of your hold, only to halt when those eyes, filled with tears of relief and love made him melt on the spot. He softly sighed and rubbed their head while exchanging gentle words between them.

The ring on your hand made them choke in surprise; so those rings on his hands are for distractions, huh?

~~ Hyrule kept his ring on a necklace under his tunic, away from sight due to conflict. His head was always threaten to be on a pike, didn't help when he carried all three pieces of the triforce on the back of his hand. He was constantly hunted, he worried they would come to find you if they were to ever find out he was married to you. Yet alas, he would be found by Legend with him sitting there, idly messing with the ring around his neck, a far off look on his face and a gentle smile. Of course, the veteran was going to be curious of whom caught the dear traveler's heart.

~~ Four watched you idle around the living room, gesturing a flick of your wrist to who could lay where without the worry of stepping on somebody. He stares with his chin in his hand, smiling softly as you jabbered on about something to one of the Links. The colors laughed when you bickered and bantered with that Link before silencing at the sweet smile you quickly flashed over to him alongside a wink.

He covered his face with his hand, flushing red at the laugh that echoed in the home.

~~ Once again, he had his head in the clouds with a dreamy smile on his lips. Sky clutched the letter close to his chest and heaved a tranquil breath, his ears flapped wildly, almost imaginary hearts fluttered and popped around his head. Some of those groan, while the other laughed and shook their head at the lovesick expression on the skyloftian's face.

He raised the letter above his face, pressing a gentle kiss against the ink on the bottom of the page then one to the ring gracing his finger.

"I'll be home as soon as I can, my love."

~~ He was so giddy to be home. As one could be, he was always the composed and conscientiousness captain, but when given the opportunity to reunite with his love. Warriors is practically floating down the path to his shared home that the group is struggling to keep up with his rampant pace. He can't help himself! He needs to smooch his spouse! It's a crime to him to be away for this long from them.

The look on their face when he entered the house with a flourish yell of their name, made his heart soar.

~~ Time chuckled when you fussed over Twilight, tucking him in before glaring at the male when he tried to protest. His descendant looked at him with a silent plead for help, only to slump when the old man shook his head and made an 'x' symbol with his arms. He knew that butting in would not protect him from your glare too.

He rather walk straight into a pit of lava than face your glare head-on. Though he melts at the passing thought of you tucking your future child in, sternly telling them its bedtime and that rest is important. He makes his way over, pressing himself against your back, lacing his hand with yours and placed a kiss against your forehead.

~~ He was already suckered from the day you first played together when you were both children. From the shy glances to the shared giggles, to the sleepovers and to the shared secrets. Twilight knew he had to have you as his spouse when you jumped into his arms and kissed him without a thought after he saved Hyrule.

Even as he stared up at the night sky during his watch, he could still remember the sight of you walking down the aisle with a shy yet giddy smile on your lips. He rubbed the ring back and forth as the memories took over his mind, making the time go by fast til he was tapped out by the next watch. He falls asleep easily when his head hit his pillow, with a faint smile on his lips.

~~ He felt smug when the chain jaws dropped at the sight of him running towards his spouse yet ignores them as their squeals and giggles graced his ears. Fierce swung them around softly in the air before slowly lowering them in his embrace, holding them by their waist, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against theirs. He purrs at the hands that cupped his face, sweet yet butterfly like kisses gracing his skin that soothe the ache that grew in yearning for their touch.

He felt them move away the white strands away from his forehead, placing a kiss against the blue 'v' shaped mark there. He retaliates by placing one against the ring on their finger before opening his eyes to them. Feeling himself melting in their ever so loving and gentle gaze, "You still look radiant, my dear jewel."

[junedenim]

at the heart of what the business is

part two

if you work with him every day, you might as well fuck him

warnings: smut, eating, blowing, fingering, fucking, etc.

word count: 4.7k

He looks like he has had one too many drinks and you're almost certain he hasn't been without a cigarette in his hand all night. His hair makes him look scruffy like a stray dog. You're filled with a desire to kick him, not out of cruelty, but to see if he'd react. He's got a shadow of stubble that looks like sandpaper. You think if you run your hand down his cheek, scratches would cover the palm of your hand. He's disgusting. Before walking down into the restaurant, he spat on the stairs, leaving a blob of salvia just begging to be slipped in. (You're disgusting; covered in a want for you to be that cement stair).

You two haven't taken to one another exactly. He hasn't acknowledged your presence and you scoff whenever he speaks. There's an obligation to work together but you don't have to interact with him outside of it. You don't hate him, you find him strange in a fascinating kind of way. He definitely hates you, at least you think.

He's across from you at the table though neither of you has made eye contact. He's talking with Ben and you're talking with Elizabeth. Except you and Elizabeth are watching him out of the corners of your eyes and talking about him. 

"Is he looking at me?" She whispers harshly.

You glance over. "No, he's still talking to Ben."

"What about now?"

"Still talking to Ben."

She groaned. "Whatever. I give up. He'll just be the one that got away." She sighed heavily and sank into her hand.

You laugh. "I don't think you're missing out on much."

She gasps. "He's so dreamy. What are you talking about?

You shrug and sip your wine. "He's always seemed a bit arrogant to me."

Elizabeth sneers, "You've never even talked to him."

You object to this. "I talked to him at work today and he was a prick." He ignored you and instead talked to your project partner, Jeff. You took the slight as misogynistic. A fact Elizabeth vehemently denied when it came to Alex. To Elizabeth, Alex was a god. He could have no faults. 

The wait staff came out with everyone's orders and the conversation dissolved into a more central conversation as Ed, everyone's boss, asked after his crew. He seemed to know every detail about everyone. "And Alex, how's that lady you're seeing?" Ed exclusively called people "lady" or "fellow." It amused you every time. You giggle into your napkin.

"Uh, um." He awkwardly moves in his chair. "We aren't seeing each other anymore." Elizabeth practically shakes the table in excitement, which causes you to laugh louder. Alex's eyes land on you and you turn red at the embarrassing idea he thinks you're laughing at the demise of his relationship. You cover it with a cough into your napkin, but it sounds and looks fake.

Ed looks solemnly toward Alex and says, "I'm sorry to hear that, Al." Ed and Alex have about 30 years between them but got along like they had gone to university with one another—a fraternity of brothers. You often felt work was a good ol' boys' club, even if Ed was a great boss and the company was diverse, the upper management mainly consisted of men. 

"Her loss," Elizabeth remarks.

The comment makes you burst into laughter again. You're flushed with red before you have time even to catch yourself. All eyes were at the table directly at you from the sudden outburst. You cover your mouth with your napkin again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You alright, little lady?" Ed asks.

You clear your throat one too many times for anyone to believe the act. "Yeah, yeah. Yes. I'm sorry. Ignore me."

"Nonsense," Ed dismisses. "Your father doing okay?" That's the kind of boss Ed was. Your father had several bouts with his health that caused him to be hospitalized a few times this past year. Ed was always forgiving with your work attendance.

You dip a hand in your glass of cold ice water and tap your wet fingers on your hot cheeks. "Yes, yes. He's been feeling much better this past month."

Ed cheers, "Excellent. Please give him my best." He lifts his wine glass up in acknowledgment.

"Yes, mine too." Your eyes dart across the table. Alex is leaning back in his chair, that burning cigarette in the ashtray the restaurant provided—you wonder how much he paid them to allow him to smoke in here—and his glass up in the air.

You nod silently and dive back into your dish. Your cheeks are still flushed with mild humiliation but also smiling at the hilarity of it all.

Elizabeth sighs beside you and whispers, "Well, he's looking at you now."

You lift your head, your eyes meeting his, locked in a stare. You swallow your food and lean yourself forward on your elbows on the table. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you," you try to assure Alex. "Just something Elizabeth said."

He waves away your apology. A smile cracks upon his lips. "That's alright. You can laugh at my misfortune if you want to."

You shake your head. "I wouldn't do that. At least I don't think I would."

His smile grows wider. The heat on your cheeks forces you to disappear into your glass of wine. He lifts his cigarette to his lips. You feel entranced by the smoke as you watch him exhale through the blur of wine. He's chatting away with Ben again, making him laugh at some joke you didn't hear. You've never not been intrigued by him. You just didn't think he was ever intrigued by you.

You filter through conversations with Elizabeth and listen to Ed's ramblings but your eyes always return to the man across the table. You swear he must have unbuttoned his shirt a button or two. His chest is exposed deeper. The chain around his neck is more visible and the pale skin of his chest unclothed. It was all a hypnosis wheel. 

Ed orders dessert for the table. Tiramisu. You feast away on your small cut. You lick your spoon eagerly tasting the mascarpone mixture. You feel his eyes on you and it ignites a lust in you that's undeniable. You're reminded that hate sex is the greatest form of passion. Well, you don't really hate him but you can fake it if it makes the sex that much better.

"Did you know tiramisu means 'pick me up'?" The question isn't necessarily directed at anyone, but your eyes are on him.

He has a trace of cocoa powder in the corner of his lips. It makes you giggle. You're becoming more and more endeared by it. You're convinced it's due to your newfound desire to bed him tonight. "No. I didn't know that one," he answered.

"It was created for pleasure-seekers." You try your best to pierce him with your gaze. "Ladyfingers is such an interesting name for a dessert. Who'd want to imagine eating fingers with cream?"

He chuckles at the remark before sinking back into his dessert. He glances up with a smirk and you return with a tight-lipped smile.

*

Ed leaves after dessert, paying for the tab causing his employees to cheer for him as he exits. Various people scatter. Some for the bar. Some head home. Some, like you, lean back in their chairs. You copy Alex's carefree mannerisms. Your hand fiddles with the stem of your wine glass. If you focus for long enough you think you could bore holes through his clothes.

Suddenly, Alex stands up and rounds the table. He stands before you. His hand grazes the empty chair Jeff left. "May I?"

"I don't owe the chair. By all means," you invite.

He places his glass down first, instantly forming a watermark on the cloth tablecloth. He pulls the chair out far enough for it to be turned to face you. He sits in it silently and takes a sip from his glass. 

"I liked that project of yours," he complimented with another swig of alcohol.

You can't help the smile forced upon your cheeks but you narrow your eyes. "My part or Jeff's part?"

Alex scoffed, "Jeff's a dickhead." You split into a peal of laughter, forcing you to cover your mouth once again. It incites a laugh from Alex too. "You've got a nice laugh."

You sip your wine to diminish the last ripples of giggles. "Oh, stop it. I've got a witch cackle going on."

He shakes his head. His hair is less styled than it was at work, growing unkempt as the evening has dragged on. It bounces with his movements. "No, no. It adds character. It's contagious."

You shrug. "Well, okay."

For the first time, you notice he has these beautiful eyes: downturned and brown. It's hard not to—the man gives good eye contact. "You're a good talker."

You snigger. "I'm pretty sure Jeff did all the talking."

Alex points a finger out from his hand wrapped around his glass. "Exactly."

His knee brushes up against yours. He doesn't seem to notice, but you sure do. The fabric of his suit feels luxurious against your bare skin. You're not sure what overtakes you. His eyes. His words. His hair. His hands. His knee. You reach down and place your delicate hand on his knee. A smirk covers his face and his eyes gaze longingly at you but he doesn't say anything. "Thank you, I suppose," you tell him.

Alex leans forward. His body practically huddles around you. If you wanted, you could nest in him. Take harbor in his suit jacket and stay there hibernating through winter. "Not sure if I'm allowed to say this," he whispers in your ear.

You turn your head and if you were an inch closer your lips would graze his. It might not be the most proper thing for him to hit on his subordinate. It wouldn't be right for him to leave you hungry either. "Go ahead."

He places his hand on your bare inner thigh, just above your knee. It's cold, still chilling from the glass. It's orgasmic, its effects. "Do you know how fucking hot you look?" His earnest tone makes you emit a horny giggle. "Seriously, pretty sure you're a pick-me-up."

"I could probably sue you for that," you joke.

His hand travels further. "Yeah, you probably should. I'm a piece of shit."

"We'll probably get fired if we move any closer to one another."

He pulls back slightly. "You mean, you don't want me to fuck you in front of HR?"

*

In the haze between the restaurant and his bed, you lost your dress and he lost his pants. He grabs your ass picking you up for long enough for you to land your back against his soft duvet. He tries to blanket you with his body but you stick your leg up, pressing your foot into his chest. "Lose the jacket," you command.

Alex is quick to shed. He wraps his hand around your ankle and lifts the foot to his lips, kissing the heel, then the ankle, slowly puckering his way to your center as he kisses your shin. He drops the leg and undoes the rest of his shirt, leaving him in just his underwear. You watch, propped up on your elbows in your lacy bra and panties. 

He covers you like a dark cloud about to rain down on you. His lips are softer than you imagined and his hands that caress their way up you are as rough as you imagined. His kiss is dominating and his figure is pining you down like you're on a bulletin board. His hand grazes over your clothed cunt. You moan into his mouth.

He pulls back and stands up completely. "Take it off." He gestures to your chest and his pussy.

You reach around and undo the hook. You slip your bra off and toss it off the bed. You reach down to the hem of your underwear but stop before pulling it off. "You too."

Alex listens, discarding his underwear on the wood floor. "You're a bossy bitch," he says. You let out a delighted giggle. "I fucking love it."

"I want to suck your cock," you announce. You sit up on your knees but wait for him to move toward you.

He puts his hands on his hips. "Okay, fuck." He comes closer and you crawl toward him. You wrap your hands around his shaft.

You look at him, eagerly. "Spit in my mouth," you say, leaning your head back and widening your mouth.

He looks slightly stunned but a smirk takes over his face. He wraps his hand around your neck and leans down, spitting directly onto your tongue. "You're a little slut, huh?" He asks it like a serious question as if you're sitting down for a job interview.

You shrug and take him into your mouth. He sighs as if letting out a breath that he's been forced to hold all night. You pop him off your lips and say, "You can decide at the end of the night."

He's large in your mouth. Your tongue moves around him in your mouth as you move up and back. His face is controted in pleasure and you're determined to continue it for as long as possible. You want to suck him dry. To take everything in him for yourself.

He has other thoughts. Roughly, he yanks you off of him by your hair. You land on your back, staring up at him like a beetle on its back unable to turn over. "I don't like you very much, you know," you tell him.

Alex snickers. "I know." It's a word battle of who can turn the other one on more with their insults. His hands move their way down your thighs and soon, his mouth follows. Alex buries his head between your legs. He starts off slow, lazily flicking his tongue around your heat, as if to test it. You shake at his touch, moaning and grinding your hips towards him, begging him to keep going. 

He scoffs, "You're so desperate." He trails his fingertips up your body, barely touching anything, soft strokes causing heat to gather. His tongue dances around your clit, teasing you, before finally giving in and allowing it his full attention. You tremble and he adjusts to a faster rhythm, a stronger pressure, finding just the right angle to make you quiver so hard he needs to hold your legs in place.

You're on the edge, arching your back, ready to fall over, when he suddenly lifts himself from your center and backs away to the foot of the bed. You groan and flatten out. "You're a fucking jerk, Turner."

He chuckles evilly. "Calm down, love." It brings a rare affection to the whole exchange. Of course, two seconds later he pulls you closer to the edge by your legs and flips you over, slipping a few fingers in you just for good measure. The thought of Alex fucking you right now is almost more than you can bare; the satisfied laugh he lets out only adds fuel to the fire.

He bends himself over to grab your breasts. You can feel his cock grinding against your ass, the pressure in your cunt growing with each passing second. You push back against him and he tightens his grip on your waist. Finally, he enters your dripping, throbbing cunt. Then, he slaps your ass. It's light. Probably won't even make the skin red but it makes you gasp, which encourages him more. 

He's bucking into you in such a provoking fashion it makes you loudly moan. He's stretching you out in a glorious way that adds such fervency to the pattern in which you're fucking one another. You're reassured that you feel as good for him as he does for you when he lets out a noisy, "Fuck."

Alex is holding onto your shoulders as he pounds into you from behind, each thrust making it even more intoxicated. He thrusts slowly, hitting the spot, his fingers digging into your hips. His cock slicked wet, covered in you. He grunts, pounding with more force.

He pulls out, flipping you over again. You wrap your legs around his back when he enters you again, groaning at the feeling of his hard cock once again meeting your warm pussy. He moves deeper, pushing himself all the way in. He leers over you and says, "I want to come in your mouth. Can I do that?"

You nod, trying to catch your breath. "Yeah, but can you make me come first?"

"Fuck yes." His pace is brutal but charged. You're clawing and desperate. You don't think you've ever been this desperate before. He's caused something in you that you can't label. He's shaking, trembling, and losing his rhythm. He's sucked you in and you're panting before he hits that back pocket and has you collapsing. 

He lets you ride out your high with your hips shaking around and your back arching before he pulls out of you. "Come here." He points to the floor below his cock that he is palming. You drop off the bed to your knees and hold your hands on his hips as he pumps himself. He shoots spurts out of himself landing on your tongue. As he comes, you pull yourself forward, shoving him down your throat as he finishes. His fingers claw in your hair and he's moaning and grunting curses out. 

