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[whirlybirbs]

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

[oceantornadoo]

stranger in your bed (simon riley x reader)

—

sun streamed through your blinds as you groggily opened your eyes, still tired from a night of drinking and dancing. immediately you ran out of your room and into your bathroom, just in case. you came back a bit refreshed, stomach still roiling but stopped short when you noticed what, or who, was in your bed. his torso was littered with scars, heavily muscled without being ripped. the body of a man who labored instead of manufacturing his muscles at a gym. his face was tucked into your pillows, but as your eyes trailed downwards, you noticed something else. your thighs rubbed together at the sight of his length, jutting through your covers. you wondered how you would get this man to leave and- “enjoyin the view, love?” he asked in a gravelly tone, face turning to send you a cheeky grin. you were caught, open-mouthed, and there was nothing you could do about it.

he ripped the covers off and stalked towards you slowly, not bothered by his nakedness or the fact you kept staring. you suddenly realized you were wearing his shirt, and upon closer inspection, his neck bared a couple of hickies starting to bruise. “did we-“ “no. i don’t fuck women who can’t see straight.” your lips parted into a slight o as you backed against your bedroom door, unable to tell him to stop walking near you. he finally reached his destination, arms reaching out on either side of your head, his nose brushing your neck. “now lemme hav’ my breakfast, yeah?” you nodded, insanely curious about what this man could do to you.

his hands reached the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging up, giving you time to stop him. instead, you put your arms up and let him pull it off you, entirely submissive to the machine of a man in front of you. “good girl. lean back.” you put your weight on the door and stared up at him with big doe eyes. he reached down for a kiss, restraining your hands from touching him as he slightly sucked on your bottom lip, leaving you with a small bite. you were breathless now, chest rising and falling in quick succession as he made his way down your body, leaving little kisses at places he wanted to come back to. finally, he knelt, giving you a succulent kiss to the apex of your thighs. you were positively dripping, squirming against the door as this stranger had you at his mercy. he nosed the outside of your folds, laughing under his breath as you emitted a small gasp.

“so desperate to come, hm? didn’t even ask my name. how else do you know what to say when you come?” he leaned back, looking at you expectantly. you whined at the loss of contact, hips canting in the air as you tried to entice him back. “what’s your name?” you gasped, pleading for him to finally taste you. “i’ll spell it. focus.” he dived back in, scruff rubbing against your thighs as he teased the outside of your cunt, knowing you barely felt it. “pay attention.” and he finally licked you. he swirled his tongue once then retreated, leaving you wanting again. "so?" "so what?" you practically whined, your hand leaving your door to tug on his hair. he let out a chuckle at your impatience, bracing a hand against your thigh as he stopped you from pulling him into your needy cunt. "so what was the first letter, love? let me do it again." ever so slowly, your stranger licks your cunt, tongue swirling right to left and downwards. "what letter?" "s?" "my smart girl." he rewards you with a long lick up to down, and a little kitten lick to your clit after. you're positively on edge now, somewhere between extremely frustrated and extremely aroused.

he pauses again, patiently waiting for the next letter. "i?" he hums a smile against your cunt, then dives in, making a complex shape with his tongue. you're wracking your brain for names that start with "si", desperate for this man to stop playing games and truly fuck you with his tongue. "simon!" you yell. he rises from his knees, and you wonder if you've made a mistake judging from the smolder behind his eyes, their gaze fierce as the air turns heavy. he pulls you in for a rough kiss, teeth bumping and tongues clashing as he absolutely claims you for himself. "say it again." he whispers as you moan at the sudden intrusion of two of his fingers into your cunt, hole dripping with wetness. "simon." you whimper against his lips. his fingers move faster, thumb circling your clit expertly as his other hand comes up to tweak your nipple. his cock presses against your stomach, his pleasure forgotten as he wholly focuses on yours. "cmon baby, you're right there, i know you want it. come for me." he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly with a slight bite. that's it as you're sent careening off the edge, hips fucking you further into his hand as you sink into the door. he catches you with his free hand, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. "feel so good, hm? can't get rid of me now. want another two out of you before i fuck you. how does that sound, love? you brought the wrong man home. i'm going to ruin you."

—

wrote this extremely hungover while wishing simon riley was in my bed

[rosiesmuts]

Muse

Le Serrafim Kazuha

4,000 Words

A/N: KazuhaSmuts?

Kazuha Nakamura. Fuck. The gorgeous idol your new muse, her beauty transcending what the camera can capture, able to take your breath away with those curves and bright smile. A consummate professional, striking poses without needing direction, a sense for it without experience, the pictures coming out flawless.

Even in basic jeans and a t-shirt, Kazuha exudes a beauty, a hotness that has nothing to do with being an idol. Her confidence is stunning and her sensuality is electrifying—not something manufactured for a photoshoot but inherent and undeniable. You're standing next to a goddess. Absolutely gorgeous face, captivating eyes, voluptuous curves, and a charm she's too comfortable with. There's no effort there, no faux coyness or intentional sultry look. Just the radiance of a stunning idol who seems almost oblivious to what she inspires, but you can tell from the heat in Kazuha's gaze and her naughty grin, a mischievous desire swirling around in her that she'll never speak out loud—she has you enthralled.

So fuck.

Fuck these lustful thoughts clouding your head and this heat building in your chest. This is supposed to be a job, but when Kazuha reaches for the hem of her shirt and the lines of muscles accentuating her abs as her t-shirt peels up, that desire inside you is more than unprofessional.

Focus.

Fuck.

This is part of the shoot, supposed to show off the 'Calvin Klein' on her sports bra, but the flexing of her body and the little curl on her smiling lips leaves the underwear an afterthought. You should've been used to this, there's been legitimate supermodels in even less clothing in these photoshoots. But there's something about Kazuha, her innocent smiles and demure laughter, this aura of untouchable and almost fragile femininity about her.

And she's fucking teasing you, those faint lip curls, the flash of teeth from her smirk. She knows her effect, she enjoys your lingering eyes and hungry looks. An arm folded up above her head, leaning against the wall as her other hand grips a rolled up shirt, an underwear ad waiting to happen. Everything about Kazuha screams confidence and sensuality, even her long toes, wiggling a bit for some reason as her smirk broadens, the look in her eyes daring you, almost like she's trying to say something she cannot voice.

Kazuha tilts her head, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it, biting into it. Seducing with the barest hints, challenging and inciting with the slightest of moves. It feels almost too intimate and that makes it all the more intoxicating, making the breath hitch in your throat and your heart race in anticipation.

"Cut!"

You have to shout out, the sexual tension overbearing and suffocating. "Let's take an hour for lunch everyone. Good work today, we got a lot of good shots." Your voice is steady, hiding your tumultuous feelings as best as possible. Kazuha beams at the praise and your façade of control crumbles as she teases and tempts you even further, giving a flirtatious wink before slipping into her dressing room.

It's a bit of a walk for you to get to your office, but it gives you space to think about what's gotten into you. This is just a photoshoot, you've dealt with plenty of sexy and beautiful models in much more scandalous poses. Kazuha was in plain clothes! There shouldn't have been anything erotic there. And yet the way the fabric hugged her body, her eyes watching your every move, and that flirty edge to her smile, it was impossible to ignore. Even now your mind's lingering on the last image of Kazuha, staring you down.

One hour to gather yourself. That's what you need—to take your mind off of those...impurities. Kazuha, even her name in your head makes your heart quicken and breath shorten. Just get a hold of yourself. No one can read your mind, and as long as you don't go acting out any of those lurid desires then this'll all just blow over...

"Hey."

You didn't even hear your door open, Kazuha's sweet voice catching you off-guard. Your eyes snap towards her, the entire reason for your break now standing in the office, Kazuha's free hand runs through her hair, this act of playing shy a fascinating dichotomy with the sultry woman you just worked with this morning.

All that build-up and time spent thinking about her left you absolutely stunned by Kazuha's entrance. For the second time she managed to catch your heart in your mouth, freezing your tongue and leaving you speechless.

"Can we go over those pictures that you took? I'd like to see them if that's okay?"

Her request is innocent enough, but you can't help but notice she locks the door behind her. A simple, innocent click of the lock, but the implication was very clear.

Kazuha leans in a bit too closely, a subtle grin as she clicks through the pictures and you're not quite sure if this was real or all your dirty imagination playing tricks on you. Did she really just touch your wrist and give it a squeeze or was she just checking the time and brushed by you accidentally?

Kazuha sits in silence, taking a cursory look at every frame before getting to the next. The silence is more than suffocating. You can barely hear anything outside the pounding in your ears. She stops the slideshow on the most salacious photo: Kazuha lifting her top, the slightest hint of her sports bra, her perfect abs captured so wonderfully on film.

"This one is good! Don't you agree?" Kazuha asks, tilting her head at you and pulling her lip in between her teeth, letting her eyes drag languidly down your figure, devouring you in the most erotic manner with just her gaze alone.

"...yeah..." is all you manage to stammer out, voice stuck in your throat and thoughts wandering in places they really shouldn't.

"Don't think I didn't catch you staring..."

Kazuha steps back, reenacting the shot that got you so worked up—her fingers reach the hem of her shirt, inching the garment up, more and more of her perfect abdomen getting revealed, tight lines that curve and ripple in a tantalizing dance, begging for someone to run their tongue across the slopes and dips of her stomach.

Fuck.

This was supposed to be an hour to gather your thoughts and recompose yourself, not go further into disarray with Kazuha standing in front of you. You lick your lips, a futile attempt to bring some moisture back into a dry mouth as your hands instinctively go into your pockets to prevent anything from going out of place.

This time it's different, Kazuha takes her shirt completely off, the gray Calvin Klein sports bra fully visible, hiding her tiny tits from view. It's a feast for the eyes—the flexing of her abs, the dip of her waist, that sensual confidence in every twitch and curl of her muscles.

"Whoops." Kazuha playfully teases, acting like the removal of the t-shirt is accidental, a casual display of carelessness. Her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it hostage and pressing it between her pearl white teeth. That stare, dark brown and chocolate eyes swallowing you whole and consuming you.

It becomes clear as day, the flirting and lustful looks were no joke, an honest come-on from this hotter-than-hot idol. And you could lose everything right here and right now, the implications and consequences could be catastrophic, but when her hand lands on yours, giving you a gentle caress, it's hard not to succumb.

"It's impolite to stare, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha coos. Your hands find her sides, fingertips digging in, unable to hold back anymore. Years of ballet, and now dancing to her own music and choreography, there is nothing less than admirable in her sculpted body, each muscle firm but toned.

The pads of your thumbs feel the ridges, tracing the defined lines, slowly climbing higher and higher.

"Such a naughty man."

Kazuha gives her own belly a featherlight caress, your hands slip underneath the elastic of her bra. Hot flesh greets your palms and her tiny tits are barely enough for a squeeze, so smooth and soft and absolutely perfect. Her nipples harden immediately, small and sensitive, crying out for attention, pinched by your fingers.

This is beyond unprofessional, absolutely irresponsible, a blight on everything a photographer should be—to have their hands under their model's clothes and get so engrossed with someone they've only known for a day. But, fuck. You could always find another job. Just touching and playing with Kazuha though—a chance of this sort of happiness would be gone forever.

The choice becomes clear the moment Kazuha kisses you, hungrily swallowing any excuses and closing any chance of leaving. The way she claims you is exhilarating, overwhelmingly powerful in that seductive passion as she claims ownership with her tongue, overtaking every bit of hesitation and apprehension in your soul and planting a seed of raw, unfiltered lust in the empty void.

Your excitement is evident, something hard is pressed against her thigh.