His grip softens and you fall back onto your butt with a sigh. "Holy shit."

Alex chuckles and reaches down to help you stand up. "Good?"

The room is filled with panting and you decide to shrug your shoulders instead of verbally responding. He chuckles and slips off into the bathroom.

You stand in his room, naked and unsure of what to do. Your skin feels cold now that it's lacking his touch. You're unsure what to do. Whether to slip around the covers or slip out. You have plans tomorrow so it seems logical to go home.

You dress yourself and meet him at the door of his bathroom. "Oh," he utters.

"I'm gonna head home."

He nods. He has slipped boxers on and looks so meek. The power that he possessed in his suit is lost. He just looks small and soft. "Okay. You're welcome to stay."

You shake your head. "I should get home. I have some things I have to do early tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I'll see you at work on Monday."

"Yeah, yeah. Have a good weekend."

"Yeah. You too."

*

You want to be a siren. You won't lie that your attire on Monday wasn't intentional, wearing the shortest skirt you can get away with to the office. It covers you enough for when you bend over but it doesn't leave much to the imagination. Besides, it's Monday, a day you spend mostly in your cubicle so there's little need to dress a certain way. You've come in hungover and in your pajamas on Mondays before so a short skirt and a tight white shirt will make little difference.

You find him in the copy room. You're collecting your printed work and he is standing with a mug of coffee, leaning over one of the copiers. You watch his back. His shoulders are high and his finger firmly jabs the digital screen on the copier repeatably. 

"Do you need help?" You're not sure why you ask it. You had intended to stay silent and collect your work but he's muttering to himself and you take pity on the poor guy.

Alex turns quickly to look at you. He blinks a few times and takes a deep breath. "Uh, no. I think I got it."

You giggle at his flustered behavior. "Okay."

It seems to soften things and put a smile on your face as you walk to the printer to collect your items. You look over and his finger continues to hit the screen. His face is contoured with frustration. "You sure you don't need any help?"

"No, I just..." he sighs and steps back. "I just can't get the thing to copy."

You place your stack of papers down and look over. The screen is on the copy page and you press okay. The machine buzzes and begins to scan his paper. You look back and he's looking at you all sheepishly. "You've worked here how long and you don't know how to work the copier?" 

A smile seems to come to his face as you laugh at him. "I usually have Jess do it." Right, his assisstant. "She's out sick today."

"Do you need any more help?" You offer.

He shakes his head slowly. "No, no. I'm good. Thanks. Thank you."

"No problem," you tell him, picking up your stack of papers.

You head for the door when he says, "You look nice today." You turn around and his back is to you again. His shoulders are down. The tense that was once there has dissolved away. He's cocky again.

"Thank you."

He turns around slowly to full face you. He leans his back against the copier. "What about me?"

You ask dryly, "What about you?"

"Aw, come on," Alex says. "I can't be so bad. I wore my nice shirt today for you." He's got a white button-down on. It looks exactly like the one he wore on Friday and you can't tell if he's mocking you or being truthful.

You bite your lip. "You look handsome."

"Well," he looks down at his shoes, "I like that skirt of yours that you're wearing." Alex feigns this shyness like he can't look you in the eyes. Then, he'll stare you down and tell you he wants to fuck you. It's very contrasting.

"Uh-huh," you sound. "You're very assertive."

He lets out a chuckle. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

You narrow your eyes. "You are the one hitting on me in the copier room."

Alex hums. "Yeah." He grabs his copies and walks over to you. "That's interesting." He grazes by you, passing you, and opening the door.

"What are you getting at?" You ask.

He turns back. The door is only open a crack but his head peeks through just right in the open slot. His smirk grows and that glint in his eyes only grows brighter. "I like your skirt." He ducks out.

You're forced to stand still, taking a moment to digest what has occurred (and drench the thirst he's left). You shake him off your mind and head back to your cubicle. 

*

An hour later, a knock sounds on your cubicle's wall. You turn and there's Alex.

He invites himself in, not that there is much room to be "invited in." He leans against the edge of your desk. "I'd really like to touch base with you," he says.

"I'd really like that, too," you say, tempted to tell him to move his ass, and continue, "But I'm just swamped with this right now."

He glances at the Amazon website open on your computer and you nearly bury your face in your hands—rookie mistake. 

He looks amused by the display. You feel like a child making up excuses to not do their homework, but you can't avoid him forever, that much you know. 

"Ten minutes, I swear," he says.

You cock your head back. "Oh, I think you finish a lot quicker than that."

Relief washes over that he laughs at that. You're desperate for things to not grow more awkward. "I remember things differently. But seriously."

You sigh, "Alright, lead the way."

His office smells like him. Cologne, coffee, and cigarettes. There are unfinished mugs of coffee scattered around the room. He has no pictures on his desk, the height of mystery, but has several posters on the wall of projects he has worked on. He sits down in his desk chair and gestures for you to stand beside him so he can show you something on his computer.

You follow his hands, his pointed finger, as he explains his idea to you. Your head is filled with much different thoughts that don't concern the project or work. He's asked you a question, he's looking up at you waiting for an answer, he's calling your name, and all you can think about are his lips.

You lean down and kiss him, trying to fuse some idea in him through the transmission of lips. He wraps his arms around your waist and to fix the height difference with him sitting down and you bent over he pulls you into his lap. You swing your legs over to straddle him and he whispers into you, "We really shouldn't be doing this at work."

"I know," you whisper back. "But I've only ever had a cubicle before and I'm taking advantage of a closed door."

He's kissing down your neck and any concern about what you're doing or about to do at work seems to fade into the background. "Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to fuck you on my desk? I don't think we'd get away with that."

"You want to finger me under my skirt?" You offer.

He kisses up to your ear, his teeth fiddling with your earlobe. "What about what I want?"

"Oh," you sigh, "I think this is what you want."

And then, Alex's fingers slip under your skirt, under your silk panties, finding your slit with ease. He breathes a silent groan against your neck as he slips a finger inside your pussy. He comments on the wetness. "Anticipating this, huh?" Sliding in and out, in and out with ease. He slowly draws his hand back up, rubbing soft circles around your clit. You tremble, swirling her hips against him in a matching rhythm.

If it hadn't before, all thought goes out the window. 

Alex pushes your skirt up around your waist. He lifts you both up, propping you on his desk. You gasp when he guides you to spread your legs further apart, pushing in two fingers and then three. You're arching back and shaking with pleasure, so he goes in deeper and harder. He curls his fingers inside, which causes you to grab a tight hold of his neck, moaning in his ear.

You can feel his boner rub up against you and you're certain you've knocked over his cup full of pens. He slides his hand up your dripping core, slowly moving his fingers up and down your clit. You jerk forward, and he holds you steady, quickening the pace. He hits the spot just right and he keeps hitting it and hitting it. "Don't stop," you beg and he doesn't.

Your whole body jerks forward as the orgasm rips through you. You hold yourself up against his shoulders as you try to catch her breath. "Fuck," you exhale. You relinquish your hold on him and let go. "I've never done anything like that before."

"What? Orgasm?"

You laugh and push him back. You notice the protruding boner in his pants. "No, have sex in a place that could get me fired."

"Oh," he laughs.

Your eyes widen at his reaction. "You've had sex at the office before. Ew. I think I should report this to HR."

"Hush now. Let's just say a lot happened before you worked here."

"Yuck," you let out again.

Alex sits back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. "I've never gotten a blowjob here before."

You snort. "Subtle."

Alex moves his hands down and undoes his belt. He pulls his zipper down and looks up at you like a cocky little bastard. 

You nod. "Real subtle. Shall I grab Ben to take care of that for you?"

"Come on. A bit quid pro quo." He exposes his dick, laying hard on top of his zipper.

"That is definitely sexual harassment," you say as you get on your knees.

You take him in your mouth and it feels just as good as it did on Friday, except it's different. It's softer and he isn't forcing your head down on him, instead rubbing the back of it, fidgeting with the tips of your hair. He moans and you're more determined than ever to taste him again.

"You feel so fucking good," he tells you. 

You dive into him, taking him to the back of your throat. Your nose brushes his pubic hair, something that tends to be unappealing, except he smells nice. Something you find even weirder. You suck on him like he's a bottomless mimosa brunch. You lick him like a melting popsicle on the hottest day of the year. You want to consume all of him, but you'll take just this part.

He's close, grunting and pulsing in your mouth. There's agony and pleasure written across his face. His cum washes down your throat. This time you taste it on your tongue. It lingers as you swallow it down. He is slumped against his chair. His head is thrown back and he looks blissed out. You stand and tuck him back in his pants for him. He kisses your elbow as a thank you. "That'll get me through my meeting with Jeff." 

"You better not be doing that with Jeff."

*

a/n: i don't mean for all my fics to have semi-public sex or whatever, they just do.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Mihawk x AFAB Reader? With the • Character reacts to reader's form of affection

Pre-relationship, Reader isn’t being subtle. AT. ALL. About her intentions and constantly flirting and being affectionate with him.. And yet it STILL takes Mihawk a hot minute to realize what she’s doing and go.. “Oh… I see……. well all right then darling.. 😏”

This ended up being more gender neutral, i had to go back and try and atleast hint at AFAB but hey whatever.

Think About It

Mihawk x reader. Female in mind but can be gender neutral. 1165 words. A bit suggestive.

Mihawk isn’t necessarily a dumb, unintelligent, or oblivious man. However, he is an experienced one, unfortunately experience can be as unhelpful as ignorance. Especially when you’ve associated a certain behavior with something else.

“Heyyyy sexy~” You slowly slide your chair over to Mihawk’s side. “What’s a dashing older man like you doing here?”

“Reading.” He states, doing his preferred hobby of passing time.

“An educated man too, how attractive. Bet you’re popular, huh?”

“Hmm.” He’s never thought about it, annoyed by popularity, but he was more popular in his youth. He’s gotten a bit less popular with age though, most likely due to his approachibility getting even worse. “Decently.”

‘Such dry answers… but he’s actually responding instead of brushing me off like with others.’ Your thoughts scramble as you keep flirting. “Well~ I think you’re amazing.” He hums and you tilt your body to rest on his. “Your eyes when you read are really pretty too, I could watch you read for hours.” Usually he’d think nothing of the compliment, even finding it disgusting, but coming from you it’s actually a bit… flattering. His hawk-like eyes move from the book to look at at you, piercing and mezmerising. “Kyaa~ My heart just skipped a beat.” You half-joke with a hand on your chest. A certain behavior to him associated with a Red Haired man. Your true intentions are going over his head, his mind subconsiously filtering jokes like these as only jokes.

“I recommend seeing a doctor.” He brushes it off as he would with that weird redhead, looking back at his book. This isn’t working, mission failed and you sigh, eventually retreating to your room.

Later he finds you in the kitchen with a bottle of wine, “Oh, hey!” swishing it around with a wink when you see him. “Must be fate you came here just as I did, maybe we’re just meant to be.” You hold out the bottle to him and he walks up to you, taking it.

“I suppose so.” He’s actually fairly pleased this has happened, pouring both of you a glass.

“Right? We’re fated to be together, like Romeo and Juliet~” You say with a dreamy sigh, laying your head on his shoulder.

“The two of them die.” He points out, taking a sip from his glass while you flinch.

“Not… that part.” You step back. “Though I wouldn’t mind dying if it were oh so romantically with you~” You strike a pose of longing, hand reaching out to him. He places your wine glass in it.

“I would mind. I prefer you alive.” Mihawk states, not much to say, but for him it is. You end up getting flustered like he just professed his love.

“Thanks.. I prefer you alive too..” Failed again.

__________

Mihawk comes back from a mission looking irritated, immediately going for a bottle of wine when you spot him. “Welcome back, babe, you need a bath? I could even get in with you.” His mind is fresh from fighting, in a bad mood from it being annoying. One of the targets had escaped, making him have to waste time looking for them. Not hard, but out of the way enough to be irritating. Especially when the “battle” itself was hardly anything, being interrupted by the target accidentally causing their own demise. It leaves Mihawk feeling pent up, unfulfilled.

“I don’t need your assistance in bathing, (Y/n).” He shuts you down, quickly looking for a glass when you hand one to him. Wasting no time, he pours the liquid inside and takes a big gulp. It’s a little hot seeing him like this.

“Good view, if it makes you feel better I could always give you one too.” You walk over to him and press your chest against his arm. “If you’d let me~” He gently pushes you away.

“Not now. Your company is… nice, but I don’t need jokes.” He gulps down the rest of the wine and sighs in relief.

“Who said I’m joking?”

“I’m being quite serious.” Mihawk’s adamant and you sigh, pushing him like this would only make things worse when he’s in this mood.

“Alright. No view then, I get it. Call me if you need me~” You say with a purr, rubbing your cheek against him before leaving. Once you’re gone he grumbles, he didn’t want you to leave he just wanted you to stop messing around. It isn’t fun hearing someone who’s words you could actually take to heart play around with it. He almost finishes the entire bottle before deciding to bathe, wanted to feel clean and relax.

Mihawk sighs, his muscles untensing as he lowers himself into the hot water after cleaning himself properly. Much better. His mind, scrambled from stress, begins to come together as he starts to think of your adcances. He’s always assumed they were like Shanks’s, just jokes, and hadn’t thought really though about it more than that; but now that he’s allowing himself to look further he realizes more. They’re different than his, more bold, more flirtatious, and more often than Red Hair. The captain had usually just sprinkled them in with his other annoying babbling, but you joke flirt so frequently.

…

‘Perhaps these are not jokes?’ Something clicks in the swordsman’s mind and he gets up from the bath, drying off before getting dressed to see you. If this is true and they havent been jests he needs to make sure. He finds you back at the kitchen, about to drink your sorrows away before spotting him.

“Oh, you’re quicker than usual. Miss me too much?” He doesn’t respond, instead just getting closer to you. “Hug?” You hug him gladly, “I’d never miss the chance to be close to you.” You expect him to just pull back or accept it with a sigh as he usually does, but you feel his arms sneak around your body to hug you back. It makes you freeze in shock, not expecting your affection to be returned.

“(Y/n). Continue talking.” He says when you go silent.

“Huh.. yeah?” You’re confused, face hot.

“You enjoy my body, yes? Enjoy it.” He hugs you tighter, letting you feel his muscular build against you. “Take this chance.” You’re getting more flustered, why is he getting so into this so suddenly? He pulls back enough to look at you. “Enjoy the view as well.” This is a lot. Thankfully you’re too shameless to refuse so you take in the sight of him while feeling his warmth close to yours.

“This is the best.” You mumble and unconsciously reach a hand out to touch his cheek, he leans into it, closing his eyes. You’re reacting positively, he was right, and now that he knows he isn’t going to let this pass by.

“(Y/n).” He suddenly speaks and you jolt slightly.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I'll take your offer.” He places his hand over yours, opening his eyes to look into yours. “I would like to see the view.”

[okkotsushi]

Sae Itoshi x GN! Reader x Rin Itoshi

Synopsis: Your wedding day took a twist for the worse, but you did not mind one bit.

tw: reader has anger issues, mentions of a wedding/religious traditions, hints of reader being married against her own will, reader is wearing a dress

Given that you were much younger than the groom standing tall adjacent to you, you were now experiencing what it means to be wedded.

Indeed, the current day of your marriage was subpar in contrast to the wedding day that you swore your inner, younger self that you would achieve. Yet, the choice of venue was not all that disastrous; the roses greatly adorning the elegant venue of the hotel that your "fiancé" had chose, the crimson clashing beautifully with the romantic ambiance. The china were just as luxurious as the tables they were laid upon, knives and spoons glinting under the said lights.

He really went all out. It made you even more angry.

You looked at the ginger-haired footballer who gave you a ghost of a smile. His eyes scanned your whole figure, not leaving one part unseen. Huffing out a dreamy sigh, Sae turned to the ordained man and waited obediently for his word, as if though he was waiting all his life for this moment.

Verily, the young man was infatuated with you– no, he fell completely in love.

Initially, when he first set his turquoise eyes on your stature, he scoffed and dismissed you as lukewarm. Not like you initially were his friend, you were merely visiting Rin Itoshi– the boy you were paired up with for the English project. There was no doubt that the younger Itoshi was skilled in that field, and you were (as Sae previously stated) lukewarm at best. Hence, it was but fit for you to be paired up.

You were set to meet up at 5:00 pm– you came at 4:50 pm. Your hands rose to the door, the house seemingly quiet and abandoned. But to your demise, Sae Itoshi, the world-renowned football player, unlocked the door. Lifting your line of vision from the doormat to greet your classmate, you let out a small gasp as you spot the tall man behind the door.

"Who's there?" All raspy, as he eyed you with his usual annoyed visage.

You were quick to note that this man was not one for friendly chitchat, so you quickly stated your name and reason for your visit; your manner almost akin to that of a nervous soldier addressing the higher-ups.

"Rin's not here yet." He claimed coldly. Before you could open your mouth and give an honest solution, Sae abruptly slammed the door–leaving you all alone outside his abode. Now, anger was simply an understatement of what you felt in that specific moment. You were furious.

As a result, you lifted your hands again; only this time, you balled your fists even harder and banged till the noise was even more deafening than the sound of the door slamming. In a rushed fashion, Sae immediately opened the door and glared daggers at you. Yet, that was not your concern; your face showed nothing but a livid and sour expression. You approached the eldest Itoshi with a similar glare and spat out,

"Just because you're known for playing with balls doesn't mean you have the fucking right to slam the door in someone's face." you uttered out as calmly as possibly, though it was a clear challenge and indicator that you were not exactly serene.

Sae stood speechless. He froze as he was not used to someone scolding him like that (except his coaches). He, then, accepted his defeat and let out a deep exhale as he opened the door widely for you to come in.

You settled onto the burgundy couch that was situated in front of the brightly-lit flat screen. There was a playback of some football match, displaying side commentary and analysis beside every player. Raising an eyebrow, you truly did not understand this wholly passion for football with the Itoshi Brothers.

The ginger quickly got hold of the remote and abruptly turned off the television. He, then, sat on the opposite side of the couch— his turquoise eyes analyzing every part of your figure, as if he was evaluating you.

You turned to look at the man, intrigued by his sudden silence. You held your hands crossed against your chest, giving the impression that you were not exactly fond of the man. Making himself more comfortable, he spread his legs wider and placed his elbows on top of his knees; in a crouching position.

He continued to set his eyes upon you—time passing as if it froze.

5:30 display boldly through the screen of your phone. The tension rendered impossible to bear; you sighed, turning off your phone and stood up from your seat. Futhermore, your longing to leave was getting impatient; so you headed to the door.

Right before you extended your hand to grab the doorknob, your whole body was pulled back in swift motion. Sae grabbed your other arm and pulled you back to face him. His facial expression showing nothing but nonchalance as he kept his hand fixed on your arm. You were taken aback.

“Weren’t you the one who insisted in coming in? You can’t back out now, (Y/n).”

Anyone with a pair of functioning eyes would spot the close proximity between you and the latter. As he spoke his words laced with sarcasm, he inched closer with every sentence. Now, he was the one who left you speechless. With his hand still glued to your arm, his breath was now audible due to his closeness; your (e/c) eyes switching back and forth from his face to his arm. Yes, you were furious with the man, but it was no doubt that his beauty captivated you. In that moment, you truly understood why Sae Itoshi was popular among the ladies.

As you kept staring into each other’s eyes, the doorknob rustled—in rushed a very sweaty Rin.

You quickly detached from Sae’s grasp to turn and greet your classmate who wore a skeptical look on his worn-out face. Sweat glistening from his face to his shoulders, hair wet from practice, the blue-haired footballer took note of your presence and let out a small “wait for me” whilst dashing to his room.

Clearly, embarrassment was the fit word for this occasion, but Sae did not seem to wear a similar expression. A small smirk was sketched upon his face, as if proud of his small act. Emotions were starting to clash; on one hand, you were still extremely livid with Sae’s act of rudeness, but on the other hand, his delicate touch left you pondering for more.

“I’m going to wait for Rin in his room.” You uttered out, hoping that the latter finished his shower and was waiting for you to show up in his room. As you faced away from Sae, your eyes locked shut and your mouth akin, as you walked slowly to Rin’s chamber.

As you were flustered (and still mildly upset) from his previous act, the former could not be said to Sae Itoshi.

In fact, in all of his trainee years, Sae was seen as a prodigy—an idol. One that was adored by fans all around the world. He knew their interest in him was only materialistic, as he was shown to be a multi-millionaire at such a young age. He would solemnly swear not to date any of his fangirls, for they were only interested in his net-worth. With that, Sae grew disgusted at the thought of ever building a relationship with someone. He would always get special treatment, always given the easy way out.

But, when he saw how you did not accept any disrespect from him—regardless of his status, his heart pounded.

Reminiscing the day you first met was, but an orthodox method that all brides must experience on their wedding day.

Sae—his eyes constantly roaming your figure—gave you a small smile. The organ's keys playing a symphonic melody, the constant chatter emitting from the guests , and the priest standing in between you, all faded to blur; all but resulting from the smile Sae bothered to show. In almost all of the years you have interacted with him, never had he twitched his lips upwards for the likes of you. But yet, standing tall and proud was the footballer you were bound to marry.

Verily, it would be abnormal for him to not smile on his big day, would it not?

Clearing his throat, the priest snapped you of your trance, turning to look straight into him. As the crowd stood up, the priest exclaimed the following words,

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

You gulped, Sae remaining unfazed.

"Sae, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

Without any sign of hesitation, Sae breathed out a simple ‘I do’.

As the ordained man nodded his head, he turned to look at you and posed the aforementioned question now to you,

"(Y/n), do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

You froze. “I-

“I OBJECT!”

the gasps echoed in unison; the crowd looked to the person responsible for this claim.

There, on the other end of the luxurious aisle, stood long, muscular blue haired man— wearing a jet-black tuxedo with a blue tie that matches his hair and eyes.

Rin marched towards you, snaking his arms around your waist. You look up to stare at him, befuddled over the whole situation. The younger Itoshi simply looked down—locking eyes with your own. In an instant, Rin clashed his own lips into yours, clinging and bringing your body closer to his.

He huffed out a small sigh in between your lips, before pulling away.

Rin Itoshi, the man who stole your heart way before you met Sae, had completely crashed the wedding.

But you, as the bride of the said wedding, did not mind one bit.

A/N: This is way outta of my comfort zone, THIS HAD NOT BEEN PROOFREAD NOR FACT-CHECKED PLEASE IGNORE ALL INACCURACIES IN THE CHARACTERS AND THE SETTING, THANK YOU

[jinnie-ret]

seasons

seungmin x fem!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

content warnings: cheating ((not explicit) not by seungmin)

word count: 1.6k

summary: you and seungmin have been best friends forever, and your strong bond really shines through when he comforts you through a tough time

requested by: anon

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Summer

"She had badada and green eyes like Namjoon," she sung quietly to herself, not quite knowing the lyrics but appreciating the fact that she wasn't the only one who thought the song sounded like it mentioned the leader of BTS.

The vibes were immaculate, in her opinion. Sun shining down onto her apartment balcony on a beautiful Sunday morning, accompanied by an iced coffee made by her best friend and neighbour, Seungmin.

"You always do this, you're obsessed with that man I swear," Seungmin sighed exaggerating his disdain as he took a seat opposite the woman, Hell N Back by Bakar playing in the background.

"Why would I not be, Seungmin?" she let her face fall to a bluntly disappointed one, no sign of a smile.

Poor Seungmin immediately felt awkward, wondering if he did something to upset her. To his own demise he could never tell, she was full of surprises, this one. But that's what he liked about her, she kept him on his toes.

"Umm..."

"That's what I thought," she suddenly grinned, taking his unsureness as a victory, a brightness entering their morning once more.

The mood change was abrupt, thats for sure, but Seungmin felt intrigued by it nonetheless. This happened every time.

Later on in the week, Seungmin was reading in the bedroom of his apartment, windows open in desperate attempt to let some cool air in to fight against the Summer heat. Not to mention he was getting ready to watch the sunset anyways.

The sight of the orange and pink hues painting a picture across the sky was something more than enough to pique his interest, yet the sound of her dreamy voice from the balcony was also intriguing to him.

"Girl! I don't even know what to think... There's this really cute guy," she cried out with exasperation.

Seungmin couldn't help himself from nosily listening in on the conversation, a tiny part of his soul pleading and begging that the conversation was about him.

"He gave me his number!"

Oh, so it wasn't him. Figures. She deserved someone better than him, someone more consistent.

This season had proven to be a busy one filled with situationships turning into relationships, his best friend now happily with her boyfriend after a couple of dates. That too, made Seungmin content, but he had been playing it off one too many times for it to look like he wasn't purposely ignoring the opportunities to meet the man who stole her away from him. brought a sense of happiness. He finally built up the courage, simply popping round next door in a grey hoodie and some blue jeans to meet the guy who had stolen his Summer away from him.

Seungmin decided he didn't like this man. He wasn't even sleazy, or mean, or any other bad adjective that he could conjure up in his mind. If anything, he was perfect for you. And that hurt.

He felt torn. One side of him knew that he was jealous, the other knew that this was the best thing that could happen to you. Someone who was brave enough to share their feelings and treat you properly.

Autumn

When the leaves turned into beautiful shades of red, orange and yellow, Seungmin began to hate the fact that all he could notice were the dead, brown and wilted leaves, walked all over by pedestrians in the park. It wasn't a nice thought, but it reminded him of her. Being walked over by her boyfriend without any suspicion being thrown at him.

Seungmin longed to tell her, let her know that she wasn't the only woman in her boyfriend's life, but then he'd be ruining her happiness, and red was such a beautiful colour on her lips that contrasted wonderfully with her bright orange beanie and the golden jewellery she wore. He would regret not speaking up earlier, instead of not letting it all fall apart.

Winter

The man who should have spoken much early came to regret holding back his confession from her. Yet, despite feeling in the wrong himself, he couldn't hold back his anger. Seungmin didn't mean to lash out at her, he just wished she had seen it instead of coming to him in tears about how unfaithful her boyfriend had been.

"I told you so!" Seungmin shook his head grumpily after shutting the door to his apartment. Whether it was more directed towards himself or her, he couldn't tell.

"You didn't!?! Are you telling me there was something wrong and you didn't tell me?" she paused her in her tremendous effort of not going bald whilst she tugged at her hair.

"What? I was supposed to just be like 'oh by the way this perfect dreamy guy is actually a lying bastard and a cheat?' Is that what you wanted? Because I've been trying to figure that out this whole time," Seungmin rambled, feeling everything he held back throughout the past two seasons.

"Figure what out?!" she was out of her mind at this point, hands on her hips as she looked at him.

"How I can make sure you're happy," Seungmin sighed, waving his hand out to the sofa as he took a seat to ground himself and hopefully her as well.

"Well I'll tell you one thing, I'm not very happy right now. I think I'm on the verge of a breakdown, b.t.w," she earnestly admitted, bitterly laughing at her own pain.

"Stop doing that," Seungmin rolled his eyes.

"Oh so are you gonna tell me what to do now? After you hid that bombshell from me?" she furiously fought back. How could he not say anything to her? She thought they were good enough friends and that they had each others' backs.

"You were so happy! Every day you'd come back to your apartment with this big grin on your face and this slight blush from the cold weather and we'd drink hot chocolates or a mocha or sometimes a chai latte I know you love those too..." Seungmin righteously explained his judgement, perhaps divulging just a tad.

"You're going massively off topic," she hugged a breath out of her nose, folding her arms and sinking deeper into the sofa that was much more comfier than the one in her own home. Seungmin always had a good eye for things, and it seemed he noticed all the little things about her too.

"I'm well aware. I think I'm overcompensating because this is a very uncomfortable situation right now," Seungmin bluntly admitted, exchanging awkward glances at the woman who couldn't hold eye contact with him either.

He soon found a way to make things up to her in the moment, bringing some comfort that deterred the tension from before. Even if it did include sitting in front of a fake fire he found a video of on YouTube on his TV, the electric blankets and hot chocolates he made seemed to make up for that lack of warmth.

The smile on her face did too.

"Just like the real thing," she smiled lightly in content, chapped lips blowing against the top of the mug.

"I only did it for you," Seungmin began sentimentally.

"I know you hate the non realism of this but can you just-" she began, wanting to bask in the peace of not feeling utterly angry at him anymore.

"No, I mean, I... I only wanted you to be the happiest you could be. I hope you know that. It doesn't mean you have to forgive me but I just need you to know that, ok?" Seungmin let his words hang in the air as they got cosy.

Spring

With new flowers blossoming and the sun shining much more frequently, there came lovely notes of sweet floral scents, and the reminder that change can be beautiful, and sometimes it is for the best.

"Stand there," Seungmin firmly said, holding up his phone and trying to get the best angles he could to capture the beauty of the cherry blossom tree and his best friend. She was smiling a lot more lately. He liked that.

"Ok bossy," she laughed and rolled her eyes. She was laughing more too. He loved that.

"I'm trying to help you get good dating profile pics," Seungmin complained, moving his phone from taking up most of his field of vision.

"No they're for my insta like yours will be, I told you already!" she complained back, wanting to stay away from that aspect of her life to focus more on herself for the moment.

"Oh, giving up on the dating life I see?" Seungmin teased.

"Low blow, Seungmin, low blow," she dropped her grim in exchange for a small frown that furrowed her brows.

"Sorry, sorry. Geez, yep... that photo definitely captures your umm... RBF," Seungmin muttered, but apparently not too quietly as it started a small war of playful shoves being exchanged.

Someone had to win soon, and Seungmin was sure that he would be the one to when she tripped over into his arms. There was no way he'd let go though, throughout the tough times in the past year, they only had each other. And he also got to stare at her face up close without an excuse to himself. She got to gaze into his gorgeous brown eyes, and also his lips, and then back up at his eyes.

"Shit, my phone," Seungmin groans, helping them both regain their balance.

She couldn't help but watch him fondly, happy to be with him through the seasons. If she had him by her side, that was more than enough.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @kpopmenace143 @haodore @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @michelle4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143

[vaquerobuckaroo]

My Last Boy Mission: Thoughts

[Warning: Spoilers, disjointed and unedited thoughts]

Watching the My Last Boy mission where the gang helps Eagle Flies and tribe storm the oil refinery

The horror, the absolute horror. Dutch walks away from Arthur as he's close to having his neck stabbed and gaslights him when Arthur confronts him about it. It seems apparent that though Dutch has formed a "family" in the gang, it doesn't seem so much important anymore when you disagree with him. Though I could see he was far gone in the head, I didn't expect this level of animosity and cold, unfeeling attitude. I can tell it will only get worse.

And for Eagle Flies, a third party (to the gang), to come save Arthur instead is both surprising and elating. Though both Dutch and Eagle Flies are frenzied and passionate, Eagle Flies is far more grounded and sane, enough to remember and repay Arthur for the times he's been helped.

The pause on Arthur's face right after he had been gaslit by Dutch is heartbreaking to see. You can almost see the "after all I did for you, this is how I'm treated? After all this time of running with you and doing what you asked of me, this is how you treat me? You leave me to die? What about family? Is money more important to you than lives?" look on his face.

In an odd way, this reminds me of my own dad, a part of him is, unfortunately, like this: valuing material possessions and principle over human feelings. A sort of "My way or the highway" mentality. Dutch exhibits this. There is a very fine line between authority and coercion. What Dutch exhibits isn't authority as a good leader but coercion as a boss. He doesn't care about anyone's feelings but his own, and cares none for anyone's benefit but his own. He is no different from the politicians, capitalists, and the government that he himself goes against, and has turned into what he despised the most.

I don't seem to understand what Dutch means to do with the money. I'm sure he can see the rift forming in the gang. When everyone either leaves or dies as a consequence of his actions, there'll be only a handful to be by his side in Australia or Tahiti or wherever. What then if it happens? They will be caught anyway, if not now, then later. Their sins will always catch up to them and all this will be for naught. As Charles said, "all this killing just to get some money to leave?" (paraphrase).

Dutch's idealistic views will not come to pass. It's a bit ironic that he has such dreamy, colourful ideals in this grimy world. What can one man and his tiny gang achieve? Why doesn't he realise that he is outnumbered against the world?

Arthur has tried his hardest to step into Hosea's shoes of the gang consiglieri, to try to take off the leader's rose-coloured lenses and see the world for what it really is, but it was only met with reproach and replacement by Micah, who encourages Dutch.

Rains Fall's words to his son, "Don't die for pride" ring true. Dutch kills for pride, and he will die for it too. And we all know he does, to the bitter end in RDR1, still clinging on to the age of outlaws that would long pass away. It's not to be wondered at. He was the one to say "you can't resist change" and ironically resists it and dies doing so.

Eagle Flies dies, yet another unfortunate pawn in Dutch's grand scheme of things. The poor man's ambition and frenzy for justice was used ill, only leading to his demise. In the end, what does it say about Rains Fall and Eagle Flies? The one who lives is Rains Fall, the very one to discourage the attack. The young might have energy, but pair it with the wisdom of the elderly, and everyone benefits from it.

All that aside, in a way, Dutch's ability to last so long in his profession is admirable. He knows it's a "survival of the fittest" world and he uses his fitness to its fullest extent, his right arm being manipulation. The saying rings true: Beware the old man in a profession where men die young.

But it makes me wonder... are we seeing a god complex in Dutch?