"Is it just a big camera down there, Mr. Photographer?" A tsk-tsk leaves Kazuha's lips, those dirty, dirty, beautiful lips, and that haughty smile plastered on her face while her fingers nimbly undo your pants. "Naughty, naughty Mr. Photographer!" Kazuha hums the words into your ear, tickling you, making your skin shiver in delight and electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

Her lips are on your neck, her hand is wrapped around your cock. It's all too much—this sexy, gorgeous, brilliant, sensual woman, taking everything with the same enthusiasm and conviction that she'd do in a song and a dance.

Each kiss on your body feels like the brush of the lips of an angel, her hands roaming your body, a subtle hint of her sharp, immaculate nails, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin.

She leaves you panting, a broken record of sighs and low moans until she releases your erection.

"Take off my pants for me Mr. Photographer."

Her words are quiet, her tone more husky than anything else, a hint of arrogance and self-indulgence. A direct command with no room for disobedience. Her back is against the wall, her hips jutted out for easy access— the baggy jeans easily fall off her legs, revealing her toned dancer's physique. Her thick thighs flexing in anticipation, the matching Calvin Klein panties the only obstacle standing in between you and heaven.

Her sexiness is something else, the shapely, sinful outline of her ass, the swell of her curves—that v-line is a mouthwatering treat, teasing with the prospect of a delight waiting to be explored. Everything on Kazuha is toned and breathtaking.

There is no thought, no plan. Pure primal instinct urges you forward, kneeling to run your tongue along that delicious path leading straight down to heaven and bliss and everything you could possibly desire. Your lips press against her stomach, her coy smile grows as you kneel before her, fingers in her elastic waistband, pulling and dragging it down.

Inch by inch, her lower half comes into view and you can't contain yourself any longer.

"Fuck..." the curse slips from you, involuntarily and inevitable, and the sight in front of you is breathtaking: her pussy is absolutely perfect, full and engorged, aching for touch, drooling in obvious desire.

Teasing kisses are planted on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer. She gives a slight groan. That sweet taste of victory. Lips upon lips. Tongue against slit. Kazuha is an impatient one, her hands cradling your head, locking you into position, the silky lips rubbing against yours. The roughness with which her hips move excites you, how desperately she pushes her crotch against your mouth. She's not shy at all, each and every movement bold and intentional, greedy and ravenous, entirely unlike her demure, innocent persona.

It's hard not to enjoy this, enjoying her unbridled desire—getting suffocated by her muscular thighs squeezing the sides of your face, her cunt grinding against you, leaving her delicious nectar all over your lips and chin. The more she pushes, the more she suffocates, the more excited and aroused you become, fingers sinking into the flesh of her thighs. It is as if your life depended on tasting her juices, that tart ambrosia from this sultry dancer and songstress, an aphrodisiac you'll never tire of.

Kazuha puts a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle those wanton sounds but failing to completely hide those telltale grunts and moans—her toes curling just another sign. The closer she gets, the tighter her thighs squeeze and... Fuck. If you're gonna die, this is probably the best way to go.

Kazuha shudders in ecstasy, a full body spasm while a cry of pleasure slips free from those luscious pink lips. It's too tempting not to explore her with your fingers as well, the little nub throbbing and aching for stimulation, eagerly twitching whenever your fingers circle it. There is a wild and untamed ferocity to the way Kazuha's legs instinctively curl and flex, writhing in unhindered bliss.

She leans back, pushing more weight into her back, holding herself up on shaking legs and heavy breaths. A sense of victory floods you. She was putty in your hands, her beautiful legs shaking and knees wobbling. Your pride swelled—to have the otherwise impeccably poised songstress a shivering mess.

"That... Was..." Kazuha struggles to talk, the red on her cheeks running down her chest and spreading down her heaving abs. "...Fucking amazing," she pants, her adorable smile permanently fixed on her beautiful face, lips parted just slightly.

Fuck.

Absolutely beautiful.

Her appearance is entrancing. Those warm, dark brown eyes with a sly, playful expression. Plush pink lips pulled into a sultry smirk, teasing, as her hair cascades behind her shoulders. Kazuha pulls you back up, staring you directly in the eye, full of sensual promise.

"I think you deserve a reward, Mr. Photographer," Kazuha says between languid strokes of your cock. Those talented fingers tease you, squeezing and pumping with precision, hitting every one of your buttons, a cocky, knowing glint in her eyes. You're not one to stand idly by, reaching for her sides, massaging her hips and brushing along her waist.

This is not a slow and drawn-out affair. Every touch between the two of you is desperate and fiery, full of passion and an intense need to feel more and more—needing to satisfy your hunger. Her arms reach above her head and you finally toss away that pesky sports bra. Perky nipples beg to be teased and kissed.

You give her pecs a light lick before blowing cool air onto her sensitive, pointed peak. She mewls in response. Each tug on her nipple accompanied by a sultry cry from Kazuha. She's trapped, sandwiched between the wall behind her and your body, held hostage by pleasure. But one simple phrase and she takes back all control.

"Fuck me."

Two simple words. The most beautiful ones. Commanding and fierce. Kazuha doesn't beg. Kazuha doesn't ask. There's no softness in her tone, she knows what she wants and there will be no deterring her. The tip of your hard, aching cock slides across Kazuha's slick folds, smearing her juices, gliding up and down as your shaft teases her clit.

It takes all your willpower to hold back, you want this to last forever. A huge part of you doesn't believe this is actually happening and that this is all just a fever dream. But when your tip first enters her wet, hot heat, nothing feels more real and certain. There's tight, and there's this—Kazuha a woman who spends hours working out her core and performing exhaustive dance routines every single day. There's nothing tighter or better than this goddess's cunt.

Every single movement is an explosion of sensations: her inner muscles flexing and squeezing, gripping, the sensual gyrations of her hips, the shallow thrusting—this is pure perfection. Your head spins, drunk from the desire, the high of fucking this diva, being enticed by every subtle thing about Kazuha and all of it's pure insanity, almost terrifying and too unreal. You lean in, pressing against her body and giving yourself up to her.

It's a paradise that no mortal should ever be worthy of entering. That is what her cunt feels like: Heaven's gates. Something out of this world. It's like all the blood is leaving your head. That carnal desire that's been built up is now set loose in this debauchery, your primal urges taking over.

Fuck the consequences.

Nothing matters right now but this.

Each thrust into Kazuha elicits a cute, soft moan, her tongue hanging loosely from her lips and her eyes fluttered shut in bliss. Her nails dig into your back, the painful searing feeling mixes perfectly with the sweet pleasure coursing through your body. There's no gentleness or love, nothing other than lust and passion. Flesh against flesh.

Kazuha pushes you back, a naughty expression painted all over her face, pupils wide and tongue licking her lips.

"Wanna see a trick?"

There's no time to respond, her leg lifted into the air, showing off her flexibility and resting on your shoulder. This angle is unreal. You have no idea how she manages to keep her balance, especially when it allows you to slide even deeper into her cunt. The change is striking and her hands clasp over her mouth, failing to stifle a long, loud moan.

It's as impressive as it is erotic, using her ballet skills as a sexual advantage. Each pump in is pure pleasure, so hot and wet, you're drowning in her. Her walls clench and squeeze around your cock, as if she can't bear to let it leave, unwilling to relinquish your presence from her cunt.

"You're making me-" her words are cut off, Kazuha biting down hard on your shoulder in her attempt to stop the cry of passion. A hand wraps around her ankle, gripping her leg, hoisting her a little higher for even deeper thrusts. Her thighs and legs flex, locking you into place, keeping you there as she throws her head back in pleasure.

Kazuha bursts. For the second time. Shivering. Gasping. Pulsating. As if her pussy can't decide what's the best way to please the cock inside of her, an infuriating tightness and gyration around you.

Her leg leaves your shoulder, her whole body leaning against you as Kazuha's tired, labored breathing fans the back of your ear.

"That was quite the trick." Kazuha giggles at your lame attempt at a joke, pressing her finger against your lips.

"Did I say I was finished?"

Of all the things you should have expected after all the salacious behavior she exhibited during her first two orgasms, you really don't know why you should have expected anything less than what she did next: wrapping her arms around your neck and her legs around your waist.

Her forehead leans against yours, your tandem breaths sync up, and the calmness lasts for maybe a second before Kazuha presses a small peck against your mouth. She grinds down and starts working against your lap, her pussy bobbing up and down the hardness of your cock. You're carrying her weight now, Kazuha lifting herself up, then letting gravity guide her hips downwards to fully seat your dick.

Your fingers sink into her tight ass. She rides you, no break, not pausing once in her movements, sheathing herself repeatedly onto your girth. She's fucking you—every pent up frustration in living an idol's life is now being released into that. It dawns on you that in no moment were you ever in control, Kazuha stole every bit of agency from you.

Even so, your hips are locked in place.

Even as the room smells of sex and you're completely ensnared in a tangle of limbs. The loud clapping of flesh on flesh ringing in your ears—every bit of this situation is screaming irresponsibility and wrong. To fuck an idol whose star is on the rise would spell an end for a promising career. And yet Kazuha never fails to get her way, it's undeniably clear the moment that devious smile spreads across her face and the heated sparkles light up in her eyes, this vixen is determined to have what she wants.

Everything is burning up—your loins are on fire, Kazuha's steamy hot insides are the match.

"How do I feel, Mr. Photographer?" The sweetest, honeyed voice but with the devil's timbre. Kazuha fucks the words out of you, and your mouth feels so dry—you can't find the will or ability to speak as Kazuha smiles triumphantly.

Your life flashes before your very eyes. The decisions, the events—everything leading up until this very moment where you found yourself impossibly entangled in a gorgeous superstar, unable to get free from this spell. Everything culminates. From the time you were told you'd be working with her. From her flirty looks during the shoot.

Your hour of recess turned into this wild, irresponsible, crazy scenario. A lustful mess, as evidenced by the slick sheen that's collected around Kazuha's tight hole, glistening in the pale light. The tiniest twitches of her face, the furrowing of her brow—she's getting close again.

A handful of violent bounces is all she needed. With a stilted, violent scream and her pussy choking and gushing all over your thick rod. Everything's too hot and your toes begin curling and you can't stop fucking her, holding her perfect round ass, you start thrusting upwards—into her oversensitive cunt.

Kazuha squeals and it's too late to stop now, the sound of her pitiful cries as her body jerks and trembles and shakes—you're cumming together, perfectly synced in this debauchery. Her cunt squeezes the orgasm out of you. All over her walls. Flooding her insides, the warmth spilling out and dripping down and marking the both of you in the naughtiness of this exchange.

She collapses in your embrace, slumping against your chest and struggling to hold herself up. Both her feet rest on the ground, and the exhaustion is evident on her face—heaving breathlessly with a bright, brilliant smile as her knees threaten to give out beneath her.

Kazuha doesn't say anything, not a word, but she's glowing—unable to wipe that gorgeous grin off her face. There's no sign of regret either, or any hint of shame or guilt. No trace of anything but unbridled happiness and pure, raw satisfaction. A mischievous, perverse happiness that a woman in her profession shouldn't exude, not with the career waiting ahead of her.

A knock on the door. Shit. It's already been an hour?! There's a short pause, and she's pressing her finger to her lips, giggling quietly while giving a cheeky wink and getting herself dressed.

"I'll be right out." You yell at the door, sounding a bit winded as the thoughts come to you. It's easy to zip up, put away, and readjust yourself but there is absolutely no way you can cover up the smell, an obvious pungent musk that'd have anyone wrinkling their nose, the smell of hot, sweaty sex.