[robthegoodfellow]

No Romeo, But He’s My Loving One-Man Show

Mirror Sex, Roleplaying for Days 9/10 of @harringrovekinktober additional incidental praise kink, edging, fledgling D/s dynamic, cum play, slight feminization

(roommates, kink experimentation, billy is a femme fatale but really just a very good boy, nsfw)

Handy Links to Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Steve had expected Robin to have some pointed feedback after coming over for dinner and a horror movie—a longstanding tradition Billy had inducted himself into a couple days post move-in by rescuing the pizza from a crispy demise because someone forgot to set a timer—but when Steve met her for coffee later that week, all she talked about was the mirrors.

Why are there so many? Why are there more every time I visit? Do you know how many years of bad luck you’re risking? That old one with the fancy frame is definitely cursed—I saw something moving in it. No, it wasn’t us—something else. Like, out of the corner of my eye. It’s haunted, Steve—you should get rid of it. Don’t break it, though, whatever you do.

Finally, after much redirection and pointed questioning, she’d given her assessment on the Billy situation, specifically how Billy seemed to feel about Steve, from an outside perspective. 

Mostly you both seemed normal, aside from sneaking looks at each other constantly. But even that’s normal, in a way. Her eyes narrowed. Is that why so many mirrors? More opportunity for sneaky looks?

Which—what? No. That wasn’t why—though he’d be lying if he said he’d never… But what did she even mean, that even that’s normal?

Well, like when we watch movies and something funny happens, you always look at Billy to see his reaction. And when the special effects are corny, he always looks at you and rolls his eyes. And when we’re all three hanging out, half the time it’s you and me trading knowing looks from inside jokes, and half the time it’s you and him. So, like—the looking isn’t new, I just caught you guys doing it without the other realizing it. Like a bunch of times.

Rather than deny it, Steve found himself asking, pathetically, how Billy looked. When Billy looked at him.

Like this, Robin said, and made the biggest, dopiest cow eyes, complete with dreamy sigh, reverent tilt of the chin. 

Steve told her to fuck off, but couldn’t repress the grin splitting his idiot face, and Robin cackled.

Ask the haunted mirror, if you don’t believe me! It’ll totally back me up.

.

It’s not like they’d planned to make the apartment a fun-house mirror maze, but after the divorce, Steve’s mom went a little nuts selling off stuff from the Hawkins place, all of which was apparently unsuitable for her townhouse in Chicago, and when his dad made a stink about her disposing of hideous heirlooms intended for Steve, she’d promised to forward their son the remainder.

Which was how he ended up with the couch, complete with decorative throw pillows, and… about six ornate mirrors of varying unreasonable size. And sure, he could’ve sold them himself, because his dad didn’t actually give a shit, but then he’d sorta grown used to them, and Billy had never complained, so… yeah. Made the place feel bigger, or whatever.

Over time, the arrangement had shifted here and there—except for the one in Steve’s room over the dresser, the one in the bathroom over the sink—anyway, however it happened, Steve had noticed, one day, that he’d subconsciously mastered where to position himself throughout the sitting room to see a reflection of the kitchen, the bathroom corridor, and… Billy’s room, if the door was open—and, these days, it usually was.

Did he feel like a creep? Well, yes and no. Yes in that he was aware he should feel like a creep, and therefore did, and no in that he was almost certain Billy knew he was watching and didn’t care. Not only didn’t care, but… liked it. 

After his conversation with Robin, though, he threw all subtly to the wind, staring fixedly at Billy’s reflection as he puttered around in the kitchen, as he left the bathroom, as he lounged in bed reading a book… silently daring Billy to call him out on it, until Billy did.

“Feel like a bug under glass,” he called, turning a page. “You gonna pin me down?”

Humming, Steve resettled against the arm of the couch, didn’t bother turning—just kept admiring him in the mirror leaning against the wall, almost floor to ceiling. The bedside lamp cast warm shadows, limning his hair in gold. Steve wondered if Billy got tired, holding the book above his face like that. 

“I was thinking more like a spy tailing a mark.”

Billy laughed—a short bark of sound. One of Steve’s favorites. “Be dead so fast—made in seconds.”

“You saying I’m more Get Smart than Napoleon Solo?”

“Dunno,” Billy mused, thoughtful. Rolling, he made a pillow of his arms, crossed over the closed book. Leveled Steve a filthy smirk. “If you were 007, I could be your Bond Girl.”

That got Steve to turn around, meet his gaze direct, then cooed, all sympathy: “You wanna be tied up, babe, just ask.”

Billy bit the inside of his cheek, unwillingly amused, so Steve dialed up the cheesy charm.

“C’mon, that was good—Bond Girl? Like bond—”

“I got it,” Billy drawled, levering himself up only to flop against his piled pillows in supposed disgust, book cast aside. “Just call me Pussy Galore.”

“Dick Galore.”

Billy frowned. “Randy Galore?”

“A Bond Boy would have to be Randy Something,” Steve acknowledged. “Or… Something Hancock.”

They paused, then, in unison: “Randy Hancock.”

“And I, James Bondage, am tailing you,” Steve went on, as Billy snickered. “And haven’t been made, because I’m an experienced, accomplished spy—”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” With a final snort, Billy folded his arms behind his head, semi-reclined, and pondered the ceiling, unfocused. “What next?”

Steve mimicked him, only on the couch, back to watching Billy’s reflection. “I use my handy spy-glass to peer around corners, and I catch you unawares—getting ready for bed.” Billy hummed, polite interest, and waited for more. So Steve gave him more, mind whirring, pulse already on the rise. “I watch you take off your shirt.”

Absently, only shifting enough to complete the action, Billy peeled his shirt off. Dropped it on the floor.

“Then your jeans.”

Those required a more aggressive shimmy, but soon they joined the discarded shirt.

“And then I can’t stop—can’t look away. Like I’m glued to the sight.” Steve’s throat clicked as he swallowed, trailing his palm down his stomach—indulged in a firm rub. “So pretty, spread out on the bed.”

On cue, Billy spread, thighs parting to reveal white briefs, the cotton worn thin, pink showing through where his bulge stretched the fabric. Sighing, a lazy hand skated south, fingers brushing the waistband. Slipped under, but no further. The fingers seemed to press—stalling the hips, an aborted twitch.

“Shit.” Steve wagged his head, corralling what remained of his wits. “I—uh, I figure…” He chuckled, let one heel drop off the couch to rest on the floor, his hand working a steady rhythm. “Figure I’ll learn what you like, use it to seduce you later. Learn how you like to touch yourself—”

Billy grunted, lashes stuttering as he shoved past the elastic, made a fist around the handful. Spoke soft, musing: “Haven’t, you know.”

“What?”

“Haven’t been—touching myself.” Eyes still on the ceiling, Billy’s lips quirked, just as soft. “Not without permission.”

That landed like a punch, loosing a long, meandering moan: “Baby.”

And the baby blues drifted down, met a reverent stare in the mirror. “Yeah?” So innocent, solicitous.

Steve rolled his hips into his palm, arching clear off the cushion. “I like that.” 

Billy’s head lolled sideways, downcast—bashful as he squirmed, bulky knuckles straining the front of his briefs. 

“My good boy,” Steve murmured. And he meant it with every fiber of his being: “Show me what feels good.”

His eyes fluttered closed. The hand slowed. “You.”

Simultaneous hits—to the heart and the heat low in his gut. A vicious press brought himself back under control.

“God—killing me.” Could barely huff it, all of him locked on the hand that had tugged free of clinging briefs to caress the red weeping cock, featherlight, through damp cotton. Steve’s pulse pounded so loud in his ears he more saw it than heard it—pink lips shaping You. You. You.

As though hypnotized, clumsy because he was so hard it fucking hurt, even sweatpants chafing awful against skin throbbing tender, Steve stumbled to the bedroom door—caught himself on the frame, panting, light-headed from the sudden vertical, essential bloodflow coursing elsewhere.

Billy choked off a whine, fisted the coverlet to either side, legs splayed as his spine bowed, sank back. “Please.”

In a blink, Steve was at the foot of the bed, crawling to him, over him, hips forcing Billy’s legs wide. “I got you.” Long, dragging grind, the rub exquisite. “I got you.”

The moan vibrated through Billy’s flushed chest. He hadn’t let go of the bedding—wouldn’t, Steve realized, winded anew. He wouldn’t let go unless Steve told him to.

“How long?” Steve panted, reaching down to rub Billy with the flat of his palm through the briefs, this jerking, gentle pressure that worked him piecemeal to the peak, a maddening build. “How long you been waiting for permission, baby?”

“Luh—” Billy coughed, swallowing spit. “Long.”

“So good,” Steve crooned. “I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?”

The flush had spread up his neck to his cheeks, temples pulsing red. He was nodding, mindless.  “‘Kay.”

“All right.” Steve brushed the bulbous crown with a teasing thumb. “Tummy or panties?”

Muffled throaty sound—like he’d been stabbed. Delivered on a whimper: “Panties.”

Steve resumed his kneading rub, coaxing, fine tremors wracking the body at his mercy. “One day I’m gonna get you a nice pair. Maybe something with lace?”

Billy gulped, trembling nod.

“Lace for your pretty cock, a thong for that pretty ass?”

Half-lidded, head craned back, lip bitten raw between his teeth, Billy shivered.

“Make a mess in your panties,” Steve whispered, bending low. “And I’ll make a mess in them, too.”

A burst of guttural gasps, almost hiccups, borderline sob, and he convulsed beneath Steve’s hand, sticky wet seeping through the fabric.

Steve dropped a good boy with every kiss—on cheek, neck, sternum. Lifting up on his knees, he brought out his own cock, stripping it with a loose fist.

Half-boneless, Billy hooked lazy fingers in the back of his briefs, tugging them past the curve of his butt, the front pulled snug against his spent dick, and rolled onto his stomach. Arched, presenting himself, bare ass exposed, and Steve found his groove between plush cheeks, rutting with enough force that he could feel his cockhead rub against that tight hole.

It didn’t take long—short pumps, short of breath—brutish grunt as he finished, coating the pert cheeks in ropes of slick, deploying one hand to catch runaway drips, pet the clenching hole with wet fingertips, tease the entrance.

Billy cut off a whine, squirming, grinding into his own mess, pushing into the pressure behind.

“Soon,” Steve promised. “I’ll give it to you soon.”

An unspooling sigh, and Billy went limp, face turned away.

Planting a kiss at the base of a shoulder blade, Steve drew up the back of Billy’s briefs, smoothing a hand over the sodden fabric—with a wave of heat, imagined the trail of his come oozing toward the taint.

Shifting, Steve curled up along Billy’s side, nose to nose, arm looped around his sloping back.

Billy blinked, placid, as Steve drew a lock of hair away from his eyes.

“Ruined it,” he mumbled, mouth quirked. “The spy scene.” 

“Nah,” Steve said. “A good spy knows when to change plans on the fly—switch it up.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Warming to the idea: “What happened was—I realized I could offer you what you needed. In exchange for what I needed.”

Billy’s gaze was lulling as a lake in moonlight. “What did I need?”

Steve let a smile twitch, nerves singing. “Me.”

An echoing twitch. Lids lowered, a hitch in his tone: “And… what did you need?”

Steve dipped near, heart in his throat. “You.”

Billy hummed, a short burst trapped behind teeth. He nudged close, and Steve’s eyes slid shut.

Press of lips, lingering soft, on the edge of his chin.

.

“Steve?”

They’d been drifting awhile, lying flush, occasional brush of roving hands, warm gusts of breath. Belatedly, Steve hummed, enquiring.

“Itchy.”

He snorted, stretching like a lazy dog. Shower didn’t sound half bad, but there was something else he’d been wanting to try.

“How about a bath?”

Brows raised, pensive duck lips. Steve called his bluff—bowled him over, rough nuzzle, and hauled him upright.

.

Now with added next chapter: What He Does, He Does So Well

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tav finds a way to fed Astarion blood.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 17: Poison

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 5.7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

♫ Traveling under the sunless sea, We were both trying to breathe, Tied with an invisible thread.

When colors seem less monochrome, And the soul doesn’t want to roam, Emotions felt with everything unsaid.

Little by little it starts, Devotion of a once vacant heart, The dawn’s shard’s bringing light.

Moments of sweetness and inner strife, Holding on to each other like a knife, So that our tale will be worth the fight. ♫

— Tavelle Swiftchoir, a song entitled ‘Genesis

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Do you trust it?”

“Hmm?”

“The dream guardian. Do you trust it?” Gale persisted, biting softly into an impeccably made cheese sandwich.

Shaking herself from focusing on the shoddy stitch work in her lap, Tav amusedly spied a couple breadcrumbs becoming lost in his unkempt beard “No? Hells, I don’t know. It certainly told us a convincing tale. What about you?”

“I typically like to err on the side of caution, but I’m in agreement with you: it did tell us a convincing tale. The fact that it conveyed nearly the same story to us through our dream state, makes me think we are its only hope,” he pointed out, brushing away flakes of bread from his robes. “But this could be yet another trick. Let us carry on and see what comes of this protector of ours for the present.”

The bard took a deep breath, carefully mulling over their current state of affairs. “At any rate, we do have the creature to thank for us all still being alive.”

Around them, a chilled breeze in the late afternoon warned of the beginning transition into sunset. The day had been wrought with conversations surrounding the group’s mutual restlessness about where the lines of reality and dreams blurred pertaining to the abnormal guardian angel inside the prism. Dreamy’s narrative certainly seemed believable enough, but Tav was concerned that it appeared to each of them in a different form—craftily tailored in the guise of familiarity, blindsiding them to gain their trust. Yet, not a single one of her companions opted to reveal who’s shape it took on, as if they, too, had been unsettled by the imitator’s projected image.

And honestly? She probably understood the need to conceal such unbosomings better than anyone, given the shapeshifting protector’s introduction in Algos’s body. There was very little doubt that her companions would be understanding about why she murdered her husband, but what they didn’t know—what she hid—was that she would one day face extreme public scorn in the pillory before having her neck kiss the bladed edge of a guillotine, for misdeeds far graver than Algos’s demise.

They can’t know. They can’t find out. It would put them all in danger.

It terrified Tav, the knowing that time was running low before everyone discovered her real identity. That a condemned woman as she was on the path to possibly become a hero—unexpectedly following in her mother’s footsteps—except her accused transgressions would see her dead before the first opus honoring her deeds was composed. But she had, in some sense, accepted that she would offer herself up to Faêrun’s judgment when the bell tolled for her fate. Taking as much as she gave to the world by balladeering her final mortal liturgy, while still protecting those in need to the very end.

The wizard took another large chomp into his snack while he plopped down onto the crate, moaning in culinary bliss. “‘av, ‘o yoo wa’t ‘um? I’s ree’y goo’!” he excitedly said, pointing at the sandwich with his mouth full.

“I’m sure it does taste good—judging by how loudly you’re chewing—but I’ll pass this time, Gale. Thank you,” she hastily replied, growing more frustrated with the lapse of her sewing needle determined to create a crooked line.

“Ah,” he jetted out, swallowing more chunks of Waterdhavian down his hatch. “Honestly, all that’s missing is a bottle of Athkatlan clarry wine.”

The needle pierced the tip of her finger, making her wince. “Bollocks! I can’t deal with this right now,” she huffed out, tossing the tailoring kit and torn shirt aside.

Gale turned to her, a fair amount of worry dimming his bark colored eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

How could she ever possibly explain her constant hindrances to him? Whenever she began to dwell, she could feel herself packed to the brim, ready to burst through those seams at any moment. The tadpoles. Algos. Their journey. The dream guardian. Whatever the fuck her involvement continued to be with Astarion. Tav had taken on so much in such a short period, that she was wound like a rubber band ball about to unsnap.

The bard lifted her knees to rest the side of her face against them. Her hair unplaited, captured the last chirps from the evening songbirds upon each strand blown in the wind. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“The beginning may be as good a place as any. After what you did for me—standing for my honor against the others concerning the Netherese orb—listening is the least I can do for our worrisome leader.”

Tav seriously pondered over his words, quickly electing to keep her sentiments to herself. “You don’t owe me anything. None of you do. Being here is sufficient.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is it? Sufficient, I mean.”

“What are you implying?” she asked with a hint of unease in her soft pitch.

Gale raised his head to peer out towards Wyll and Karlach preparing the evening campfire. “You know, when I locked myself up in my tower for that fretful year, I had nobody except for Tara,” he proceeded with his thoughts. “One full year, waffling in my depression and consuming whatever magical items I could to stabilize this infestation in my chest. One full year of never reaching out to another to relinquish some of my misery, convincing myself it was my own burden to bear.

"Maybe I could have blamed some of my pride on my lack of seeking another’s sympathy, but I will say, after I was captured by the mind flayers and settled with you all, I realized just how starved I was to share my struggles with those that would have my best interest in heart.”

As she listened to the wizard’s voice attempting to lull her into a vulnerable place, Tav began to trace all their companion’s names in elvish Espruar letterings into the dirt. With each elegant curve she made, her index finger either thickened or thinned its script. She wondered if amongst her digit’s fluidity imprinting these names into the ground, which of them—if any—could lay their hands over her metaphorically slumped body in an act to invoke a holy dove for her healing. Yet, her impulse to safeguard what was still left within her reverberating heart took precedence, leaving her with bouts of emptiness where trusted connections should form.

Astarion had been right all along: nothing was holding her hostage except herself.

“What I’m trying to say is that perhaps it’s not me you wish to unload any of this haul of yours onto, but I have zero doubt that a single one of us would turn you away if you wished to do so,” Gale ended, fixing his gaze on her.

Tav froze her mindless scribbles in the middle of drawing Astarion’s name. She lifted her head to gently grin at him. “You are singing to the bard here, Gale,” she replied, laughing at her own corny joke. “But know that it is never something to take personally. Maybe after I’ve found time to think more clearly? Would that suffice?”

He patted her on the back, grunting a noise resembling a throaty “yes.”

Familiar post-mortem gouge, A skewer through her vitals. Rearing bestial head, With another cycle.

Scraping and howling, Blow down the bricks to her castle walls. From high above the turrets, Tearfully shoot the animal until it falls.

And then mourn its lifeless shape, For the offense of trying to see inside.

“Ahem,” an unreserved voice cleared itself, announcing himself specifically to the bard.

Leisurely strolling by with his impossibly straight nose pointing down into a book, Astarion sank in his cheeks to follow up his known presence with a “tsk.” His loose curls relaxed along the nape of his neck as his chin tucked a little further into his chest.

Gale sat up straight in his seat, running a hand through his brown hair to find relief from the assaulting tresses tickling his face. “How many times has he passed by us now?”

“Three. He’s pouting and hoping I’ll change the terms of my arrangement with him,” Tav responded, sighing. If Astarion meant to hold up his boisterous charade, she was resigning herself to her bedroll for the rest of the evening.

“Arrangement? As in feeding or…um…something…well,” the wizard inquired, shooting her an embarrassed glance.

Her lower lip hung open, the sound of a forced dry chuckle leaving her diaphragm. “Are you asking about my sex life, Gale?”

“WAIT, I ONLY MEANT—” Gale held up his hands, face turning every shade of pinkish red one could imagine. 

She casually covered her mouth, hiding her raspy titters. Gale reminded her of jam spread upon a biscuit: reliable, easily abashed, and sweet at the same time. 

“Do I simply not exist?” the vampire sneered, keeping his garnet view studying the pages in his book. “You do realize I’m able to hear the two of you gossiping hens from here, don’t you?” 

“Hello again, Astarion,” Gale called out. “You’re sounding rather optimistic tonight. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Oh, Gale, you really need to stop flirting with me—I’m not interested,” Astarion scowled, turning a page in his book.

He’s more agitated than usual, Tav reflected. And his skin…is it possible for him to be any paler? Unless he hasn’t—damnit!

Tav jumped to her feet, giving the ties on her stays a quick glance over to check for their support. “When’s the last time you fed?” she asked aloud.

Astarion lifted his head to peer over at her. “Does it matter? I think you’ve made it perfectly clear where you stand on that particular concern.”

Gale nervously lurched his nutty eyes between the two ex lovers, seemingly deciding it was better to stay clammed up on the subject by the way he pursed his lips together.

Slowly approaching, she nibbled at the inside of her cheek, ruminating on her last interaction with Astarion during their spar. Did he believe she was trying to punish him with the boundaries she set? Of course she was undeniably irate over how he treated their riptided companionship, but she refused to be held responsible in any way for his fickle stubbornness.

“You need blood,” she composedly pressed, stuffing her hands into her pant pockets. “This isn’t healthy, especially with us facing the gith tomorrow.”

Astarion waved her off disdainfully. “Sorry darling, but I think my palette is evolving to a taste that’s less…stale.”

“So, you would rather hold out for a different ‘thinking creature’ than the woman standing in front of you still offering her neck?” Tav frowned, knitting her brow. “I’m not going to chase after you about this.”

Yes, you will.

“Don’t mislead yourself.” He gently closed the book, skimming a hand over the front cover before fully regarding her. “We both already know that you have quite the tendency in refusing to give up on anything.”

Astarion knew exactly how to rile her up, sucking upon her good character like he was the village witch. With pitchforks and orders of decree, town riots were held because of men like him. There had already been plenty of occasions when he knew she couldn't turn away from his dilemmas, premediating he wouldn't even have to ask. Killing Gandrel. Drinking her blood. The promise to fell Cazador. Examples upon examples of the way this captivating rogue had kept her within his apocryphal sepulcher.

“And you’ve taken advantage of that knowledge, haven’t you?” she retorted.

Astarion took a few steps closer to her, tilting his head to the side. “Haven’t I? Don’t you mean, haven’t we? I’m not the only one that’s pursued a special interest amongst the two of us.”

The bard narrowed her eyes. “Y-you think I used you only for intimacy?” she choked out, fighting back the watery spouts in the nooks of her eyes. “...Astarion, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Again, don’t mislead yourself. Everybody wants something from someone else,” the pale elf goaded, slanting his body inwardly to gawk at her underneath his black lashes. 

A dull ache unspun in her chest as it began to propagate from the words of Astarion’s morose piano sonata he unexpectedly disclosed to her. Her previous fears had come true: he honestly thought she was using him for little more than sensual rendezvouses. 

“I want to talk more in depth about this,” Tav murmured, staring at the tome in his hands. Was it just her imagination or was it lightly trembling?

“And I want to leave,” Astarion shot back, abruptly turning away from her, unwilling to share any further exchanges. “I bid goodnight to everyone not named Gale.”

“Yes, well, please do let us know how we can inconvenience you yet again on your fourth stroll around here!” the wizard shouted as Astarion roamed away towards a set of ruins overlooking the mountainous valley.

Tav started to sluggishly pace, thoughts scattered as she ran the risks of martyring her self appointed walls over and over again. Usually, she would pay no heed to his sarcasm and mockery—which was half of his personality—but the steady quakes jumbling his grip around the book, nettled its way beneath the five million nerve endings of her skin. What was he hiding? 

“Tavelle,” Gale said unevenly. “Are you okay?”

An idea struck her. Impulsive and dangerous. She laughed at herself for the mere consideration of it, and furthermore, at Astarion’s prediction of her defiance to throw in the towel. He surely must’ve laced his fangs with poison with the way he continued to seep into her veins.

Wiggling a dagger out from its sheath tied to her belt, she placed the sharp blade against her right forearm. “Gale, do you think you could find me an empty bottle?”

Confused, he observed her impromptu actions. “Let me jot down that bloodletting is an active interest of yours. Whatever are you doing?”

“If Astarion continues to be stubborn in his feedings, I’ll just have to concede to a different way in helping him. He’s not the only one that can tempt another,” she half-jested, discerning on the proper area to slice. 

Mouth agape, pupils larger than copper coins, Gale ran off to retrieve her request with his robes swishing fastidiously behind him. Almost instantaneously, he returned stumbling over his feet with an empty bottle, clean bandages, and a quartered-filled healing potion.

“Here, this should do. The healing potion should stop most of your bleeding, but not right away—hence the dressings.”

“Greatly appreciated,” Tav beamed. “Actually, this may go better if you could hold the bottle for me. If I die, lie to Shadowheart and tell her I forced you to help with a charm spell before she resurrects me.”

Gale silently assented, standing close enough to hold the container under her arm. “I realize this may be none of my business, but why even bother? Is he really worth continuing to sacrifice your own health for? You and I have had this disagreement before and I can’t help but think it’s best to still leave him be. Nobody wants to see you hurt; we need you just as much as you need us.”

The bard grit her teeth together, slowly cutting through several blood vessels in her arm. As her crimson dripped in hurried rivulets, she positioned the wound over the glass.

“I-I care about him, Gale,” Tav weighed in, starting to feel lightheaded. “There is something inside my gut that tells me not to abandon him, no matter how much of a pretentious asshole he can be. I don’t think he understands what living a good life means and, gods help me, I’m determined to at least help give him a real chance to do so.”

He took a deep breath, careful in the way he spoke his next words. "Do you think this could just be your affectionate emotions speaking and not your logic? It's evident you have a strong bond with Astarion, regardless if you feel something deeper with him or not. I'm not trying to deter or judge you, but I went through a similar situation with Mystra. I loved her and it cost me everything."

Tav elevated her head, taking in the warmth of his stare. "Isn't that what life is all about? Putting your heart on the line and hoping everything works itself out," she proclaimed, sheepishly smiling.

A sympathetic expression washed over his face as he held tighter onto the small container while it filled with her blood. “I didn’t before, but I think I slightly understand now why you protect him—us—as you do. You’re too good for this world and I pray Astarion sees what your compassion is capable of doing.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,“ she timidly blushed, resheathing the blade as she scrambled to unravel the bandages to tie around the gash. “Mayhaps I am being preposterous, but I want to believe Astarion has something good inside him that’s been suppressed in growth for 200 years just so he could survive. Would it be so terrible of me to help him search for that?”

“Terrible? No. A damned lunatic? Yes.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Rosymorn Monastery Trail was a location that appeared suspended in time. Vast jagged mountainous rocks reaching high into the heavens above. Overgrown trees refused mercy to the ridges they shoved their roots into, leaving behind a surreal sight to behold. Built alongside the trail were shrines and statues dedicated to the dawn god Lathander—some in literal ruins, others standing proud. All forgotten, left to nature’s decay.

The dusk showed the first presentations of celestial bodies over the breathtaking scenery, dimly twinkling as they labored to shine brightest through refracted streams of light. They reminded Tav of the vampire she was on foot to visit, peacocking his demeanor as if he wanted to be noticed while a preferred distance remained a tumultuous comfort.

In her hand, she clenched the bottle of her prepared blood, wondering how Astarion would receive the expiatory truce. Gale’s woes weren’t without merit about the spawn’s needs extending beyond her remediable efforts, but her memories of the past decade were a potent drug denying her withdrawal from him. She had been alone. Frightened. Traversing the lands with no support. Her name: a stain on her people and her family’s triumphs. Because of this, Tav vowed to herself and the incorporeal buzzards circling overhead waiting for her collapse, that nobody else she knew would have to face their suffering alone as she had.

The tiniest granule of real unfettered hope could change everything for Astarion. 

Hope. A word Algos used to berate her for even suggesting the power it could wield, contrarily believing fear held more dominance. A decade later, she could still hear his voice echoing in leftover thoughts germane to him. Though, she was confused as to why her recent trances were constantly enthralled by him, hounding her into turbulent—sometimes insomniac—nights. Could it be her mind trying to warn her of the similarities between Algos and Astarion? Both had exhibited behaviors of egotism, manipulation, cruelty, and concerns that were border lined obsessive with outward appearances. Comparative personality quirks, yes, but didn’t they hold their differences?  

Astarion was the only one between the two men that had treated her as an actual human being despite his historical flaws. He respected her autonomy, although he loved to disagree with her. When she announced her boundaries, he didn’t barge through them to try and control her. Most of all, he never took anything from her unless she first offered. To Astarion, perhaps these actions meant naught to him other than some part of his personal compass he routinely enacted. Whereas for Tav, these were exhibitions of consideration for her well-being that he may never understand what they truly meant to her.

Still, the songstress couldn’t shake the parallels betwixt them. 

Maybe she really was a lunatic caught within her own patterns, blinded by her feelings. Maybe she was some idiot who couldn't help but to throw herself into another man’s haunted house. Or maybe her muddled head was overthinking so many disorderly thoughts, that she failed to notice her arrival at the wrecked archway attached to what was left of an abandoned sanctuary.

Shivers prickled down her spine while she briskly searched the area for any evidence that the spawn was closeby. “Astarion, are you here?”

Over crumbling and desolate blanched stones, she berthed herself with the foundation of her lower body. The bard’s eartips perked up, attuning to the awakening eve’s sonances. Save for the mating cricket chirps, it was pleasantly silent. She walked through the open arch, peering out towards the empty cliff behind the building.

“‘Starion?” Tav whispered.

“Ah, and thus does the bouquet arrive to offer unto me chastisements for biting words,” a nasally voice odically narrated on the other side of a neglected wall holding the arches afloat.

“Oh my gods!” she yelped out in surprise, nearly dropping the vessel of her sanguine fluid.

He was leaning back casually against the ruinous wall with his eyes peacefully shut, letting her ogle bluish thin capillaries webbing his lids. The black and plum coat he often wore was unbuckled, opened wide, revealing a plunging neckline above his usual ruffly shirt underneath. And, oh, did the moonlight ever decide to accentuate the forbidden dips of his collarbone and pointed jawline right when her gaze fluidly crossed his path.

Tav’s view dropped away, cheeks reddened as if she had caught him in a private moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over vampires' corpselike stillness,” she noted with a jittery chuckle, coming down from her adrenaline spike.

The vampire’s right eye opened, appraising her gestures as he inhaled heavily through his nostrils. “Are you wounded? You smell like you’ve been doused in your own blood.”

“Something like that,” she confirmed, lifting up the bottle and confidently pushing it in his direction.

“A potion? Darling, you shouldn’t have! How did you know this is what I’ve always wanted?” Astarion mocked in annoyance, pushing off the wall to grip the bottom of the glass.

Tav shook her head. “Not a potion. Open it.”

He skeptically gaped at her as he popped the cork out. A single sniff into the dense bottled air, bathed his expression in euphoric and ravenous delight. The tips of his fangs glistened with a string of saliva connecting one of them to his tongue when his mouth fell open. Low groans, short and reverberating, slipped out, leaving the woman’s heart fluttering.

Seconds passed before he spoke, his accent thickly laced with hunger. “What did you do?” he mumbled, bringing his sight to level with hers.

Tav removed her hand from the object, allowing its heft to nest in his grasp. “The day after you told me you were a vampire, we made an agreement for you to drink my blood as needed. I mean to uphold what I promised to you regardless of what’s going on between us.”

“Where?” he breathed out.

“Where what?”

“Where did you cut yourself open?”

She held up her forearm, swathed in fresh bandage strips. “It doesn’t hurt much; I drank half of a healing potion to stop the bleeding. I wanted to catch up with you before it chilled.”

Astarion narrowly squinted at her arm, then back to her shy simper.

“Don’t do this again. Not for me; not for anyone. If I need your blood, I’ll feed from you when the others are around—per your suggestion,” he firmly stated, frowning.

Like a hallucinogenic taking effect, there was a waxing vagrancy in his eyes. Tav assumed some recollections of his chronological life, where the electric wirings in his brain became polluted, had swam through his cerebral nerves.

That was not the reaction she had anticipated. Tinges of guilt cratered themselves in her stomach, like bombs being dropped onto the ground. Amid their last tiff, Astarion had been absolutely resilient—dubious even—when Tav proposed a new feeding arrangement due to his disassociating incidents. Why did he suddenly change his mind?

She resisted sinking her teeth into her lip. “Have I upset you? I’m sorry if—”

He combed his thieving fingers through his fluffed coif, ending with a sigh. “You haven’t upset me, songbird.”

Tav clasped her hands together, avoiding his unreadable guise. “Okay, good. That's good."

Loud barking at the camp’s site saved her from the awkward silence they were wallowing inside. Someone shrieked—possibly Wyll—at Scratch for stealing their underclothes off the temporary clothesline they erected. The distracted bard merrily puffed away a chuckle, imagining the feisty dog darting through their tents with a pair of shorts in his muzzle.

As she directed her attention back towards Astarion, swift torrents from her bottled crimson cascaded into his gullet as he swallowed. Her lips were consumed with a summery smile as she watched visible glowing pinks tint his pallored skin from her blood filling his body. Engrossed by the sight of him, Tav allowed a single memory of teeth marks and tongue frisks branding her. She introspectively touched the side of her neck, finding that she missed the two punctures that had mended.

But then her yearning was replaced with antipathy aimed at herself, remembering how mortified she felt when he inferred she was only using him for sex. 

Astarion wiped his mouth, gingerly swiping up blood droplets. “Something wrong?”

Tav swallowed the constricting ball in her throat. “What you said prior, it isn’t true.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“That’s not why—you know I didn’t sleep with you because I only wanted sex, right?” she replied.

“Are you actually sullen over that? I only said it to make a point, not to have another one of our famous parleys,” he threw out, obviously deflecting. “In fact, I’ve already forgotten most of what I told you.”

Her vision roamed to his fingers tightly wrapped around the bottle, thinking back to those faint tremors from earlier. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re unbothered by things when they do bother you. I would never be upset with you for expressing your wants and needs."

Seconds flew by without any movement from Astarion. She observed as his pupils dilated and undilated, battling through miles of his ageless carnage until he finally blinked at her.

He raised the blood-filled container to his mouth, muffling behind the glass. “I highly doubt you’re done prattling on, so do soldier on.”

“Right.” She studied him under gossamer lashes as he ingested another red mouthful, unsurprised by his interpolation. “Us being intimate came as a bit of a surprise to me. You see, you were also my first—“

“What?!” he coughed up after gulping a huge liquidly glob.