Kazuha winks at you and struts towards the door. A deep inhale, and the moment the door opens a whoosh of cool air clears out the fog from the past hour's festivities. "Make me look good out there Mr. Photographer," and in the span of an eye-blink, the façade she's made her identity, Kazuha's the innocent, sweet idol once again, her perverted desires and lustful yearning hidden under a veil of composure and modesty...

[hijackalx]

A PROPOSITION +18

SUMMARY: You’ll need more than a pretty penny to change this corrupt magistrate’s mind.

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

UNDER THE CUT: F!reader, magistrate!astarion, dry humping, vaginal fingering, clothed sex, slight corruption kink, reader is implied inexperienced/astarion treats them that way, D/S, maybe dubcon but not really, power imbalance

Your heels clack through the hollow hall, every step quick and determined. However, your face holds a level of uncertainty to it.

Doors lace the walls, each one with a plaque beside it. You scan every little golden engraving, repeating the names you read under your breath. Meanwhile, the briefcase in your hands is secured to your chest tightly, as if you're afraid it'll disappear.

Your spine shoots upright as you make an abrupt stop. You linger outside one of the doors, swallowing as you stare at the title it holds— 'A. ANCUNIN' reads in big, bold letters, almost like it were manufactured to wrack your nerves. Your gaze shifts to the figure through the distorted glass. It's misshapen and hardly more than a silhouette, but it's enough to make your palms sweat.

You wipe your hands off on your skirt, then quickly push any stray hairs back into place. With a reassuring breath, you knock on the door.

"Come in," a voice calls out, flat and disinterested.

Only when the latch clicks behind you does he look up from the paperwork on his desk. He gives you a once-over, though it almost feels like an evaluation. Afterward, he sits up and folds his hands on the desktop. "Hello," he greets, his tone lacking the monotony it held a moment ago. "What can I do for you?"

Your words seem to get lost in your throat for a moment, allowing the silence between you to last a second too long. "M-may I?" You gesture to one of the chairs in front of his desk, to which he gives a smile you'd only describe as amused. You curse mentally at how you've already managed to make a fool of yourself.

"Of course, darling," he says as if he's pointing out the obvious. Above that soft grin of his, his eyes blink slowly, giving away how horribly you're failing at your first impression.

His subtle criticism only makes you more timid. After all, proposing a deal like this could cost you your job, and you hoped it wouldn't come to that if you could get him to like you.

Had the magistrate working your client's trial— your friend's trial— been anyone but Ancunin, you wouldn't doubt yourself over such a small crime. It's unlike you to lack confidence in your abilities, even more so to stoop as low as bribery. For you and your friend's sake, you hope the rumors about his corrupt ways are more than just rumors.

You take a seat, impossibly rigid. His eyes glance down, and you can't tell if he's taken interest in the briefcase on your lap or something lower. You bring your legs closer together as a precaution.

"Mr. Ancunin—" you cut yourself off to clear your throat, "—sir, I noticed that you'll be overseeing my client's case in a few days..." Your words die out, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the best way to introduce your proposal. Much to your dismay, you find that there isn't one. "I... I was hoping... we could discuss the terms of your… mercy."

It feels like you've just lit a bomb, and you're counting down the seconds until you lose everything. You almost want to shield your face and take cover.

His eyes squint slightly, withholding a response as he leans back in his chair. The wood creaks under his weight. Your heart pounds in your chest, leading a tremble to your fingers you're sure he must have noticed.

After a few moments, the silence is too suffocating for you to let it go on. "I know that sounds... rough. But I promise you it is worth your time—" the sounds of the briefcase snapping open interrupt your nervous speech.

"I don't want your gold."

You freeze, and all is quiet again. "... What?" You mutter, slightly taken aback by the suddenness of his reply.

"It's not enough."

You glance down at the object in your hands, realizing that he hasn't even seen the sum yet. "This should be more than enough for a minor offense." A small crease forms between your brows, a tinge of confusion to your voice.

He laughs at you, and something about the high-pitched sound makes your jaw clench. It seems to bring you back to reality, and you finally see him for what he is— a cocky, power-tripping bastard.

"Let's agree to disagree, dear. If you wish to sway me next time, try offering something a little more..." He trails off, appearing to browse his mind for the correct word. "... enticing." He briefly chews on the pen in his hand while looking you over once more. With a sigh, he waves it towards you dismissively and sits back up to focus on his paperwork. "Have a good day now."

Just like that, the negotiation is over, and a wave of shock crashes into you. If your friend wasn't getting the death sentence before, they surely are now. Desperation weighs on your limbs at the realization, anchoring you in place. You watch hopelessly as he continues to fill out the papers on his desk, any remnants of your interaction wiped clean from his features.

You've not only failed your friend, but you've made a mockery of yourself as well.

He finally looks up again, though he doesn't give you enough respect to fully lift his head. "Something wrong?"

Your lip bobs as you struggle to get your words together. There's a glassiness to your eyes, and you quickly try to blink it away. "I— what can I do?" Your voice cracks slightly, and he seems to liven up at the sound. "Please tell me."

You try to save yourself some dignity by not crying in front of him, but your attempts are futile as the first tear slips down your face. You quickly wipe it away, all for it to be followed by another. A soft whimper escapes your throat, and you realize you're falling apart faster than you anticipated.

When you meet his eyes again, you're almost stunned out of your state. His stare is heavy, and you notice how his nostrils flare just slightly to accommodate his elevated breaths. You'd almost guess that he's angry with your pathetic groveling, but something is... off.

He appears to snap out of his trance with a bob of his throat, his lean fingers digging into the collar of his shirt to loosen it. Your gaze follows as long strides carry him around his desk.

You're surprised when he squats down in front of you, bringing himself to your level. There's an upward pull to his brows, and a strangely sympathetic pout to his lips. "Oh, you poor, sweet little thing." He tilts his head as he studies your tearstained features.

His eyes hold a level of pity that almost makes you forget that he's the one responsible for your troubles. His stare is captivating, and you find yourself unable to look away.

"You know, I feel for you. I do," he sighs. "But, gold..." he looks off to the side and does a little shrug. "It just... doesn't quite do it for me these days. What, with my job being so stressful and time consuming, I'm hardly concerned with how much coin I can spend."

He laughs and places a hand on your knee, the warmth of his palm igniting the skin through your tights. You stare down at it, sporting an unsubtle fixation on how his long index finger sneaks beneath your skirt. It remains there as if inconspicuous— as if it's an innocent mistake.

His touch slips away, though only to reposition itself on your chin as he rises to his full height. He demands your attention as he looms over you, and you're shocked to notice how his features have darkened.

You peer up through your lashes as he runs his thumb over your wet cheek. The digit stills for a moment before slyly moving toward your bottom lip, smearing the moisture of your collected tear. "What I would trade for a bit of relief, though..." he mutters with a sense of being lost in thought.

Your heartbeat skips at the implications of his words, a searing heat blossoming throughout your body. Despite it being such a horrible and perverted thing to suggest, you can't help noticing the quickening of your breaths— each inhale tinged with excitement.

You're not quite sure how to voice your desires, so you simply allow your mouth to pop open. The intensity in his gaze grows as he watches you give him access, his thumb pushing past the barrier of your lips and meeting the warmth inside. He inhales sharply as you close your mouth around him, tasting your own salty tears.

Your hands anxiously wring the ends of your skirt, rubbing your thighs together for some kind of solace. The smallest moan leaves your throat, muffled by the barricade of his thumb.

He slides himself from your clasped lips and lets out a short, inquisitive hum. You sit patiently— obediently— waiting for his next move. You focus on how his fingers unbutton the sleeves of his shirt, how he rolls them up to his elbows and reveals his toned forearms.

As he walks around you to prop himself up on the desktop, the hard-on beneath his black dress pants grabs your attention, and you swallow deeply while trying to maintain composure.

"Well, my dear, I think you have a choice to make," he starts. His tone is lower than before, as if to avoid being heard. "You can either take your things and walk out that door—" he nods to the door, his eyes flitting to it once before meeting yours again. "—... or you can lock it."

He watches you like a hawk as you stand and awkwardly brush the wrinkles from your clothes. His ogling makes you feel weighted as you move towards the door, your unsteady palm landing on the handle. You hesitate for a moment, then ultimately seal the deal with a click.

Your body shakes with every hammer of your pulse, not to mention the anticipatory throbbing between your legs. You're not sure if this is a mistake— you're not sure if you even care. In fact, you're not sure of anything right now.

You slowly turn towards him, your gaze wide and seeking reassurance.

He notices and grins at you, though sly and wolfish it may be. "Very good," he offers his approval, sending a weakness to your knees.

His hand reaches out for you, palm open and inviting yours to fill it. You step his way, allowing him to pull you closer. He grips your wrist tight as he pulls you up into his lap, the motion swift and sudden.

Your face flushes with warmth at the vicinity, your body frozen as you straddle him. He feels how you hover, promptly grabbing your hips and forcing you down onto him. You gasp as his bulge makes contact with your clit, remaining paralyzed as if afraid of the sounds you'd make rubbing against it.

His gentle yet plotting gaze glances back and forth between your eyes and lips. "Have you ever done anything like this before?" he asks, almost distracting you from the feeling of him slowly unbuttoning your shirt. The intensity of which he stares at you only makes you more jittery, and your response catches in your throat.

"I, um—" you choke, watching his dextrous fingers reveal more of your skin by the second. Is he referencing sexual favors? Or just... sex? "I d-don't—"

He grins warmly, a small laugh humming behind his lips. "I'll take that as a no." There's a strange heaviness to his eyes that contrasts with his smile; it's almost daydreamy, as if he's fulfilling some fantasy of his. "Don't you worry your pretty little head then— I know what I'm doing, and that's good enough for the both of us."

Suddenly, you place your hand on his, stilling it. He's surprised at first, but after a glance at your doe-eyed face, he knows what you're thinking.

"Just follow my lead, darling." His freehand plays with the garters connected to your tights. "You can do that for me, can't you?" He asks so sweetly it almost makes your head spin.

You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly from the way he chuckles in response. With that, he grabs your chin, bringing your mouths together. He starts off slow, accommodating you— it seems he can tell you're as nervous as you are desperate to please.

His lips are soft and malleable, forgiving any mistakes you might make. You gain a bit of confidence in turn, and he takes that as a sign to pick up the pace. His brows furrow, and your mouths join with a bit more passion. He runs his tongue over your bottom lip, then takes it in with his teeth; he bites down slightly, resulting in a dull yet addicting pain.

Once his busy fingers reach the bottom of your blouse, he pulls the fabric open, letting the air embrace your torso. His hands invade your body with an impatient hunger, cool fingertips tracing your skin as if familiarizing himself with a new toy.

You catch yourself subconsciously grinding onto his lap, stimulating your clit with the tent in his pants. It sends wave after wave of pleasure through you, your hand catching the hair at the base of his neck. He eats up the small whimpers you release into his mouth like candy, deepening the kiss each time.

He pulls away to pepper wet kisses down your neck, and you readily lift your head to give him better access. A palm slides around your back, pulling you closer as he continues trailing along your collarbone, each remnant of saliva growing cold with his absence.

Your rubbing against him gets more needy, and you stabilize yourself by grabbing the collar of his shirt. With your free hand, you pull your skirt up to watch how his cock cards through your covered folds, noticing the ever-growing wet spot he's curated.

Your cunt tightens around nothing, a deep desire for him to be inside you festering beneath your surface. You've never felt so overwhelmed with want before; he's hijacked your body, and you're not sure you'd even recognize yourself right now— giving into temptation so freely, so shamelessly.

He looks down between your bodies, his cock twitching at the sight of you using him to get off. "Does that feel good?" He asks, a slight waver to his suave tone.