“In a decade!” Tav giggled, obliviously fixing her bangs. “I’m sorry! I meant that you were the first man I’ve slept with since my ex.”

“Bloody hells! Had I a functional heart, I think it would have seized just now.”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been propositioned during her ten year drought. On the contrary, plenty of men—sometimes women—pledged marriages, endless wealth, distinguished titles, even rare treasures, to have her in their company since her last relationship flatlined. Compelling words they undulated into the flue of her ear about tasting her skin until she would give her heart to them. Oaths were recited about helping her to become the most famous bard in Toril, like enticing wildfires from treacherous tongues.

But, none of it mattered. Tav already knew she couldn’t trust them. They never offered her what she wanted—what she needed. Never bothering to unfasten even a fraction of her armor to see what was moored underneath. All her fragility and sorrow waiting to be exposed like a creature sliced open upon a taxidermist’s table.

Until she met Astarion and he saw right through the remnants she tried to mask.

Astarion swigged the rest of the bottle’s contents, releasing a pleased keen. “Call me a scamp all you want, but if you had asked me to deflower you, I would have at least treated you to a romantic dinner of half-eaten apples and stale bread beforehand,” he teased, spryly reaching out to brush the back of his knuckles along her jaw.

She playfully pushed his furled fingers away. “Knave!”

“Oh, forgive me. Would you have preferred tenderized lamb shank and white wine?” he taunted, examining his spread fingers out in front of him. “Our options are clearly limited to a more—bleh—provincial lifestyle.”

Laughing, she lightly thudded her back against the wall, pulling fountains of hair over her shoulder. Astarion mirrored the elf, resting his body next to hers, shoulders inches apart. Their breaths tapered into steady and mellow flows, each trying to match the other.

“So, was your ex love your first?” he curiously asked after a time, wiggling his brows.

“No, thank the gods,” Tav informed. “Aah, my first was a young elven man. A sailor visiting his family in Highmoon. It happened so fast, I barely remember anything from it aside from the—ahem—initial pain. He was sweet and a gentleman, so I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Tsk. Had it been me, I would have taken my time with you," he boasted.

She blushed, crossing her foot one over the other nervously. “What about you? Who was your first?”

Astarion’s face tensed. “I can’t remember,” he said softly.

The songstress looked at the ground somberly, simultaneously saddened he may never regain his memories and confounded that the person that had hurt her the most amongst their group was also the one she felt the most comfortable with.

The spawn shifted, placing a loose fist under his chin in thought. “Ten years without so much as a single caress, huh? No wonder you were so…” he trailed off.

“So, what?”

“...sensitive.”

“Oghma’s right nut! I should’ve taken that one to my grave,” she lamented, florid embarrassment heating tender skin down the length of her ear from pointed tip to lobe.

Astarion laughed at her, showing his upper row of teeth. He rotated his head, focusing on her with roguish eyes aglow. “If you would like to do the honors of fluffing my ego, why choose me to be your first after all that time?”

Under the cosmos, they connected by flesh. Lonely wanderers: drifting, searching, waiting to be free. Under the cosmos, they did part. Runaways still enslaved by scars of old stones.

Though she discovered through their brief reverie that they may not have been meant for each other, the bard confessed she had wished for more with Astarion. Yes, she had every justifiable reason to abhor the man—especially with how he had caused her immense grief—but Tav could not forget how he made her feel that her heart could stir once more, even if he didn't feel the same.

There lay something bittersweet in that insight as she clung so tightly to her whirl-winded emotions. The former lovers were both guilty of different failings and with everything they had already been through, Tav knew death's hand could claim their lives at any moment with no pardons for final contrition's, unless they meant to absolve their mistakes. Which begged the question: would they be able to give themselves over to forgiveness and acceptance in order to move forward?

She gazed up at the stars, focusing on a smaller troupe overhanging them as she gathered the courage to bare a part of herself to him. “Do you remember when I said we needed to get to know each other better before we had sex?” 

Astarion gradually nodded, quelling his expanding lungs. “Yes.”

“I said that because I wanted to learn more about you as a person. You are attractive. You are a fantastic lover. But, that’s not all you are. And if I ever made you somehow believe that wasn’t true, then I wholeheartedly apologize."

Twisting her neck, Tav swept her overcast dewy-filled eyes up the scope of his neck, directly meeting his widened ruby stare. “You’ve hurt me, Astarion. Badly. Some of the trust I extended to you has been broken and I’m admittedly struggling with that. Yet, I can’t help but feel like maybe you’ve harmed yourself too.”

“How so?” he inquired, leaning away from her.

Before she could dab them away, a few tears sprung free, seeking shelter in the crevices of her nose. She placed a flimsy hand in the middle of her chest, above her troubled heart. “Pushing yourself to have sex with someone when your heart doesn’t truly desire it, is wrong. It’s a complete violation to your body and soul.”

The weary creases between his brows deepened as he evaded her eye contact by squeezing his eyes shut as if he was in pain. He was deathly quiet, drooping his shoulders so he appeared vaguely hunched over. Perfect white hair waves subtly moving along with the clouds above, were the only indication that he hadn’t left for the land of the damned.

“Please say something,” she weakly begged.

He opened his eyes to glare at her. “I certainly wasn’t expecting us to be acknowledging our sins in the god’s acres, but what do you want me to do?” he hissed.

“This isn’t only about what I want, it’s about what we want. About what you want,” Tav intently replied.

Astarion flaccidly touched his forehead as if to nurse an oncoming migraine. Mouth opened, he audibly exhaled mid chafing laugh. Whatever vagrant demons were crusading inside his head, he seemed to be frantically fighting against them gaging by the rapid shifting in his sight.

The bard waited patiently for the darkness blotting out his thoughts to disperse. Periodically, his chest inhaled, presumably using the scents around them to hook him away from the undertow.

After a couple of minutes had passed, Tav reached out to graze his arm with a feathery touch. “If you’re unsure, maybe we can start by actually trying to be friends this time? No sex. No forcing yourself. Just looking out for each other and maybe a fist pound or pat on the back here and there,” she suggested, unearthing a compassionate smile. “And if you discover I’m not your cup of blood, then that’s perfectly fine. We can get on without being anything other than occasional allies.”

The vampire peeked at her through his fingers. “Gods, am I ever glad you didn’t decide to try taking up being a comedian as a profession,” he retorted, lips curling impishly. “But a fist pound? Really, Tav, how pitifully atrocious! Sometimes I forget you’re a country bumpkin from the Dales.”

Tav beamed stupidly at him, laying her index finger against his lips to quiet him. “Could we sit here in silence for a little while and watch the stars?”

Astarion nodded, depositing a faint smile she couldn’t see, into the heavens above.

[jedivoodoochile]

Maila Elizabeth Syrjäniemi was known professionally as Maila Nurmi, and known even more professionally as Vampira. During her career, Nurmi claimed to have been born in Petsamo, Finland. However, those who have claimed to had seen her birth certificate said that her birthplace was listed as Gloucester, Massachusetts.

The idea for the Vampira character was born in 1953 when Nurmi attended choreographer Lester Horton's annual Bal Caribe Masquerade in a costume inspired by Morticia Addams in The New Yorker cartoons of Charles Addams. Her appearance with pale white skin and tight black dress caught the attention of television producer Hunt Stromberg, Jr., who wanted to hire her to host horror movies on the Los Angeles television station KABC-TV, but Stromberg had no idea how to contact her. He finally got her phone number from Rudi Gernreich, later the designer of the topless swimsuit. The name Vampira was the invention of Nurmi's husband, Dean Riesner. Nurmi's characterization was influenced by the Dragon Lady from the comic strip Terry and the Pirates and the evil queen from Disney's "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" (1937).

On April 30, 1954, KABC-TV aired a preview, "Dig Me Later, Vampira," at 11:00 p.m. "The Vampira Show" premiered on the following night, May 1, 1954. Each show opened with Vampira gliding down a dark corridor flooded with dry-ice fog. At the end of her trance-like walk, the camera zoomed in on her face as she let out a piercing scream. She would then introduce (and mock) that evening's film while reclining barefoot on a skull-encrusted Victorian couch. Her horror-related comedy antics included ghoulish puns such as encouraging viewers to write for epitaphs instead of autographs and talking to her pet spider Rollo. Despite its popularity, the series was canceled in 1955 when Nurmi refused to sell her rights to the character to ABC. Nurmi revived the series for a short time in 1956 on KHJ-TV.

After the series' demise, Nurmi appeared in the cult film "Plan 9 from Outer Space" (1959), dressed as Vampira and credited under that name but out of character. Nurmi told Boxoffice that Wood's dialogue was so awful she sought and received permission to perform her entire role in a mute. "At the time I thought it was horrible. I knew immediately I'd be committing professional suicide, but I thought 'What choice do I have?' Somehow, I seemed to be dead already. I love glamour and physical beauty. I've always been fascinated by beautiful men on the screen: Tyrone Power, Robert Walker, with soft-focus filters and velvet voices. That's what [Edward D. Wood Jr.] was like. Beautiful dreamy eyes and long, sweeping lashes, just beautiful. He didn't make a very pretty lady [in 'Glen or Glenda' (1953)], but he made an awfully pretty man."

"I just thought he was a low-born idiot. With no talent at all. Just a brazen, foolish idiot... You know, I thought he was just a goon. Ah, I wasn't looking squarely . . . I just cast a glance, and just dismissed him with a thought. Kind of snobbish and foolish of me. But then over the years as I've mellowed and grown a little more sensible, and I began to look at this man after, after the fact. And I thought, 'Incredible what he managed to achieve!' Without any help! And the obstacles that he managed to overcome! Somehow, it's . . . miraculous. It's more than just persistence. Yes, he had a lot of persistence--that's for sure. But he also had a gilded karma that this was all intended to be.

[kouriimei]

FFXIV Hydaelyn - Inspired Handmade Earrings (Pierced/Non-Pierced)

"Hear… The song of Creation's end Feel… The sorrow at Hope's Demise Think… And find your way in the darkness." - Hydaelyn

The definition of unconditional love, unyielding strength, and undying belief - Hydaelyn, the version of Venat that we are most familiar with - re-imagined into earrings. Take her on your journey as you explore the world, the very world she loves.

Hydaelyn earrings feature: 🩵 Matte rhodium-plated teardrop ornamental frame. On one hand, it represents the tear she sheds when you give her Your Answer. On the other hand, the 'leaves' that surround the teardrop are reminiscent of her 'wings' 🩵 Light aquamarine coated heart to represent her unconditional and undying love for you and the world, connected by another aquamarine coated bicone bead inspired by her primal crown 🩵 Dreamy, iridescent, and small little Elpis beads wire-wrapped on the teardrop ornamental frame; they shine softly and beautifully as her primal form does 🩵 A light sapphire crystal-like bead on the bottom, to represent the one and only Mothercrystal.

Available starting June 20th, 2024 11am PT

‧‧‧✧‧‧‧ K O U R I I M E I . E T S Y . C O M ‧‧‧✧‧‧‧

[eclipian]

Weirdcore Flower

pt: weirdcore flower

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

divider credit

" It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then. "

Name: Flora , Flower , Pepper , Poppy , Rose , Lilly , Peony , Iris , Blossom , Jasmine , Dahlia , Azalea , Heather , Violet , Lavender , Aster , Marigold , Morgue , Zomb , Demise , End

Age: Undeadachronal

Pronouns: It/Its , Ix/Ixs , Iz/Izs , They/Them , Thy/Thym , Thuy/Thum , Thxy/Thxm , Xe/Xem , Ze/Zem , Cae/Caer , Dae/Daer , Thon/Thons , Bloom/Blooms , Bloss/Blossom , Pet/Petal , Wonder/Land , Wonder/Wonderland , Wonder/Wonders , Land/Lands , Dead/Deads , 🌻/🌻s , 🌺/🌺s , 🌼/🌼s , 🌷/🌷s , 🪻/🪻s , 🌹/🌹s , 🥀/🥀s , 🏵️/🏵️s , 🪷/🪷s , 💮/💮s , 🌸/🌸s , 🌈/🌈s , 👁️/👁️s , 👁️‍🗨️/👁️‍🗨️s , 🪦/🪦s , ⚰️/⚰️s

Gender: Girlish , Raccoon Dog , Strawberry Milk , Hivensect , AliceInWonderlandMovieic , Sleepywonderlandic , Wonderlandaesic , Wonderlandlexic , Alicewonderlanian , Whymsicalic , Alicewonderlandian , Elegantcorruptic , Wildflorcrownic , Enchanrosiana , Florosapianic , Florestiolina , Bitica , Weirdic , Weirdcoreture , Feverdreaman , Distortgender

Attraction: Lesbain , Zomb4Zomb , Mycodeaffectis

Other IDs: Wonderlandkin , Alderwonderlandbloodic , Undeadsensus , Undead Xenoscent , Zombie Horde , Miscezonbi , Weirdcore Hearthic , Alderflordemweird , Alderweirdzombi , Alderweirdcorpse , Human..?

Species: Flower Hivemind Controlling a Corpse

Role: Holder , Experiencer , Black Sheep , Charge , (only if body have the conditions) Contards Syndrome Holder & Wonderland Syndrome Holder

Aesthetics: Weirdcore , Dreamcore , Liminal Spaces , Drugcore , Traumacore , Dreamy

pt: name , age , pronouns , gender , attraction , other ids , species , role , aesthetics

artist credit + @bahtive & @galaxy-starshine

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) and Demise act around their SO if they were high? Like Really High?

If the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) and Demise were extremely high, their behavior around their SO would be influenced by their personalities and typical reactions to altered states. Here’s how they might act:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Behavior:

Playful and Uninhibited: High Wind Waker Ganondorf would be unusually playful and uninhibited. He might laugh easily, find everything fascinating, and be more open to physical affection. His normally imposing presence would give way to a more relaxed and carefree demeanor.

Interaction:

Curious and Affectionate: He might show increased curiosity about everything around him, including his SO. He could ask a lot of questions or make amusing observations about mundane things, all while being very affectionate.

Scene: Ganondorf sprawls comfortably on a plush rug, eyes wide with wonder as he gazes at his SO. “Isn’t it amazing... how everything just... glows?” he says, reaching out to touch their face with a goofy grin. “You’re like... my favorite glow.”

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Behavior:

Philosophical and Introspective: High Ocarina of Time Ganondorf would be deeply introspective and philosophical. He might engage in long, meandering conversations about life, destiny, or the universe, revealing a more vulnerable side.

Interaction:

Deep Conversations and Emotional: He would likely seek deep, meaningful conversations with his SO, possibly expressing thoughts and feelings he doesn’t usually share. His mood could swing from reflective to emotional.

Scene: Ganondorf sits on a chair, gazing at his SO with a contemplative look. “Have you ever wondered...” he muses, “why we’re here, like... really here? You... you’re my anchor in this vast sea.”

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Behavior:

Warm and Dreamy: High Twilight Princess Ganondorf would be unusually warm and dreamy. He might express a lot of affection and find great comfort in his SO’s presence, often falling into a state of blissful contentment.

Interaction:

Romantic and Tender: He could be very tender and romantic, showering his SO with compliments and affection, and reveling in the intimate, cozy atmosphere they create together.

Scene: Ganondorf lies in bed, his SO nestled close to him. “You’re like... the most beautiful dream,” he whispers, brushing his fingers gently through their hair. “Everything’s so... perfect right now.”

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Behavior:

Energetic and Enthusiastic: High Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf would be full of energy and enthusiasm. He might become overly excitable and animated, showing off his heightened state of exhilaration with grand gestures and boisterous behavior.

Interaction:

Playful and Over-the-Top: His interactions would be high-energy and dramatic. He might try to involve his SO in various playful activities or attempts at showing off, full of exaggerated enthusiasm.

Scene: Ganondorf bounces around, trying to engage his SO in a playful dance. “Come on, let’s... let’s do something fun!” he exclaims, grinning widely. “Everything’s so... awesome right now!”

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Behavior:

Reflective and Detached: High Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf might be reflective and somewhat detached. His behavior could be characterized by a detached yet introspective state, revealing hidden insecurities or thoughts in a calm, unfiltered manner.

Interaction:

Detached Yet Emotional: He might drift in and out of deep, often melancholic thoughts, sometimes expressing unexpected emotional depth or vulnerability to his SO.

Scene: Ganondorf sits quietly, staring into space, then suddenly turns to his SO with a contemplative expression. “Everything’s... so clear and distant,” he murmurs. “But you... you’re like a steady light... a guide.”

Demise

Behavior:

Erratic and Intense: High Demise would be intensely erratic, swinging between manic energy and dark, brooding states. His behavior could be unpredictable, combining heightened aggression with deep, philosophical musings.

Interaction:

Unstable and Emotional: He might be overly intense and dramatic, expressing erratic emotions ranging from fierce affection to sudden, brooding rants. His interactions would be charged with emotional volatility.