You nod with haste, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to find the perfect rhythm, but it's not enough. You need more— to feel his skin against yours. You don't care how dirty or uncouth it might be; your hand lands atop one of his, bringing it closer to the aching spot between your legs.

Although, your confidence seems to run dry as you hesitate, your hand stilling at the halfway-point. You glance at him through your lashes, desperate yet so unsure. He's more than smitten by your uncertainty, reveling in how he's made you yearn for his touch. "Don’t be coy,” he tuts playfully.

He moves his hand without the guidance of your own, watching you closely as he ventures deeper into your underwear. You inhale sharply at the feeling of him exploring your folds, not knowing whether to lean towards it or away. The hum he lets out tells you he's pleased with you so far, and the way that makes your heart race is pitiful.

He thoroughly lathers his digit with your essence, then begins playing with your clit. Your mouth falls open at the instant relief, brows coming together tightly. Your face drops into the crook of his neck, and within seconds your breaths become ragged, allowing the occasional mewl to slip out. You hear how he curses to himself, but you can't bring yourself to focus on what he's saying— you're too lost in his touch.

He consistently changes pace, putting you on the path to an orgasm just to purposely take it away; it's a cruel reminder of who's in control, and you grow increasingly sensitive as a result.

"P-please— please—" you babble, feeling your abdomen grow tenser by the second. He winds the coil inside you tighter and tighter, your pleasure entirely at his mercy. "Please don't stop," you manage to get out, your hand instinctually wrapping around his wrist to keep him there.

He lets out a breathy laugh, one you believe he intended to sound more condescending than it did. "I think you're forgetting the details of our arrangement, dear," he states, presumably anxious to get his own and tell you to leave. Although, his fingers don't still, and he doesn't refrain from encouraging you to cum for him through saccharine whispers.

"Almost there," he coaxes. "Relax. Don't fight it." His teeth drag along your ear, directing your attention as he speaks.

Your entire body goes taut as you feel something snap deep inside you. Your breaths heighten rapidly, face contorting into a half-hearted wince as you try to hold back your moans.

He watches your climax with a half-lidded gaze, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth— if you didn't know any better you'd think he was absolutely charmed by you.

As you come down from your high, he meets your dazed expression with a grin. "Cute," is all he says before pushing you off his lap. You're shocked— and a little hurt. It's not like you forgot what this was, but you hadn't quite prepared yourself to be discarded so soon.

Then, much to your surprise, he positions himself behind you and bends you over the desk. Your chest hits the surface with a thud, and your face settles onto the papers he was working on earlier. All of your muscles are so lax from your orgasm, your knees almost buckle from beneath you while he flips your skirt over your rear.

You hear the excited exhales leaving his nose as his hands run over the curve of your body, rough and impatient. He reaches the heart shape of your ass, giving the area a sadistic pinch and smack. You gasp, curling your toes at the sharp, throbbing feeling left behind.

The sound of his belt coming undone fills your ears. Your pulse accelerates, an uncontrollable heat racing to your dripping cunt. "Gods, this is so wrong," you mutter, though it leaves your lips heavy with desire.

In seconds, your panties are pulled down to your knees, and the cold, office air emphasizes your exposure. Instead of retreating like you thought you might, you find yourself arching your back for him, searching for his touch. He lets out a sort of half-moan as you spread your legs further, offering yourself to him without hesitation.

You inhale as you feel pressure against your entrance. He relishes in how your cunt repeatedly tightens in an attempt to pull him deeper— it feels like he teases forever, though in reality you know only a moment has passed. Every adrenaline-laced touch and pulse of his cock tells you he's strung thin as well, and his self-control is running low; that much is made obvious by how he suddenly plunges himself inside you with one, quick thrust.

A shrill gasp rips from your throat, your fingers crinkling the paperwork on his desk as you try to gather yourself from the unexpected movement. He balances by resting his hands on either side of your head, and you can't help but stare at how they strain and twitch with arousal.

He begins to move, each thrust building with intensity. You find yourself covering your mouth, praying that no one overhears the noises you try to stifle— that, and the lewd slapping and squelching of your shameful tryst. You screw your eyes shut, opting to scold yourself, but each thought is promptly overtaken by 'Astarion, Astarion, Astarion—'

Soon, pleasure completely overrides your senses; it's the only thing that matters. You writhe beneath him like a cat in heat, grinding and rutting against him as he uses your body to chase a climax.

He hits a spot that makes you yelp, your mouth involuntarily falling open in ecstasy. "T-there!" You hurry to speak. "Just like that!" A few needy whimpers slip past your guard, but they seem to aid your persuasion as he abides by your pleas.

One hand grabs you by your waist, fingers digging into the flesh beneath your skirt. His breaths become shallower, and a series of short moans are released by your ear. The sounds send a chill down your spine, and you're immediately hit with the realization that you're approaching a second orgasm.

His melody of pleasure becomes more vulnerable by the second, and his thrusts roughen. The added pressure sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you like an icy ocean wave. Your entire figure tenses beneath him, limbs contracting and sprawling as the feeling courses through you from fingertips to toes. It's more intense than the first, leaving you a malleable heap on the desktop.

He follows shortly after by pulling out and finishing into his hand. His quick removal makes your eyes widen for a split second, surprised by the feeling of emptiness he leaves behind.

You both remain in place for a moment, catching your breaths. Slowly, as your senses recalibrate, you become aware of what you've done. You're almost frightened by the person you just were, taken over by lust— at the hands of a man you hardly know, even.

Rising from the desk, you peel a document from the sweat of your flushed face. Turning his way, you watch as he tries to return his disheveled appearance to its original state— brushing the white curls from his forehead and tucking his shirt back into his pants— all the while carrying a weary, post-orgasm expression.

A man you hardly know, but a very handsome one at least.

He meets your eyes, and suddenly he's back to playing professional again. With a smile that reveals more than his workplace persona, he breaks the silence. "Consider your friend well and truly saved, my darling," he says while making sure you look presentable enough to leave. He buttons your shirt for you, then finishes by wiping away an ink stain on your cheek.

His haughty demeanor makes your blood boil, but you hold your tongue. You did what you needed to do— even if a minor detour was involved. No sense in undoing that by getting on his bad side already.

Grabbing your suitcase, you agree to put this past you. Although, as you grip the door handle, he calls out one last time, "Oh, and do let me know if there's ever anything else I can do for you."

[shootingstarpilot]

okay listen. listen. i'm sorry, i had to get this out of my head, it's been haunting me and i want to get back to working on the next proper chapter-

the mimic lives au.

mimic is brought into the fold without question, of course. and needle- oh, needle's borne witness to the nightmares that force helix awake, shaking-not-screaming, and he knows enough-

so he makes mimic a voice.

it takes him just over a week to record the entire gbs dictionary. he breaks it down, keeps it alphabetical so it's easier to find the words. dictionaries of other languages are on the list. needle thinks maybe mimic can pick and choose which ones to prioritize later. they'll have time.

(they'll have time, isn't that a novel thought-)

but the dictionary is only part of it. there are plenty of manufactured voices out there already, after all.

the datapad becomes needle's newest conversational partner. he sets it up when he's on his own and lets his train of thought derail. spinning out stories both real and fantastical. drawing out threads until they reach the boiling point of absurdity and send him into a fit of giggles. he repeats the stories he'd told mimic just that afternoon, tells him about the jedi, about the temple, about making their own home. then he remembers what helix had said about mimic wanting to be a pilot, and goes and bullies comet into educating him on starfighters. he recites his lessons to the camera each evening in the moments of stolen solitude he can squirrel away before one of the others comes looking for him.

"it's like learning another language," he says, and wags a finger at the camera. "you're welcome."

needle gifts it to mimic a week after they arrive at the temple with a wireless earpiece to match. no pressure, of course, he says, grinning, just thought it could be a good resource to have, words to borrow at your fingertips, but i know i'm only tolerable in small doses, so-

he squawks when mimic's hug lifts him clear off the ground.

anyway. so. you see my vision.

helix jumps a mile when he first hears needle's laugh in mimic's mouth. stitch yells at needle for a bit about talking so much, needle, is this why your voice was so hoarse- and then restricts him to tea for four days until he's sure his throat has healed. sometimes it's too much, and mimic will stick his earpiece to the fridge and borrow words spoken right in front of him until his brain stops buzzing-

but it works. they work.

and then.

it's a few months in. they're comfortable. they're setting down roots.

then one night needle doesn't come home.

helix doesn't wait to raise the alarm. needle doesn't spend every night home, but he's good about comming when he'll be staying elsewhere. he knows helix is struggling with letting them leave his line of sight.

and now he's gone. and he didn't comm.

the first three days stretch into a week.

then a second week.

then a month.

and now, the vision that has been HAUNTING ME-

helix, clutching mimic's datapad, sitting on the edge of his bed.

the lights are low. his eyes are red.

he hits play.

"-ah, i love them," needle says, laughing. the laugh stretches into a yawn-

(that holds for one, two, three seconds, helix knows it now by heart-)

a knock at the door sounds in the video. needle hunches his shoulders, grimacing- his eyes are dancing, he's not annoyed, not really-

"be right out!" he calls, and then- helix's voice on the other side-

"get your beauty routine under control!"

needle waits until his footsteps have vanished before turning back to the camera-

(six footsteps before they fade enough to become inaudible- helix has counted them so many times-)

"i don't need one," he says, and winks at the camera- his eyes are shining, bright and happy- "he's just jealous all of this is effortless. night, mimic. talk to you in the morning."

the video ends.

helix sits in the dark.

after a moment, he taps at the datapad again.

"ah, i love them," needle says. his laugh- snorting, open, happy-

(one-two-three for the yawn-)

helix hits pause. rewinds.

"i love them," needle says.

pause. rewind.

"i love them."

pause. rewind.

"i love them."

pause. rewind.

"i love them."

"i love them."

"i love them."

[vodika-vibes]

Another request. Physical Romantic gestures that make me weak prompt. Wait for it… with Captain Howzer. He’s super sexy too.

kissing you against a wall/door, legs intertwined around their waist.

Only if you find time to write.

Thank you. 😊

Take a Break

Summary: You're working late, and Howzer has a suggestion that might help you relax.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x Reader

Word Count: 1184

Warnings: Uh...spicy? Not smut but only just not smut. A side effect of the prompt, I think.

A/N: Hm...I'm not sure I'm happy with this one, but I think it's about as done as it's going to be. Honestly, I got distracted while writing this, cause my cat is ripping her fur out.

Divider by Saradika

You stare at your datapad blankly. More specifically at the cursor that’s blinking, tauntingly, at the top of the blank document. 

Join the GAR, your family said. Fight for the Republic, they prodded. It’ll give you something to do, they cajoled.

You really, really need to learn how to say no.

Because if you had said no, you wouldn’t be here, in some backwater base on Ryloth, hours away from the nearest city, staring at a blank document, trying to come up with a professional way to say that the situation’s fucked.

Hell, you’re not even sure you work for the GAR anymore. You’re pretty sure you’re not an employee of the Imperial Army.

You rest your elbows on your desk, and your hands slide into your hair.

“Think. Think. Think.” You mutter under your breath, “You’ve written reports before. You know how to be professional.”

You drop your hands to the keyboard, and nothing comes to mind.

How do you write a report listing the loss of half of your base's munitions because the manufacturer decided to skimp on the weather protection, and they were exposed to extreme weather before anyone knew there was a problem?

There’s a knock on your office door, and you look up as it opens and Captain Howzer steps into your office, a mug of caf in one of his hands, “Captain,” You greet with a tired smile, “You’re working late.”

“So are you,” He replies as he sets the mug in front of you, “You still working on that report for the higher ups?” Howzer sits in one of the chairs across from you, and stretches his legs out.

“I’ve written a grand total of zero words,” You reply with a sigh, “I have all of the information to pass on, but-” You shake your head with a sigh.

Howzer frowns, “Are you okay?”

You sigh and bury your hands in your hair again, “I never wanted to join the GAR, Howzer, I was pressured into it. And now I can leave even less than I could before.”

“It’s not all bad, mesh’la.” Howzer offers quietly.

“How? The Jedi are dead. And the Imperial Army is committing genocide across the galaxy-” You stop and your lips press together in a thin line, “You didn’t hear that.”

Howzer folds his arms, “Didn’t hear what?”

You smile at him, “Good man.” To pick up the mug he brought you and take a sip of the warm caf. It’s not good, but it’s caf, so you’ll take it. “Thank you for the caf. Maybe it’ll wake up my brain enough to let me write this report.”

“Or…maybe you need to take a break.” Howzer offers.

“And do what?”

“Well, there is a club not far from here,” Howzer points out.

“I’m not really dressed for a club, Howzer,” You counter as you motion to the regulation pants and blouse you’re wearing.

“You look fine,” He gets to his feet and offers you his hand, “Come on. You need a break.”

“Howzer, I’m not going to a club just to watch other people dance.”

“Of course not, you’ll dance with me.”

You pause and look up at him, there’s a glimmer of hope on his face, and mischief glitters in his eyes, and you sigh and take his hand, “Fine. But only for a little bit. I need to finish this.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He agrees, unconvincingly.

You don’t even have time to grab your jacket before he’s propelling you out of your office, and then the office building. 

The club is Nameless, which is a rather depressing name all things considered, but the music is loud, the lights are dim, and it’s packed with people. 

And Howzer, immediately, drags you onto the dance floor and pulls you flush against him. One of his hands settles heavily on your lower back, while the other cups the back of your neck.

“You seem rather eager to dance with me, captain.” You breathe into his ear.

“Guilty as charged,” He replies against your ear and then his lips attach to a spot just below your ear and you release a quiet moan, which makes him grin against your skin, “You seem just as eager,” He teases.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to dance with,” You admit, as you roll your hips against his.

There’s a glimmer of something on his face as his hand slides from your back to your hip, and he holds you tight enough that you’ll have bruises, “Good,” He purrs out.

You shoot him a surprised look, but he doesn’t clarify. Instead he pulls you closer and angles your head so he’s able to catch your lips with his own. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, absently tracing random shapes against the back of his neck.

He groans into the kiss, and pulls away, which pulls a needy little whine from your lips. And he laughs under his breath. His gaze is heated, and you watch as he comes to a decision. 

Howzer walks you through the crowd, and into a hallway, where he presses you against the wall, and crashes his lips against yours again. It’s not private, not at all, people are passing behind him, though you don’t care. 

And judging by the way his hands are burning a path down your body, neither does he.

You let out a breathless moan as his lips attach to a spot on your neck and he bites down. One of your hands slides up into his hair and you grab a fistful, trying to ground yourself, but all that accomplishes is pulling a broken moan from his throat.

He pulls away from you, his gaze heavy. He lightly pulls your hand out of his hair, and he guides you further down the hall. He pushes the door to the storage room open, makes sure that it’s empty with a glance, and then he drags you into the dark room.

Howzer locks the door with a touch of the door panel, and then he has you pressed against the door. He kisses you deeply, and helps you wrap your legs around his hips, and he presses himself firmly against you.

A moan falls from you and he laughs breathlessly, as he breaks the kiss and brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes, “Are you feeling relaxed yet?” He breathes out.

“I feel like there’s a million bees under my skin, Howzer,” You reply, breathlessly.

He laughs, “Well, I suppose I better help you with that.” He kisses you slowly, sweetly, “And then I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Aren’t you kind of going backwards?” You ask.

“Makes it interesting.” Howzer replies as his lips move to your neck again, “Unless you have a problem with it?”

“I don’t,” You reply quickly, another moan falling from you as he presses hot kisses over the mark on your neck.

“Good.” Howzer grins against your neck, “I have plans for tonight, mesh’la. Don’t worry, I’m going to take good care of you.”

[wizardofrozz]

Learning to Trust

Ordo Skirata x reader, mention of Mereel and Kal Skirata

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: swearing, mention of war, mostly just fluff

A/N: I got punched in the face with this idea and amazed myself with how fast I wrote it lmao hope you enjoy! ❤️

jagyc’kovid: dickhead

shabuir: motherfucker

It was peaceful. The gentle undercurrent of the water rocked the Aay’han, reminding you of a mother rocking her newborn. The co-pilot seat wasn’t the most comfortable but if you sat at an angle, your feet resting on the control panel, you could let your muscles relax enough that you could possibly nap. Your eyes followed the bright, glimmering aquatic life that swam past, watching them shimmer in the sunlight that streamed through the water. The Aay’han was floating off the coast of the capital city, waiting for Sergeant Skirata and Mereel to com for a pickup. 

You had been undercover for the Republic for…a long time, gathering intel about the manufacturing of Separatist droids. Life had been fairly normal, well as normal as it could be for a Republic spy until a certain Mandalorian and his small squad of clones came crashing through your front door. Literally. You glanced at the pilot’s chair, the corner of your lips lifting. 

Ordo was stretched out in the chair beside you, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His arms were folded over his chest, his head tipped forward until his chin nearly touched his chest. His empty Mandalorian helmet sat on the floor beside his chair and every once in a while, you could hear faint, staticky voices floating from inside. The muted shimmer of the water threw a faint glow over his face; Ordo looked peaceful, his usually tense expression slack, his eyes closed. 

He was sleeping. You muffled a chuckle against the back of your hand, carefully lowering your feet to the floor. The co-pilot chair groaned as you stood and you paused, half-standing, to dart your eyes back towards Ordo. He huffed heavily through his nose but otherwise didn’t move. 

It took a few minutes of rustling through cabinets as quietly as possible, having to stop a few times when you made too much noise before you finally found a blanket. It smelled a bit musty but it would do. You unfolded it on your back to the cockpit, smirking at Ordo’s sleeping form before you carefully draped the blanket over him. He shifted lazily, his brow wrinkling for a moment and you stood a little straighter and held your breath. Ordo’s lashes fluttered, his dark glassy eyes taking a moment to focus but they quickly lifted to where you stood over him. 

“Sorry to wake you,” you murmured with an apologetic smile. 

“Wasn’t sleepin’,” Ordo grumbled, dragging himself into a sitting position. The furrow between his brows deepened as he looked down at the blanket pooling in his lap. There was an odd look on his face, one you had seen occasionally in the time you’d spent with him. The innocent, almost confused expression always made your heart ache and it was even worse when he tilted his head back to look up at you. 

“I thought you’d be more uncomfortable,” you explained, gesturing to the blanket as you leaned against the back of his chair. Ordo nodded slowly, absently rubbing the fabric between his gloved fingers. “You can try and go back to sleep if you’d like.”

Ordo somehow looked more tense than usual for a moment, before dropping his eyes to the blanket again. “Alright.” For some reason, it surprised you; accidentally falling asleep was one thing but this showed that he trusted you enough to willingly let himself rest. 

“Hm, you must really trust me,” you teased. Ordo turned in his chair again and you were suddenly aware of how close he was, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles on his cheeks. Ordo was always intense but the way he looked at you, bright brown eyes smoldering, made your stomach somersault. 

“I do.” He spoke softly like it was a secret but there was no uncertainty in his voice. Your breath caught when he smiled, crooked and boyish, disarmingly charming without even trying. Sometimes you wondered if he was aware of it but based on some of the more…awkward encounters you’d had with him, you were pretty sure it was natural. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, meaning it wholeheartedly. Ordo’s smile started to fade but you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted down to your mouth, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he forced his gaze elsewhere. He cleared his throat quietly and when his eyes found yours again you caught the muted anxiety that flashed across his face. 

You had no idea where the confidence came from that had you leaning down, bringing your face even closer to his. Ordo tensed but didn’t pull away, letting the strained silence linger. A shiver zipped up your spine when he tilted his head slowly, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. He paused, leaving almost no space between you and him and you could feel his slow, rhythmic breathing against your chin. 

“Can I?” he asked softly. 

“Please.” 

A soft gasp filled the air when he closed the space and you weren’t sure if you made the sound or if he had. The kiss was hesitant, neither of you moving for a moment until one of his large hands closed around your bicep and you melted against him, sighing through your nose. It was clear Ordo didn’t have much experience but he didn’t seem to mind following your lead. He inhaled sharply when your tongue swept over his bottom lip but he quickly caught on, parting his lips. 

The low groan from deep in his chest made you shiver, a hand coming to cup the back of his head, your fingers threading through his soft curls. 

“Ord’ika? You read me?” You and Ordo jumped so hard at the familiar voice that your heads knocked together, each of you quickly reaching up to rub the now-aching spot. Ordo growled through clenched teeth, twisting around to punch a button on the control panel; despite the pain blooming across your forehead, you barely stifled a laugh. 

“What?” he snapped, glaring at the blue hologram that popped up. Mereel tilted his head, arching a brow but there was the hint of a smirk on his face. 

“What’d you do to your head?”

“None of your business, jagyc’kovid. What d’ya want?” 

“Pickup would be nice,” Mereel sighed with a shrug. He glanced over his shoulder with a badly hidden smirk and winked at who you assumed was Kal. 

“Send coordinates,” Ordo grumbled, ending the call without letting Mereel respond. “Shabuir.”

You giggled, biting your lip when Ordo threw a narrow-eyed look in your direction. “Come on, let’s go get them.” 

“Should leave 'em,” Ordo huffed, rubbing his forehead one last time before dropping his hands to the panel again and starting the flight sequence. The smile that spread across your face was fonder than you thought possible and you leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss on his cheek. You settled into the co-pilot chair, glancing over at him again with a smirk.  

Ordo refused to look at you but there was no denying that his cheeks were a little redder than before. 

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @dystopicjumpsuit @secondaryrealm @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @msmeredithrose @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino

[be-co-me]

All I Want For Christmas Is You

Levi Ackerman

6.8k words

Summary: The day before Christmas Eve, you happen upon your new roommate's living room calendar and discover that his birthday also happens to fall on Christmas and after a drunken night of meeting his friends and getting to know each other better, also discover he doesn't have a family to spend Christmas with, so you offer him your own.

A/N: The more I wrote this, the more I hated it lol, but please listen to my favorite Christmas song before or while you read as it gives me the floaty happy feeling I desire this fic to have. It's Cold December Night by Michael Buble. Levi may be a bit OOC, but I wanted this ready for Christmas, so I didn't have much time to skim it over and fix things. Thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! This isn't yet edited so please don't mind any mistakes! The AO3 curse got me the past couple of days, so this is much more delayed than I would have liked it to be.

-----

You pulled the last of your packed moving boxes through the front door of your new residence, nudging the door closed with your foot as to not let anymore of the heat inside escape. You had been moving things in slowly the past week, the first few days unpacking consisted of larger and more important items and as the days passed, the less important items made their way into your new home. You let the heavy box cradled in your arms plop to the floor with a thud and sighed heavily, folding over to catch your breath. You quite literally felt a huge weight drop from your shoulders as you realized you were done moving. And not only was it the last box, but the last of your Christmas shopping.

Speaking of Christmas, you noticed the lack of Christmas decor adorning your new apartment. While the shared quarters still held a sense of home and comfort, the decor, you felt, was not up to par for the season near enough for your liking. You would have to ask your new roommate about it and see if you could put more up. You shrugged your winter attire off and made your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It would be a long night of wrapping presents and you could use all of the fuel your peppermint mocha had to offer.