Scene: Demise paces back and forth, then abruptly stops to face his SO with an intense gaze. “Everything is... shifting, you know? You’re the only constant,” he says fiercely, grabbing their hand. “Stay with me... just stay.”

In summary, while each Ganondorf and Demise would exhibit behavior consistent with their personalities, their reactions while high would vary from playful and affectionate to deep and introspective, reflecting their unique ways of processing heightened states of consciousness.

[dent-de-leon]

Forever heartbroken at the thought that Lucien was another victim of a hag, at the mercy of someone else's bargain with them--like Beau, like Veth. A deal he never made, but was still forced to pay the price. Even as it tore his family apart. Lucien, young and terrified and wallowing in guilt, haunted for years by all the people he was forced to lead to a little house in the woods. Unable to bear it any longer.

"'We did owe her. Mum and Da did, I mean, but I was the one who paid that blood price.' I'm not surprised you remember the way. His stomach lurched. 'I'd...lure folk out to her cottage. Da would hand me a little paper slip, and whoever it said, I'd convince them to come along, get them near her cottage, and she would charm them. You saw what happens after that.'"

"'We were punished for seeing what they couldn't. After a while I couldn't let it go on, couldn't look at myself or live with myself, so I burned down the caravan with all three of them inside, took my sister, and that was that...No more little songs. No more farces.'"

"If all along her demise only required a dagger to the heart, then why had he let it go on so long? A parade of faces whipped by, and Lucien abruptly had to know, had to see...he raced to the cottage and threw open the door. And there he saw the parade of faces again, lifeless and now stretched..."

Lucien who knows so intimately the same pain of Caleb's past, both of them desperate to do everything they can to turn back time, get their family back. But Lucien's parents never loved him like that, were never the kind and warm family that Caleb had. They abused him and his siblings for years. And then they forced him to be part of their deal with a hag.

And all the while, as a young child Lucien was leading dangerous people deep into the woods all alone, that very same witch always intended to add him to her collection one day too. Lucien's father sends others to their deaths so easily. If the hag had outright asked for his own child instead, would he even care? Because he didn't when the hag made their first son Empty, turned him into a hollow puppet.

And what Azrahari says to Lucien is just so chilling, such a violation of his autonomy. "My beautiful boy...I had hoped to make you mine one day. What a perfect specimen you would have made. Oh, how you would have been merry with laughter and dance..." (And the comment about being beautiful? Can't help remembering Jester calling Lucien dreamy, and how it takes him by surprise. How all his life he was made to feel different, cursed--an outcast--)

Thinking about "no more little songs." Thinking about how much Lucien actually loved the little plays and performances his family put on, still remembers his lines all these years later, still carries a love for song and dance that bleeds into Mollymauk. Molly, who does get to be "merry with laughter and dance," who fills the Emptiness Lucien always so feared with joy and warmth and love.

Making a happy life for himself, taking back the freedom and autonomy the hag and the Eyes all tried to steal from Lucien. And maybe a part of Lucien always recoils from Mollymauk because he reminds him too much of the haunting mirror image the hag tried to make him, the promise of eternal happiness while tying him with puppet strings. Lucien never quite believing that Molly is real or whole or free, that such a charmed life can be anything but a dream--like the one he always chased--

Thinking of how the thing Lucien wanted most was a happy family, the "once upon a time" fairytale life from the stories he always cherished, merry little songs and plays and dance. Stories as an escape, a familiar place of childhood comfort, something to cling to in his darkest moments.

"'Once upon a time, there was a happy family.' (He recognized the sweet, musical voice of Elatis...) 'Mother and Father loved their three children dearly, and they all lived in a green wooden house with tall windows and strong doors. Mother taught the young of a fine, rich family, and Father carved instruments for the kingdom's musicians. They never went hungry, they never quarreled, and their lives were golden for all their days.'"

"'Once upon a time,' he said, eyes open and staring across the dome gathering snow. 'There was a happy family, and they were that way for a little while. Something tore them apart from the inside out...There was a happy family, and then it was gone.'"

"Once upon a time, there was a happy family... In the dream they would be whole again. In Cognouza, it would all be fixed...He told himself it wasn't too far gone, then pulled his shoulders back and clawed raw wounds down his monstrous face, smiling all the while, his teeth becoming fangs becoming tusks. Once upon a time..."

Thinking of how it's ultimately the Moonweaver who's able to make those dreams a reality, who gives them the second chance he's always begged for. "Once upon a time--" "Twice upon a time--" "Thrice upon a time--" When a part of him became Molly. When the two of them become Kingsley.

"'Once upon a time,' she says, then her milk-white eyes pop upon in surprise and she giggles. You want to stay here forever, in her odd, forever-moving sensuality. 'No, twice upon a time. Now we can begin. Begin again, I mean.'"

"Here we go: Once upon a time, twice upon a time. She pauses and giggles. 'Thrice upon a time, f--' Her white brow furrows. 'Hang on. What comes after thrice? Does anyone know?...Isn't that the strangest thing? There is nothing after thrice in the sequence, it just ends there. But that doesn't seem right, does it? Or fair. Well. I think we shall just have to make it up."

Thinking about a young and terrified tiefling whose parents handed him over to a witch, who was offered the illusion of happiness and freedom again and again, but always it came with chains. Who always feared becoming Empty, who was almost made into a doll, a puppet, a hollow shell for a hag's entertainment, something to put on display like a grisly trophy, to puppet the strings like a marionette. Thinking about a goddess of Love who cradled this wounded soul in her arms, cut him free and sang him songs, made him the beloved king of a fairytale--

[moonstrider9904]

Passacaille

Chapter Seven of Half-Moon Glow

Pairing: Crosshair x Female OC (Aurora Dawn)

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Summary: After Aurora and the Batch’s encounter with Sobeck and the 104th division on Christophsis, Aurora and Crosshair enjoy a night alone on Coruscant.

Tags/warnings: Explicit (18+, minors begone). Soft smut oral and vaginal sex, and overall just a dreamy, romantic date night chapter. Some PTSD. Hurt/comfort. Brief alcohol consumption.

A/N: My loves… I know I’ve said “I’m back” like four times this year. It has been over one year since I last updated this fic, and a huge reason for that is having moved out of my childhood home where writing just comes naturally. I am writing this as I have returned for Christmas, and being able to write a softer, light-hearted chapter in my current Crosshair fic seems so fitting that a part of me feels it has to be fate. Thank you to everyone who’s remained even while I’ve been away. This blog and writing are a form of a home I can always come back to. I really hope I still got it and that this chapter lives up to what my writing has been in the past. 

Also, not me projecting my dream date in some far-fetched fantasy world lol

Word count: 5.3k

No new assignments had come in.

In the rare peace that came with nothingness—no missions, no wounds to clean, no running for her life—Aurora lay on her bed contemplating the dim gray ceiling above her in silence. She let the sounds of steps and chatter outside her room come and go like the thoughts forming in her mind, basking in the mix of relaxation and tension.

The longest she could go without thinking back to Christophsis was just under five minutes, as she confirmed by tearing her eyes from the ceiling to the clock at her bedside as a way to distract her from the memories. Aurora wanted more than anything else to simply not think of that anymore, and even focusing on Crosshair’s heroic rescue of her didn’t put balm over the wounds. She’d been held hostage while facing heartbreak and her own demise, hurt when she was the one supposed to do the healing.

She’d never felt weaker than she had at that moment.

Aurora sat up on her bed, knowing that lying down wasn’t doing her or her spiraling mind any favors. With a heavy sigh, she tried grounding herself; her hands clenched the bed’s comforter underneath her, the fabric fuzzy and soft against her cold fingertips, and when she let go of the fabric, it didn’t go back to its original state. Her gaze focused on a point between the line where the door met the floor, separating her bedroom from the hallway, and she took a deep breath in while closing her eyes.

It’s okay to still get memories. It’s okay to feel sad at what happened because it was a terrible thing to go through. From being taken hostage to getting a blast wound on her thigh, to believing she wouldn’t see the man she loved ever again, a man who at that point she was convinced she had broken up with for good regardless of whether they saw one another again, all of that had made up the cloud that still loomed in her mind. But I’m not on Christophsis anymore, I’m on Coruscant. I’m healing. I’m safe. I’m wearing part of Crosshair’s armor.

Aurora looked down at her forearm, covered by the gray and black piece of armor he’d given her, and the corner of her lip curved up.

He wants me here.

With her next exhale, Aurora felt tears pooling in her eyes, tears she didn’t bother holding back. After taking that moment to reflect, she felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders, and the hole in her chest seemed to lighten up as well. The point she was staring at seemed to materialize in front of her as she finally returned to the real world, to the safe walls of her temporary room at Coruscant, escaping the cell she was held at on Christophsis. When the tears stopped coming, Aurora wiped her cheek dry and stood up from the bed.

Perfectly timed, her wrist comm began to beep.

“Come in,” Aurora answered.

“You sound more like yourself,” Hunter said from the other end of the comm—he’d be the only one able to pick up on the most subtle signs Aurora could give in regards to her emotions. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I… I think?” She raised a brow, doubtful. “Your brother left me a message earlier to meet him.”

“Are you sure you want to go with him?” Hunter sounded like he was teasing. “You could always bail on him and I’ll make sure to annoy the shit outta him.”

Aurora chuckled. “No, I think he’s apologized enough.”

“So you’re not mad at him anymore?”

“Crosshair’s one of those men you’re always mad at,” Aurora replied.

Hunter laughed heartily on the other end of the comm. “Good answer.”

When Hunter quieted down, Aurora felt her features soften.

“I think…” she began. “I think he really does want me to be here.”

“For the record, we all want you here with us,” Hunter replied. “But you’re right.”

Aurora smiled into the comm. She was confident that Hunter knew his brothers better than anyone else did, and hearing that coming from him warmed her heart.

“So where are you meeting him?”

“He’s actually going to come here—”

“So it’s that kind of date,” Hunter interrupted her; she could hear the wink in his voice.

“To pick me up, and then we’re going out,” Aurora finished as she held in her laughter. “He hasn’t given me more details. You know him.”

“Oh, I see,” Hunter dragged the words out, teasing her.

“You know all about it, don’t you?” Aurora raised a brow.

Hunter chuckled. “Have fun.”

And then the line went silent. As she became aware of the smile that had formed on her lips, Aurora realized it had been a while since she’d had such a sweet comm call. Her attention was eventually drawn to the present moment when a golden ray of sun reflected off a distant building outside, making the warm light land on the walls of her room. The sun was going down, and it was about time she got out of her uniform and into something worthy of a night out.

The nights were getting colder on Coruscant, and with that in mind, Aurora picked out a long-sleeved A-line black dress; its skirt reached halfway down her thighs and flowed gracefully over her hips. The top had a round neckline that went deep enough for the start of her sternum tattoo to be visible, and she had adorned her neck and collar with a dainty chain with a moon pendant. Her legs were covered by black tights thick enough to keep her from freezing—the tights and the skirt fully concealed the fact that her thigh was wounded, but her brief limp while walking would still give her away—and she finished her outfit with a pair of dark brown boots with a small, manageable heel.

Aurora put her lavender hair in a messy bun, perfectly balancing elegance with softness. For her eyes, she coated her lashes with mascara just to give them a subtle lift and added some shadow to her crease for more depth, and her lips were tainted with a berry-wine colored lipstick that made a striking contrast with her blue skin and the golden marks along her cheekbones. And when she looked at herself in the mirror, not only did she feel pleased at how beautiful she looked, but it dawned on her that the last time she’d gotten that dolled-up was on Naboo.

An urge to change the past hit her suddenly. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to change the way things had happened. If she and Crosshair hadn’t fought during Naboo, maybe Christophsis wouldn’t have turned out so terrible.

Or perhaps you should stop burdening yourself with that, Aurora thought.

She took another moment to look at herself in the mirror hoping with all her heart that despite the events of the previous days, that night would be wonderful. With a sigh of resolve, Aurora walked away from the mirror and went to fold her uniform neatly over her bed. The pile of folded clothing was crowned by Crosshair’s forearm pad on top of it, a place where it would safely wait for her until duty called again. She then looked out the window to a dark sky with more city lights shining than stars.

Aurora sat on her bed and waited as she continued to stare at the city scenery, until at last a knock came at the door of her bedroom. Her chest fluttered, suddenly nervous at the first real date she’d have with a man who’d spent so long driving her crazy in more ways than one, and nevertheless, she felt heat rushing to her cheeks and her full lips becoming a smile. Aurora got up from the bed and went to open her door, and there stood the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, dressed in a black suit and holding a single pink peony out before his chest.

Crosshair’s brown eyes glided over her figure before they finally met hers, and in that gaze was a flood of emotions he’d never dream of speaking out loud.

“Hey,” was all he managed to say.

Aurora gave a soft chuckle. “Hi.”

The sly, snarky sniper found himself at a loss for words. For Aurora, it was her first real date with him. For Crosshair, it was his first real date, and he found himself in uncharted territory where he couldn’t rely on the scope of his rifle to get a better visual of.

“I…” his voice was husky. “I brought you this.”

Aurora looked at the peony and took it from him, her fingers delicately brushing his as she grabbed the flower. She held it up to her nose and took in its scent, and she met eyes with him on her exhale.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you, Crosshair.”

Her words allowed most of the tension to leave Crosshair, and he felt the muscles of his body relaxing as Aurora went to place the flower neatly on her nightstand. She then turned around and stared silently at Crosshair, her big eyes widening with expectation.

“What is it?” She asked him.

Crosshair smirked. “You look incredible.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Aurora replied. “Now where is this sharp-dressed sharpshooter taking me tonight?”

Crosshair chuckled and he held out his bent arm for her to link her arm in it. “This way.”

With a smile, Aurora turned off the lights of her room and walked up to him, taking his arm as he’d offered. As Crosshair began leading her out of the room, closing the door behind him, and into the hallway, he noticed the way she still had to limp between her steps.

His heart sank. Aurora felt his gaze hardening and looked up at him, her gaze soft and reassuring.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”

“Are you sure you can walk?” Crosshair asked.

“I’ll be fine as long as you don’t let go of me,” Aurora smiled.

She’d meant those words literally, but seeing the result of the blast wound on her thigh reignited feelings of regret and of fear within Crosshair. He stopped walking and looked at her, and he used his spare hand to gently lift up her chin and leaned down to kiss her lips.

“I won’t ever let you go again,” he whispered.

Aurora’s cheeks gained a purple tint as she smiled up at him, and she perked up to give him another soft peck before resting her weight on his stable figure again.

“Aurora, I meant what I said when I told you how sorry I was,” Crosshair said. “I fucked up harder than I ever have—”

She cupped his cheek, her eyes softening with the remnants of her sadness.

“Crosshair,” she spoke his name with unimaginable kindness. “If I was still angry with you, I wouldn’t be going on this date with you now. My leg will heal eventually, and as horrible as Christophsis was, it’s already happened.”

He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. “You and I both know war memories stick.”

“It’s a part of the way we live,” she answered. “And yes, memories of that day do flood me frequently, but I’d rather be here with you now than keep succumbing to them.”

“You make it sound easy,” he smirked.

“It’s easier with you here.”

Crosshair smiled at her response and rested his forehead on hers for a moment before he continued to lead her down the hall and into the elevator that would take them down. When they emerged, they were at the main level of headquarters, and Crosshair walked Aurora over to the transports. As they walked, Aurora began asking herself what Crosshair could have planned for her date, what Hunter could have been so excited about that he had to call and tease.

The first question regarding the date was answered when Aurora spotted Wrecker standing in front of a compact, four-passenger speeder, suited up and holding up a board that read Ms. Dawn.

“Wrecker?” Aurora giggled.

“I do not know of whom you speak,” Wrecker answered eloquently. “I am the driver taking my unknown clients to their destination.”

Aurora laughed as Crosshair gestured for her to step into the vehicle, helping her so that she wouldn’t feel any pain while she did, and then he got in after her.

“Does the plan stand, my good sir?” Driver Wrecker asked Crosshair.

“It does,” Crosshair replied, giving a subtle yet playful roll of his eyes.

“Off we go then,” Wrecker stepped in the pilot’s seat. “No making out in my speeder.”

Wrecker drove off with the couple on the rear seats, and as soon as the speeder got in movement, the city lights caught Aurora’s attention. She watched them as they glided past her gaze and enjoyed the breeze on her cheeks—despite being in the middle of the biggest city in the galaxy, the air felt fresh and even clean. She would barely blink, eyes wide with wonder, and as she stared at the scenery, Crosshair’s ever watchful eyes would only focus on her.

Looking at her that way, Crosshair couldn’t decide if Aurora looked more stunning or endearing.

Slowly, Crosshair reached out for her hand. Aurora looked away from the city landscape the moment she felt his skin come in contact with hers, and with a tender smile, she locked her fingers with his. They didn’t say anything, though Crosshair was about to tell her to turn back to watching the city lights, which he now knew she loved so much. Before any words left him, however, Aurora carefully scooted closer to him, her body pressing to his side, and she leaned on him as she continued to bask in the city’s nightlife.