As your Keurig sputtered your drink of choice out, you opted to change into comfortable clothes for the evening. When you reentered the kitchen, you grabbed the steaming mug off the machine and blew on the top of the drink, taking a small sip to test the temperature on your tongue.

As you did so, your eyes wandered the walls and found a relatively large calendar hung perfectly straight. You eyed the current date, December 23rd, and the following days, your eyes widening as you abandoned your warm mug on the countertop and made your way closer to the calendar.

Your fingers touched along the block that held 'Christmas Day' and your eyes roamed the calendar adorned in neat script and back to the unfamiliar scrawl that sat atop the block labeled 25.

'LEVI'S BIRTHDAY!!!!!!' It read, in messy capital letters with an astronomical amount of exclamation points following the words. A quite ugly and cartoonish drawing of glasses sat underneath the script, the manufactured 'Christmas Day' scribbled out, and you assumed one of his friends had written everything inside the box. A feeling of panic set in. You had to get him something. It was his birthday. Did that explain the lack of Christmas decor? Does he despise Christmas?

At that moment, you heard a set of keys jingle outside and the click of the door unlocking. You quickly stepped away from the calendar and your hands encased your mug once again. You took another sip of the drink as Levi walked in, brushing snow off of his shoulders. You looked away, scrunching your face at the still boiling hot temperature of the mocha, cursing your awkwardness around the new man. His face adorned the same look, but only because of the cold.

His eyes met yours with a curt nod in greeting as he removed his shoes and he began walking towards the counter. He set his keys across the countertop and hung his backpack across the back of one of the high top stools lining the island countertop you currently leaned on.

"Sorry it's so late. I'm glad I didn't wake you up." he said, unzipping the bag and pulling his laptop out. You shook your head.

"I just got back as well! I finally have all of my stuff here now, so no more ruckus!" you responded hastily, opting to sip your drink once more. You hadn't yet engaged in many conversations with the man, only those around your mutual friend who shared your own college major, Isabel, who had suggested you as Levi's new roommate. But she wasn't here anymore to guide your conversation and it felt quite awkward.

"That's good to hear." he responded, fingers working to plug in the laptop's charger into the countertop. Something you hadn't yet noticed about the home, but you were glad it existed and were sure it would prove handy for late nights studying. You wondered if he had also felt awkward around you. That would have to end quickly if so.

You continued sipping at the drink in silence and watched as he worked, typing into the laptop. Maybe it would be a good time to retreat to your bedroom and give him his space to mitigate from work. Or make him a warm drink as well? Maybe try to strike up a conversation and get to know more about him? Or-

"Got any plans for the evening?" he asked, cutting your internal rapid firing line of questioning off. Your eyes met his own when he stopped typing. Your cheeks warmed at the steely grey's examining your expression. You quickly looked into the swirl of your drink.

"You're looking at them. Why? Got something in mind?" you asked, jumping at the opportunity to know more about him, or more specifically, what would be his fancy in terms of a gift or two.

"Hmm. I'm surprised Isabel didn't mention it. We're all going out in town tonight for a few hours." he responded, fingers reaching for his phone, also plugged in, and swiping it open. You were also surprised she hadn't mentioned so, but forgetful was one of her more endearing qualities so you were quite sure it wasn't on purpose.

"She's forgetful. I'm sure she meant to ask you about it though." he responded to himself. "So? Would you like to come?" he asked. His voice monotonous. He continued his work as you pondered the question and the task you would be abandoning for the evening.

You nodded, agreeing to go along, but now you would have to get ready. You'd have to give Isabel a call and see what the unspoken dress code of the evening was. You imagined if it went her way, you'd be quite dressed up for the night, which also meant freezing your ass off.

"I'll go get ready!" you responded. He nodded and turned his full attention back to his computer, finishing what you could assume was work for his graduate program he'd be starting the preceding semester at the university you would now also be a part of. You had met Isabel at a club meeting in your old college. An event all the universities had gone to. You had struck up a conversation with her, and were pleased to find she went to the same school you would soon be transferring to and it was history from there.

You pulled your phone from under your waistband, finding Isabel's contact as you closed the door to your bedroom. You set a coaster out onto your desk and set your drink down. You'd definitely need the fuel now. Or maybe the better idea would be to abandon it for water.

"Heeellllloooo?" a perky voice drew out the greeting. You smiled, shaking your head.

"Did you forget to tell me something?" you asked. A loud gasp rang over the other line and you took the phone off your ear in preparation for the yelling that was about to ensue across the other line.

"I'm so so sorry! I totally meant to tell you when Hange planned it! Shit! Did Levi tell you?" she asked. You nodded, laughing.

"Yes he did. Now onto more important details. What are you wearing? Is this more of a dressy going out or just comfy?" you asked, fingers sliding hangers over as you mulled over what you could wear for the evening in either option. You hated to not fit in with the theme.

"Hange wants us to dress up because it's Levi's birthday on the 25th! SHIT! That's another thing I forgot to mention!" she responded. This was a celebration. You felt guilty at not knowing the new man's birthday sooner. You chuckled despite the nervous thoughts that began to rapid fire your brain again.

"It's alright! FaceTime me so you can help me pick an outfit out!" you told her. You removed the phone from your ear, awaiting the video call and answering as soon as she called.

----

Your outfit of choice ended up being much more short and showy than usual; an extremely short velvet cocktail dress and heels that matched the color, much to Isabel's pleasure. You wore your trusty black 'going out' trench coat as it went with everything and kept you as warm as you could be in a short dress.

You finished the minute details of your outfit, leaving your bedroom. You walked into the living room, eyes in search of your new roommate to see if he was ready to go.

He had also changed into something a bit more dressed up; a pair of slacks, dress shoes, a button up shirt, and a blazer. His steely grey's met your own, looking down and up before meeting your own again. You swore your caught the faintest tint of blushing to his cheeks.

"Won't you be cold?" he asked, turning towards the counter, taking ahold of his keys. You shook your head.

"This is my trusty trench coat, either it's never let me down or alcohol warms me up enough." you responded.

"Want me to drive? Or we could walk if you won't be too cold or uncomfortable." he responded. You could only nod before realizing you were given two options in the question.

"Walking is fine." you answered curtly. You made your way to the front door, opening it and stepping into the cold. He followed behind you, his hand meeting your own as he propped the door open. You quickly retracted your hand. Now it was your turn to blush, but at least you could blame it on the cold weather.

You heard the telltale click of the lock on the door and he stepped down the stairs in front of you, turning and offering a hand. You stood still, putting your hand up to take his own in hesitation.

"It would really suck if you fell down the stairs before we got there." he said. You laughed loudly, slapping your hand down into his own and beginning your descent down the stairs. You small talked about your days, his at work and university, despite the off season from the semester, and you about your moving and Christmas plans.

You made it to the first place of the evening, a fine dining restaurant. If this friend group was anything like the one in your hometown, then you'd get dinner first and then get wild at bars and hangout spots the rest of the evening and into early morning.

You weren't quite sure of what anyone looked like outside of Isabel, your eyes scanning the tables for a mop of pink hair, but you couldn't see above anyone even with your heels on, and the restaurant was what you would call 'packed', everyone eager to finish their drinking bouts with heir university friends before returning home to their families.

You looked to Levi, who also struggled to see over the top of patron's heads. His eyes widened lightly and then met your own. He nodded his head a certain direction and you began following him through the throng of people towards your destination, taking ahold of the sleeve of his jacket.

Once making it to the table, Isabel stood, beaming.

"This is the infamous new roommate I've been telling you guys about!" she shouted. You laughed, Levi taking a seat next to Isabel. You opted to take the empty spot next to him at the end of the table.

Isabel sputtered more facts about you to the group before someone cut her speech off, a lean blonde man with bright blue eyes.

"Please, introduce yourself. We at least need a name with the face." he said more politely so than Isabel, who now pouted. You laughed too, proffering your name and a few small details about yourself. Where you came from, what your college major was, although you were sure Isabel had already shared those facts for you in her eagerness to adopt you into the friend group, and more typical introductory details.

The server came around and asked drink orders. You went with your regular drink of choice, something that wouldn't get you drunk after one, but definitely not something to drink on all evening. Everyone else made their orders and you were surprised to find Levi had actually ordered something containing alcohol. Albeit, not much, but it was a start. Isabel had told you he wasn't much of the drinker with he exception of tea and the occasional coffee whilst studying together. Your elbow met his arm and his gaze quickly made its way over to you.

"I thought I heard you weren't much of a drinker?" you chided. He looked down to his hands, which sat clasped together atop the table, then leaned back in his chair, a hand brushing through his hair with a long sigh.

"Hange said if I didn't have some drinks tonight they would cancel the whole thing." he responded, irritation laced in his tone, a stone cold gaze now looking to the perpetrator. You laughed loudly.

"I'm sure that's not true." you responded as your drink was placed into your field of vision. You took a sip right away, savoring the way this restaurant made it. This may be the best variation of the drink you had drank before. You'd have to ask for the recipe they used if they'd give it to you.

As you sipped at your drink, you side eyed Levi, who hesitantly took a sip of his own. His nose scrunched and he stirred into the drink more with the cocktail straws, taking another sip, seemingly satisfied with how it tasted now. You engaged in idle chatter with the group, only ordering appetizers and splitting them all amongst yourselves evenly. You insisted you boot Levi's portion of the bill, but Erwin met that proposition with a strong and resounding 'No'.

After two drinks you began feeling warm for the evening, ready to shed your coat at the next location the night took you too. You only followed his friends, not sure what they had in mind. You were sure they had regular locations they frequented and such.

You walked behind the group next to Levi, noticing the silence between the two of you was much more comfortable than earlier in the evening at your shared home. You found yourself enjoying his company more and more so.

Isabel suddenly came up behind you, tossing an arm over your shoulders and the other over Levi's. You stumbled, laughing. As you regained your footing, you caught the heavy glare Levi pointed her direction.

"Can't yell at me tonight bro!" she shouted, laughing loudly. You laughed along, wondering how their dynamic would usually be in your absence. It seemed her lifelong dream may have been to get on every last nerve roaming through his body you thought, maybe even Hange too. You were almost certain they planned antics to annoy him together.

The group made their way inside the next location and the first thing you did was shed the stuffy coat, draping it across your arm. Christmas music boomed loudly across the speakers as it intertwined with the bar's usual playlist.

You followed the group as they made their way through groups of dancing people to a table tucked in the back corner of the bar. You sat your coat atop a chair, scheming how you would pay for all of Levi's drinks for the remainder of the evening.

"What would everyone like? I'll go grab it!" you asked the group as they attempted to make themselves comfortable atop the booth behind the table. You opened a note in your phone and began writing them down.

"I'll come with you. You can't carry it all." Levi announced, standing. You noticed his blazer now shed off as well, another button undone on his dress shirt. It was now your turn to eye him, down and up. When your eyes returned to his face, his eyes met your own with what you could swear was the faintest hint of a knowing smile.

You walked to the bar, grabbing ahold of his shirt sleeve once more as you followed. You squeezed between two people's shoulders and leaned against the bar to wait your turn for a server. You turned your head over both shoulders to find Levi, his hand perched to your left side on the bar and right on his hip. You felt safely encaged, like no one could hurt you. While he didn't stand much taller than yourself, he definitely held an intimidating aura, something you couldn't say was a quality of your own.

You quickly looked back to the bartender as they were ready for your order and leaned further, allowing them to see your phone's notepad as you explained your new friend's drink orders. She nodded, stalking off to quickly make the requested list and move to the next.

Once she returned, you began handing Levi drinks and carried four on your own, which you were quite impressed with. Maybe your old serving job was useful in some aspects. You carefully walked back to the table as to not cause a mess or drop anything.

"Alright. Here's Furlan's, Isabel's, Hange's, and Levi's." you recited, handing the drinks to each respective person and setting Levi's in front of the seat that held his jacket. You turned to grab the remaining drinks out of his hands, smiling as your eyes met his own. He wasn't one to smile nor show emotion much, always stoic, you noticed. You turned back and set your own drink next to the seat you had discarded your jacket in and also next to Levi's.

"And finally mine, Erwin's, Moblit's, and Miche's." you finished. You clapped your hands together and made your way to your seat after Levi made his way in.

After loud idle chatter about anything and everything, Isabel and Hange insisted that you come to the dance floor with them, and despite your considerable amount of protesting, you ended up in major defeat as both of them grabbed ahold of each of your arms, dragging you out of your chair.

You laughed as you danced with them in a circle, each of you holding one of the other two's hands, skipping around. Some of the classic club songs blared through the speakers and your last drink began creeping into your bloodstream. You laughed harder at the heinous dancing Hange managed to pull off, curled over with your eyes closed, laughing the hardest you think you ever had.

You felt a finger tap your shoulder and you straightened your posture, eyes meeting the perpetrator. Isabel leaned close to your ear, telling you the group wanted to take shots and you should head to the table. You nodded and followed behind her and Hange, all holding hands so you wouldn't lose each other in the now packed and large crowd.

You placed your hands atop the edge of the table as you reached it to steady your balance, laughing as you thought of a silly dance Hange had done on the dance floor, your gaze meeting Levi's. Despite his lack of emotion, he didn't seem to be having a bad time. He seemed the type to enjoy the company of his friends and be hellbent on not showing it.

Shot glasses full of bright red liquid were dispersed and you attempted to ask what it was. The overall consensus was that it was a Christmas themed drink. You shrugged and downed the shot after Hange's loud and enthusiastic countdown.

You returned to the dance floor, more of the group joining along, with the exception of Erwin and Levi, who remained chatting away at the table. You couldn't help it, but you found yourself gazing his way the entire evening. You wished he was the dancing type.

After another shot later in the evening, you all had decided to filter outside in search of your next location. You had also succeeded in paying for all of Levi's drinks, much to Erwin's dismay, who insisted paying the entire bill every place you went to.

You opted to not put your coat back on, allowing the cold weather to sober you. You couldn't help but smile as you watched the group. You hoped to become a permanent part of it.

You felt a nudge to your shoulder and looked towards Levi, his hands in his pockets as he walked. Your cheeks were warm and your smile grew wider as he encased his hands over your shoulders, rubbing lightly. You were a bit cold. Maybe he could tell? You had surrendered your coat to Isabel, who had forgotten her own at home.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked. You nodded eagerly.

"I should be asking you that question." you responded, nudging him back. He shook his head and you all opted for the last location of the evening to be a small coffee shop cafe, something they apparently did routinely after going out for the night. You never did get to finish your peppermint mocha earlier in the evening.

You walked up to the shop, ordering another of the aforementioned drink. Levi had opted for tea, and everyone else some variation of a hot chocolate or coffee. You filtered out of the door, allowing more patrons to filter in before hearing a screech and howling laughter that could only belong to one person behind you.

Your eyes turned to Hange, who pointed a finger curtly above your head, still laughing. Your eyes widened as they met the bundle of leaves and small white fruit hanging above you. Your eyes met the pair of also widened steely greys in front of you.

"You have to! It's bad luck if you don't!" Isabel shouted. Erwin and Moblit could only shake their heads at the antics of the two troublemakers, who doubled over howling with laughter.

What do you do? You don't want to reject Levi. Nor do you want bad luck during the incoming year. If anything, you currently wanted him to kiss you. You shrugged your shoulders and his eyes scanned your features, down to your lips and back to your own gaze. You wet your lips with your tongue unconsciously, stepping closer to your roommate.

And as if by chance, the cheesy Christmas music playing the entire evening filtered through the cafe doors as they opened. The line in the music gave you a sense of (false?) confidence, a sense of this being fated to happen in your tipsy state.

'So kiss me on this cold December night.'

You lightly placed your hands over his arms and his own met your shoulders hesitantly, circling his thumbs over them once more. His eyes scanned over your face once again, as if asking permission. You nodded, closing your eyes, and soon after felt a pair of warm plush lips capture your own. And like a ghost, they were there one second and gone the next.

You forgot about the group behind you, your eyes opening and meeting the pair in front of you. Your smile beamed once more, the group behind you hooping and hollering at the two of you. He really smiled for the first time that evening.

As you made your way home, the hands that were once shoved into his pockets now held a warm drink and your own warm hand in comfortable silence.

----

You awoke to the smell of coffee wafting through the apartment. Christmas Eve, the day to wrap all of the presents you had meant to wrap the evening prior, a task that needed to be done before you left for your family's home.

You stretched yourself awake, abandoning your bed to make yourself not look such a mess before making your way into your shared living quarters. You eyed your phone, the time still quite early.

"Good morning Levi." you said, pouring yourself a cup of the still hot coffee. He muttered a good morning back to you, typing across the keyboard on his laptop once more.

"Got any plans for the day?" you asked him, elbows leaning atop the counter he currently sat on the other side of. His eyes met yours as he shook his head.

"You're looking at them." he responded, and you remembered your similar conversation the evening prior. Did he have no family to go home to? On his birthday? Maybe they lived close and he'd go the next day.

"How about you?" he asked, eyes still scanning the laptop screen. You shrugged.

"Wrapping presents and driving to my family's house. I haven't seen them in a while. I'm pretty excited." you spouted, rambling on about your family to him. You noticed halfway through he had stopped typing and removed his glasses, fully intent to listen to your words.

"What's your family like Levi?" you asked. Any more hints to get an idea as to what you could get him for his birthday tomorrow may come from information on his family.

"I don't have one." he responded. Your eyes widened, taken aback.

"What do you mean?" you asked in thought. Before he could respond you realized the insensitivity of the question. "Never mind you don't have to answer. I'm prying." you answered yourself.

"It's alright. I don't mind telling you. My mom died when I was young and I don't really know my dad." he said quietly with a small shrug of his shoulders. You nodded, your eyes widening as an idea sprung to mind. His face contorted to one of confusion at your sudden beaming smile.

"Come with me to my family's! We'll be back the day after Christmas!" you shouted, your hands slapping over the top of his across the countertop after abandoning your coffee for the second time in as many days.

"It'll be so much fun I promise. they're a little crazy at times, but I don't think it's fair to spend your birthday alone Levi." you continued, almost pleading. His gaze looked to the ceiling in thought before meeting your own once more.

"Okay. Yeah. I'll do it." he responded. You squealed in happiness, quickly sputtering that you had to call your mom before grabbing your coffee and prancing off to your room, closing the door shut.

You found your mom's contact, calling her to let her know the situation. You knew how your parents were, there with open arms to anyone who needed it. And they'd be damned if they also didn't have something there for Levi as well. You had a small pull out couch in your childhood room you could sleep on, opting to let him take the bed as it was larger.

You eagerly spouted a plan to your mother, different gifts for him you thought he would like so she could purchase them. She was just as excited as you it seemed. She always loved when you brought friends home. She loved your big heart even more, which was the main reason she indulged in the company of your friends.

You wrapped your family's presents quickly afterwards, eager to drive to your parent's house in Levi's company. Once you finished wrapping everything or stuffing it into respective gift bags, you stuffed changes of clothes into your suitcase along with your laptop and other items you may need during your visit.

You re-entered the living room at eleven, Levi also packing up his needed items, a suitcase sat next to the door and you set your own next to his. You filtered in and out of your room, stacking the presents next to your cargo. Once you were certain you had everything, you quickly made a to go coffee in a thermos before grabbing your keys, warming your car up as you packed everything into it.

You talked back and forth on the way about school and the friend group you had been assured you were now a part of. You had received more than enough details about Levi to get him gifts of your own after the drive, allowing your mother to steal the ideas you had learned of him the night prior.

You and your mother decided together she could buy the Christmas gifts, and you the birthday gifts.

----

You made a quick pitstop at the strip mall down the street from your parents that you frequented as a teen. Levi walked into the store behind you, and you made the excuse that you needed to pick up one more present for your mother, Levi didn't fail to mention the large load of presents you had already packed into your car.

He scanned over a rack of clothing and you used that as your chance to hastily escape, picking up a few gifts your mother had told you she hadn't gotten yet over text.

When you were satisfied with your selection, you made your way to the front to pay and found Levi quite easily in the shop, letting him know you were finished.

You ran back to the heat of your car, the remaining five minutes of your drive felt so long.

----

As you pulled into the driveway, you beeped the horn of your car lightly to let your family know you had arrived. You parked and exited the car as your parents and four year old younger brother stepped onto your porch. You little brother beelined it for you and you laughed, kneeling down to his level. He jumped into your arms and shouted your name. You spun him around and hugged him tightly, balancing him atop your hip bone with one arm, leaning in to hug your father.

Your mother made her way to Levi, letting him know how happy she was he could join you to see your family and that he was always welcome. Typical motherly things you always appreciated about her. You watch as she gave him a hug and smiled, a soft smile making it's way across his lips as he conversed with her.

Your father helped you unpack your car, grabbing your suitcases and setting them down. He handed a present to your brother, ensuring him the sole responsibility to make sure it got under the tree safely, allowing him to help in bringing yours and Levi's belongings inside. Your brother nodded eagerly, excited to help. Your mother and father grabbed the rest of what you had in the car and you wheeled your suitcase inside.

It smelled of cookies and coffee inside. Your eyes met the Christmas decor littered across the house. A kids Christmas movie played at low volume on the TV for your younger brother and you grabbed Levi's arm, who had also been admiring the decor, and dragged him to the room you'd both be staying in, your childhood room.

Your mother had already prepared your room to accommodate the both of you and you emptied a few of the drawers in your dresser for Levi. You both unpacked your things and you abandoned the suitcases in your closet.

He sat atop the bed once he was finished and eyed the boyband and more embarrassing aspects of decor littered across your room. You plopped down next to him.

"Seems you were quite the fangirl." he observed. Your cheeks heated and you nudged his arm, muttering something about all kids having a fixation when they were young.

Once done in your room, he followed you to your living room down the stairs and you made your way to the tree, helping your mother sort the rest of the gifts. She went all out every year without fail, and your eyes scanned the group of gifts that listed Levi's name.

You turned to your mother and threw your arms over her shoulders, whispering a thank you to her. She nodded, spouting he was happy to do it all.

Levi made himself comfortable on the couch next to your father, who asked if he would like a beer, the TV channel changed to some sports game that was happening. He nodded, not wanting to turn your father down. You made your way to your younger brother, who busied himself with a halfway built puzzle.

You sat next to him, pulling a cushion off the lounge chair behind you to sit on. Levi eyed you as he sipped his beer, your mother bringing you a drink as well. Homemade spiked cider had become your favorite to drink on when you came home and she made it perfectly every year without fail.

You had talked to your mother about hiding a couple of your share of Levi's gifts for the next day, opting to actually open gifts for Christmas that evening so you could celebrate Levi's birthday to the fullest the next day.

After helping with the puzzle, you stood, plopping onto the couch next to Levi, watching the game with him. His knee shook up and down as he sipped the beer idly, and you set a hand atop his own, wrapping your fingers over it. His knee stopped bouncing and his gaze met yours.

"Don't be nervous. Trust me. There's nothing you could do wrong around my family. They already love you." you assured him in a whisper. He nodded, letting out a sigh.

"Sorry. Fathers make me nervous." he said. You shook his knee side to side, and his hand wrapped tighter around your own, both of your gazes turning back to the game on the TV.