The ride was shorter than Aurora had expected, and before long, the vehicle came to a stop. Wrecker remained in his chauffeur character and gallantly opened the door for her and Crosshair, only breaking his role to remind his youngest brother to “send food to his loyal driver before he took off”. Crosshair nudged his brother before walking off with Aurora by his side, and he led her into the building.

Aurora couldn’t help but feel out of place. Though they weren’t in the building yet, Aurora recognized the part of the city they were at, one of the most high-end zones of the Coruscant capital. Around them, people of all races dressed in luxurious clothing and adorned with heavy accessories went about their night, some alone, some in couples, some in groups—it made sense why she’d received prior instruction to use her best outfit that night. It was the opposite of being in a war zone or even in GAR headquarters. Heck, the war didn’t even exist in that place.

But a night away from the war and anything to do with it was all Aurora wanted.

They approached the building that towered before them, tall and covered in glass panes that made it appear star-studded in the middle of the city skyline. At the top of the entrance, the word Passacaille was written in large, golden letters beaming with warm light to make them stand out in the night setting.

They were about to enter one of the fanciest hotels on the planet, possibly in the galaxy.

“Cross…” Aurora said, breathless. “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly.

She let out a chuckle. “You didn’t have to go overboard—how can you even afford this? The restaurant, the speeder, what’s next? Are you going to take me to another planet?”

Crosshair chuckled. “We’re not leaving Coruscant’s atmosphere tonight. As for how I could afford this, call it a mix of my own Sabacc savings and a couple of returned favors.”

“I knew you were good at gambling, but… Returned favors?” Aurora raised a brow.

“Our squad takes on some unforeseen missions, some of them not entirely backed by the GAR,” Crosshair said. “Not exactly dirty work, but we’ve gotten enough members of the high-society and fellow clone squads out of a number of problems to earn their respect.”

The revelation paired with Crosshair in a full black suit and tie made Aurora’s blood flow to hidden corners. She snapped out of how much of a turn-on she found that to be when they reached past the building’s lobby and to the entrance of the restaurant, and Crosshair was greeted by the host to claim his reservation.

“This way, sir,” said the host, and he guided Crosshair and Aurora to a table near the center of the restaurant, placed right under an opulent chandelier that appeared, at least to the untrained eye, to be made of diamonds. Crosshair pulled out a chair for Aurora to sit, and then he took the seat in front of her. The host handed each one a menu and gave a faint bow before leaving them to it, and as hungry as Aurora was, she couldn’t help but gawk at the restaurant itself while listening to the soft piano music in the background and the faint chatter and clanking of dishes and glasses of the people around them.

Even the table where they were sitting was high-end. Made of a dark wood and covered by a dark red cloth, it was adorned at the center by a cylindrical container made of thin glass, filled with beads that looked like precious stones, with enough space inside it to hold two small candles. On top of each placemat, there was a cloth napkin folded into what Aurora felt resembled the peony Crosshair had given her earlier, and there was a set of more cutlery than Aurora could deduce use for.

She knew she’d use the wrong spoon for whatever she ate that night eventually.

“What do you think?” Crosshair broke the silence.

Aurora finally met his eyes again and couldn’t help but let out another breathless laugh. “This is wonderful, Crosshair…” Her chest heaved up and down before she forced herself to keep her feet on the ground. “I don’t want you thinking you always have to spend this much—”

“Enough of that,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Well, that I can do,” she smiled as she opened the menu and looked at everything the place had to offer. “Do you think they sell choccy blue milk here?”

Crosshair chuckled. “Come on, darling, that’s a joke Wrecker would make.”

“I had to,” she giggled.

Putting jokes aside, Aurora had to hold in a gasp at how delicious everything on the menu looked. It would be hard to only choose one thing, but by the time the waiter came around to take their order, she had decided on the plate of dumplings bathed in a five-cheese and herbs sauce. Crosshair went for a similar choice, except his plate had a spicy sauce. Once their order was taken, the waiter left them a bottle of white wine to enjoy in the meantime.

With their glasses full, Crosshair and Aurora clinked their glasses together and talked. Though they told stories of battles, it didn’t feel like they were talking about the war, and before Aurora even realized, her cheeks were sore from all the smiling. Soon, the subject morphed from wartime tales to Crosshair retelling his many Sabacc victores, which he eloquently disclosed as his foot rubbed Aurora’s calf under the table.

Soon, the plates were empty and the wine was gone. Crosshair paid for the dinner while Aurora watched him, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand with glistening eyes. Had she been less discreet, a dreamy sigh would have escaped her. She managed to hold it in, but not without its difficulties—the sight of Crosshair being a complete gentleman was all she didn’t know she needed.

After a lovely dinner, Crosshair got up from his chair and helped Aurora up from hers. He led her out of the restaurant and across the Passacaille’s lobby, and though Aurora was still mesmerized by the decor, her concentration broke when she realized Crosshair was not leading her to the exit.

“Where are we going?” Aurora asked. “Wrecker must be waiting for us by now.”

“Our chauffeur is long gone, darlin’,” Crosshair answered and made a gesture towards the elevators.

Aurora blushed. “Oh…”

“Is everything okay?” Crosshair asked.

“Yes!” Aurora blurted. “Oh, stars, yes, I just didn’t expect to be spending the night here as well.”

“Believe it,” Crosshair purred, pulling Aurora closer. “Come.”

They got into an empty elevator; Crosshair pressed the button for the penthouse and closed the door before anyone else could get in. As soon as the door closed and the elevator began moving up, Aurora pressed her body to Crosshair’s and wrapped her arms around his upper back. He kissed her without hesitation and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her gently so as to not hurt her. Time seemed to disappear as they sank into one another, hidden from the world and the war and from prying eyes. Their hardships were irrelevant if only for that moment. All that mattered was what they felt for one another, whether they spoke it aloud or not.

The couple felt the pull of gravity as the elevator came to a stop, and with a delicate ding! the doors opened to reveal a small, warmly lit hallway. Crosshair regained composure and walked Aurora out of the elevator and up to the single green door that was framed by glass panes, allowing for a tease of the penthouse behind it. He got the door open and Aurora couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her.

The walls were made of glass, and the edges were all lined with plants, from flowers to herbs, even succulents from different arid planets. Entwined in the plants were a series of warm fairy lights, adding a touch of coziness to the luxurious penthouse. On one of the corners there was a small fountain made of rock—water sprouted from the middle of a spherical black stone and fell onto a bowl of grayish marble, and the sound of spluttering water contrasted with the crackling of the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. There were two long couches made of black velvet in front of the fireplace, and behind them was an embroidered carpet made of black and silver threads. Beside the fountain was a nightstand, a large bed covered in a black fluffy comforter, and another nightstand, above which was a small lamp along with the controls to the rest of the lighting of the penthouse, including the artificial fireplace.

“I…” Aurora tried to recover her breath. “I feel like a princess.”

Crosshair gave a low chuckle as he closed and locked the door behind them. “So you like this place?”

“What a question,” Aurora smiled as she walked deeper into the room, examining every detail. She walked past the couches, brushing her fingers over the velvet, and felt a typhoon of emotions forming within her. As she took them all in, she turned to look at Crosshair again, who was already staring at her every move.

“What is it?” He asked her.

Aurora felt the blast wound on her hamstring begin to tingle. “Just a few days ago, I thought it would be over.”

“Hey,” Crosshair removed his coat and set it on the rack beside the door, walking towards her with his hands ready to take hers in them. “You’re here now, with me. In this place. You deserve no less than to feel at home in a room like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora took his hands, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, this is absolutely beautiful, Crosshair. More than I ever could have imagined. I don’t want to ruin it with my laments.”

“You aren’t ruining it,” he said, taking hold of her waist.

She looked at him with twinkling purple eyes and then gazed out the glass walls of the penthouse at the Coruscant skyline. Slowly, she unwrapped herself from Crosshair’s grip and walked over to the edge to better take in the sight, and Crosshair followed, positioning himself beside her.

“It’s like the war doesn’t exist here,” Aurora said. “And yet…”

“And yet, you and I just had the shittiest mission we can think of,” Crosshair completed for her.

Aurora gulped. “Yeah, that… that about sums it up.”

He turned to face her. “Aurora.”

She looked up at him, his features hardening the way they would when he would struggle to get words out.

“I…” he began. “I really thought I was going to lose you. I was willing to do anything to keep that from happening, but there were moments when…”

“I know,” Aurora said. “Believe me, I know.”

“I never want to feel that way again,” Crosshair admitted. “I had never been more afraid of anything in my life, and that scares me.”

“Cross…” Aurora sighed.

“Do you have any idea the hold you have on me?” He asked her.

“I can only imagine it’s the same as the one you have on me,” Aurora took his hands. “The war scares me too. Losing you scares me too. Losing you to anything, it’s unthinkable.”

Silence fell between them, and Crosshair cupped her warm cheek, tilting her face up to meet her gaze as he pulled her close.

“I wish we could stay here,” Aurora whispered. “I wish we didn’t have to go back in the morning.”

Crosshair acknowledged her words, but then he was the one to look at the city landscape.

“I want what you want,” Crosshair said. “But… don’t get me wrong, but war is my purpose.”

“It was your first one,” Aurora agreed. “But you could find another one.”

Crosshair met her gaze again, and her purple eyes gleamed with hope.

“Right?” She whispered.

His lips curved into a hint of a smile before he took his hands up to the back of her head, undoing the bun her lavender hair had been tied into. Once her hair fell in graceful waves down her shoulders, Crosshair found himself leaning down to kiss her. As she kissed him back, Aurora ran her hands up and down his back feeling the fabric of his black shirt. Crosshair began to lead her towards the bed, stumbling, refusing to break the kiss for longer than was necessary. When they reached the bed, he reached up her back and undid the button and zipper of her dress, and before undressing her, he swept her off her feet to place her gently on the bed—he relished in the soft whimper she made when he did that.

Crosshair climbed on the bed after undoing and removing his tie, as well as his shoes. He kissed her lips again as his right hand reached for the room’s controls, dimming the lights and making the glass walls opaque to conceal them from the world outside. Crosshair broke the kiss to remove the clothing on her, item by item. Her shoes, her tights, with more care than he ever thought he could muster as he gently revealed the bandage on her thigh, her dress. She was left in a black lace bra and panties, and basking in the sight of her, he removed his shirt.

Aurora couldn’t help but moan at the sight of him taking off his shirt and revealing his torso, marked by tattoos and battle scars. The light of the fireplace behind him seemed to make him glow, but the thought escaped Aurora when he leaned back down to kiss her again. Her breathing became heavier and a gentle moan left her as she entwined her fingers delicately through his silver hair.

Crosshair then made his way down to kiss her neck and her collarbone, obliviously bringing a fingertip to brush over the necklace she wore. He made his way farther down, and the lower he went, the more Aurora’s chest heaved. She felt his touch over her skin, shivers dancing wherever his fingers went. Sensations covered her belly, her hips, her inner thighs, and finally he was down between her legs wrapping his fingers around the black lace of her panties and pulling them down.

He didn’t beat around the bush. Aurora gasped and moaned the moment she felt his tongue over her clit, and she couldn’t help her eyes rolling back—he was just that good with her. As Crosshair kept eating her out, one of his hands snaked up Aurora’s body up to her belly, where her hand met his. She moaned deeper and deeper the more he flicked and sucked on her delicate skin, and she was so aroused that it took her no time to fall into bliss. Throwing her head back, Aurora squeezed Crosshair’s hand, her body squirming at wave after wave of pleasure, hearing Crosshair moan as her legs inevitably clenched towards him.

“Please,” Aurora whimpered. “I need you inside me now.”

Crosshair emerged from between her legs and crawled up to be at eye level with her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, mindful of the bandage around her thigh. “I trust you.”

Crosshair was already struggling to hold into more control, but as his dark gaze looked into Aurora’s blissful eyes, he couldn’t keep holding back. He removed his trousers and his boxers and positioned himself above her once more, looking deep into her eyes.

“If it starts to hurt, let me know,” he said.

Aurora nodded frantically, biting her lower lip.

“I need you to promise,” he added.

“I promise,” Aurora replied, pulling up to kiss his lips.

Crosshair eventually settled his weight down and kissed her with more fervor as he inserted himself into her walls, shuddering at how tight and warm she felt around him. Aurora moaned at the fullness inside her, with a hint of relief escaping her voice. Crosshair’s pace began slow, luscious, always careful not to add too much pressure onto her legs. He didn’t need to go any faster—they were already so lost in one another that they were already in heaven with each other. Aurora moaned into Crosshair’s kisses, holding him tighter with every thrust he gave.

Her moans became high-pitched whimpers, and Crosshair increased his pace ever so slightly, enough to send her over the edge. He delighted in the rich moaning that came from her, and he felt the way that she tightened around him as her silhouette squirmed beneath him. He grunted at the tightness, dangerously close to the edge himself, until one last tug of her hand at his silver curls ended him and he spilled thick, white ropes of cum inside her.

Moaning in unison, the two collapsed onto the bed under them and caught their breath, merely enjoying the presence of one another after some long awaited, much deserved loving. Crosshair moved up to meet her gaze, inquiring with his gaze if she had felt any pain, any discomfort.

Aurora smiled in response. “I told you, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Crosshair kissed her forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Never again.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, but with the strength he had, Crosshair picked her up again and carried her over to the couch in front of the fireplace on the other side of the room. He gathered the bed’s comforter and went to sit next to her, placing her body leaning on his before covering them both in the tick, fuzzy blanket, softly kissing her temple when they were finally settled.

“Thank you for tonight,” Aurora said.

Under the blanket, Crosshair’s hand found hers and interlaced fingers. “I’m glad you like it.”

They looked at each other and perked up for another brief kiss before settling on the couch and letting the fireplace lull them to slumber.

{Next chapter} {Back to series masterlist}

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[legobiwan]

How do you think an interaction with dimentio, king boo and antasma would go? Because I feel like they would make for an interesting interaction also their thoughts on luigi yeah a lot of room for thinking there

So I need to preface this by stating that there is a fantastic, albeit unfinished, comic series that delves into this EXACT scenario:

LINK

I entreaty the gods and whoever else on a regular basis that this will one day get updated, but alas, I do most definitely understand the mercurial nature of the muses and the regrettable demands of everyday life. So it goes.

ANYWAY (and I write this with the caveat that I'm only about 2/3 of the way through Dream Team, although I am familiar with the story beats).

Interactions

Both Antasma and King Boo are pretty straightforward about their lust for power and control, so I feel they would be in a constant tug of war over who was the actual leader of their little demented trio. (Dimentio, on the other hand, is probably sharpening his knife while lying in a hammock and sipping at a fruity cocktail, waiting for the other two to tear each other to shreds).

I do feel that eventually, King Boo would win out in the end, just because he has more physical (metaphysical?) power in the real world, setting up an uncomfortable hierarchy wherein each being sees themselves at the pinnacle of by hook (Antasma), crook (Dimentio), or just outright murder (King Boo).

Essentially, they get along well enough to plot each other's demise and also band together against a common foe, who would be...

Ah, yes. Luigi.

So. This gets interesting.

King Boo outright loathes Luigi and wants his head on a wall (or a canvas). But he doesn't want to make it easy. A quick death would be too kind, too merciful for the humiliation he has put King Boo through and he wants Luigi to suffer, to recognize King Boo as his superior before he is granted the release of death which itself is a false promise, Luigi's eternal torture in canvas all but guaranteed.

Antasma, on the other hand, seeks revenge, but is more similar to Dimentio in that he wants to use Luigi. Yes, he will betray and destroy him in end, but Luigi's power in the Dream Realm is unprecedented for someone who is not a Pi'illo Island native. And beyond this, Antasma has had the opportunity to sneak into his subconscious though his dreams (nightmares), can identify all the little weaknesses that crack in the buttress of his personality. Antasma won't share, but likely would seek to bring Luigi, or Dreamy Luigi, into his thrall.

Dimentio (arg, Dimentio), who you may gather is my favorite character of this trio - surprisingly (or not) has no taste for revenge. At least, not against Luigi. What he does want is to manipulate Luigi to his side, to not only use him but also, in a strange way, to find a comrade-in-arms. I think Dimentio actually likes Luigi in his own bizarre way and would rather Luigi come to his side by his own accord rather than by brute force (the Floro Sprout was a necessary evil, in his mind, something forced by the confines of time and the impending apocalypse). This isn't to say Dimentio is good by any means - he's righteous bastard magic man and I will stand by that descriptor. But his relationship with Luigi is complicated, especially after their merge with the Chaos Heart, and for Dimentio, it would be far more rewarding for Luigi to come to him of his volition, for the two of them to wreak the chaos he so desperately desires (and which Luigi holds so much capability for) together.

Now, how these different aims play out as the three plot their ultimate victories (which take a variety of shapes) - well, that could be a story in itself.