After dinner that evening, gift opening commenced. You found your seat next to Levi once more, your cup of cider hot and full once more, Levi now drinking on the same thing, and watched your brother carefully open his gifts. He was calm for a four year old, not too energetic, something you appreciated about him. Your parents instilled his manners at an early age as they had done with you.

Then it was your turn. You set your cup down, carefully opening the assortment of gifts your family had gotten for you. Some new jewelry you had eyes for right after Christmas the prior year, some little plushes you adored that your brother insisted you had to have when he saw them in the store, nice stationary for school, some in trend clothing, and a skincare brand you always used.

Your mother and father opened their gifts from you, your father's a nice watch, and your mother's a necklace that had your brother's and your birthstone's embedded into it. She instantly had your father put it around her neck and she insisted she would wear the necklace to her grave.

Then it came to Levi's, whose eyes widened at the fact you had gotten him anything at all. You leaned your shoulder to his own and his gaze met yours, hands hesitantly reaching for the wrapped boxes your father handed to him.

He opened them with surprise. You had dug through the kitchen cabinets in his absence to find his favorite teas and maybe those that were of a higher price point to get him more, a nice watch as well, and nice stationary for him too as you mentioned to your parents he attended the same university.

His eyes met your own, still wide, then your parents, smiles across their faces.

"You didn't have to do all this for me." was all he could mutter out. You shook your head.

"Of course we did! Quit being humble honey! Besides, there's more where that came from for tomorrow." your mom said, walking over to embrace him once more, then your father, and finally you. Your little brother wanted in on the action, jumping over the two of you, wrapping an arm around your neck and the other around Levi's, a group hug commencing. He had already become part of the family, much like he had adopted you into his friend group.

----

The next morning, Levi's birthday, you awoke especially early, trying not to stir him from sleep as you exited your room to help your mother decorate the house for Levi's birthday. Before exiting the door, with a soft smile, you whispered a quiet happy birthday, leaving and closing the door quietly.

You had a lot of work to do, your mother already started a pot of coffee, a cup sitting on the counter for you already. You worked quietly to adorn the house in birthday decor, your mother had made a cake already and it cooled outside so you could decorate it.

You blew up balloons, careful to not let them pop. Your brother eventually awoke, helping you blow up the balloons as your mother taped the tops to the ceiling and you worked to wrap and curl ribbon around the bottoms.

Your father then awoke, grabbing the hidden gifts and placing them on your living room table. You made a cup of the tea you had gotten Levi as you were sure he would wake up soon. You changed into your chosen outfit of the day and got ready in your mother and father's room.

Levi appeared five minutes after, and you handed him the tea you had made.

"Surprise!" you shouted. He was taken aback once more, eyeing the littering of birthday decor that now sat covering the Christmas decor.

"You're insane. You really didn't have to do all of this." he said, eyes following along the decor you meticulously placed around for the better part of the morning. You received a side hug from him and something about the whole situation just felt homey and domestic. You wanted to lock it up and keep it forever.

You all worked together to prepare breakfast, your father playing a Christmas parade on the TV that your brother watched intently, already slowly eating on the first pancake that left the pan, his eyes glued to the television.

You all sat around the living room as you ate breakfast, your mother and father drilling Levi with questions about university and his graduate program. Oh no. It sounded like the boyfriend talk was upon you.

You eyed your mother mouthing a heavy 'NO' to her, smiling as your father continued rambling on. She nodded, nudging your father, who seemed to understand. You smiled, shaking your head, as they changed the subject from the impending talk.

You comfortably leaned against Levi, your father bringing the last gift to Levi out. You were most excited for this one. You had drilled Erwin fro information the night you went out together when Levi was away from your table. You sent quite a nice amount of money to your mother to have the jewelry shop expedite your order the previous morning, the main reason you had stopped by the strip mall.

"I hadn't planned on giving this to you till after Christmas, because I didn't know your plans, but here it is." you said, watching as he opened it. It was a ring, gold to match the watch your father had gotten him, with his birthstone set in the center, a script across the band you had gotten out of Erwin, a quote Levi had found in a book that he very much so enjoyed.

'Dedicate your heart." it read across the band

"How do you know about this?" Levi asked, sliding the ring onto his finger.

"Let's just say that I'm pretty amazing at grilling your friends for all of your information without you hearing about it." you responded. His eyes met yours and you smiled, your cheeks warming. You could blame it on the cider your mother made again, but you didn't think you would this time.

The look in his eyes matched that of the evening before Christmas Eve when you had gone out together, and you readied yourself to kiss him. You pulled him by the front of his sweater and captured his lips with your own.

Maybe the boyfriend talk wouldn’t be so bad if it was Levi you were with.

——

A/N: I definitely had a different vision for how this would go but I wrote it in two days in my free time and kind of hate it lol. Just straight cute fluff!! Please let me know what you think!

[wh3nturtlesfly]

heyyy, so i know that u just continued the this story not that long ago but can maayybe make another part to the story abt villain kidnapping hero while their bleeding out in the rain, no pressure ofc!

Of course, thank you so much for the ask! :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

They were weak. Whatever flowed through their veins had reduced Hero’s mind to pudding. They couldn’t think like this, much less move under the solution’s influence. Villain savored it, seeing them so helpless, the Hero was sure of it.

Through half-lidded eyes they watched Villain step through the doors of their room; their cell to be more accurate. The plush bed and soft covers did nothing to change that they were still trapped. The IV had been running on a constant ever since Hero had tried to fight back. It left their limbs nothing more than useless skin and bone, heavy against the weight of the medicine- if it could even be called that. Poison served a more accurate comparison.

It was late that evening, much too late for Villain to be visiting. Villain only ever came twice a day, first with new bandages and ointments, and second with a meal of some kind. Hero had tried to refuse the food. Better to starve than live through such a mess, though the more persistent they proved to be, the harsher Villain shoved the metal spoon down their throat.

Now they carried something different altogether in their hands. It shone under the lights and trailed behind Villain in translucent whisps. What was gathered in their arms had been folded into a neat bundle to which Villain set on the foot of the bed before strolling up to Hero with a devious smile. A touch of victory chimed in Hero’s mind as they observed the red mark that coiled around Villain’s neck. They caught Villain laying a hand upon it gently, rubbing away the pain Hero had caused- their sliver of revenge.

“You’re looking much better my dear,” Hero’s eyes could only drift lazily to where Villain laid a finger upon their cheek. Their touch was numb, the medicine had made sure that Hero wouldn’t feel it, though they still wished to pull away. “Your coloring has returned indeed. You’re no longer the pale apparition I found in the alley.”

“And you want me to thank you for it?” Hero struggled to get the words out. They were strung together in a slurred mess, but it was considered progress. Villain must have reduced their dosage if they were able to speak clearly.

“I would appreciate it if you were a little more understanding,” Villain’s grip became harsh and the cold prick of their fingers dug into Hero’s skin. “After all, I have a surprise for you.”

“My freedom?” The mere suggestion was a joke itself, but that didn’t stop Hero from asking.

Villain smiled sweetly. Somehow it couldn’t distract from the greedy look in their eyes. “Better than that,” they said, and retrieved a slim remote from their pocket. As they clicked one of the buttons Hero felt the pressure lessen on their arm. Already their mind had cleared some of its fog.

It was as if a weight had lifted, though the Villain would never be so kind without reason. Hero caught onto their yearning gaze, eager as it trailed over Hero’s form. “Now that you are well enough, I can truly display you.”

The garment at the edge of the bed made sense then. Villain’s hands found the silk-like fabric and ran over it with an eager grace. “You’ll make quite the conversation piece, and you know how I do love our talks.”

“You don’t own me,” Hero pulled their gaze away from the outfit. Despite its revealing nature, it was incredibly well made. Clearly hours upon hours had been dedicated to its manufacturing, from the embroidery that shimmered to the stitching that drew attention to just the right places. Wearing such a thing -much less with the Villain- would be a humiliation like no other. “I won’t go with you.”

Villain frowned, “And would you rather be a slug, left in this bed to rot with no one left to love you?” They held the remote tightly in their fingers, “You’re mine whether or not you deny it. It was not your precious agency that pulled you bleeding, dying from that alley. I saved you.”

Hero flinched as Villain’s hand gripped their wrist tightly. They still didn’t have the strength yet to squirm away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Your screams were plea enough.” Something shifted in the Villain’s expression. Their eyes softened, movements slowed as they leaned closer to the Hero, “So desperate, you would have given anything to live.”

Their hand found Hero’s bandages to which they carefully unwrapped. The gash across their chest met the cold air and a gasp escaped Hero’s lips. Without the IV, things were much more sudden. They could feel the dull sting arising from the wound with each passing second, accentuated as Villain traced a finger around the edges.

They grinned as Hero winced, “Without me, no one will help you. Like it or not, you have fallen into my hands and now it is time for the rest of the world to see.” Villain’s eyes trailed over Hero’s form dangerously, “Either that, or I have other ways of making you listen.” Their finger hovered over the button that controlled the IV. One push, and the Hero would be helpless again, unable to move, much less think of an escape.

Hero sighed, and the pressure made their ribs ache. From its place on the bed, the garment sparkled. At least at an event they could be away from the solution's influence. Villain’s touch was sickening, though not enough to leave them subdued.

“I cannot stand well on my own. I’ll need assistance until the drug has left my system.” The words were clipped as they fell from Hero’s mouth. They didn’t look, they were well aware the Villain was smiling.

“Such a smart choice darling,” Villain stood, and lingered at the door frame. They left the IV untouched, a sliver of freedom as the liquid poison already began its leave from Hero’s veins “My servants will dress you. Behave for them.” Then, just before they slipped away, Villain offered a devilish grin, “Don’t be late.”

Hero started planning their escape the moment the door clicked shut.

[dagwolf]

From Reverberation Vinyl on Facebook:

I'm a "record store day indifferent" type of shop. I don't carry the sort of things that people line up for, and the things I do stock that are attached to rsd are all items you'd find here on the average Wednesday. I don't hold it against anyone, takes all kinds, etc. But I am asked frequently around this time of year why I don't really care for rsd, and while I certainly have stock answers on hand, they usually come off as annoyed or negative, rather than thoughtful and well reasoned. So, short of going door to door & handing out tri-fold pamphlets, here's Ralphie's theme...

Why RSD Is Bad For Records & Record Stores by John Anderson

The "Record Store", as positioned in our culture in 2024, is (or was) a reflection of the mythical independents of the '90s & '00s, places that thrived outside both the interest in, or support from, the record industry. Truly independent stores that were usually small, primarily used, at times meeting places for music people, social hubs for weirdos, discovery zones & more. The reality was far more nuaced, but growing up in the record stores of my youth, I eventually sorted out the differences between chain stores, used shops, big label music, used selling/buying, etc, and the sense of REAL that permeated the independent shops of the world. The person/people behind these places were often big, weird personalities, but they were also the driving force behind what lay on the shelves. New horror soundtrack imports from Italy? Brand new garage rock from PNW hotspots? Skranky dub compilations for under ten bucks? Bootlegs? YES. All things that were specific to the shops, sometimes exclusive, but always reflective of what & who the place WAS. Recreating that to the best of my honest ability has always been my goal here. If its a new record in the racks or on the wall, its likely here because a) I love it, b) I own one too, and c) I'd like to share it with you. Short version: this store is a deeply personal statement. That has always been my focus and always shall be. In the words of the great Andrew Weatherall, "Music's not for everyone".

That's the mystical/romantic part. I have practical reasons as well!

1) As stated above, record stores (vinyl) thrived & grew to what we know now with ZERO interest from the record industry, when it was at its absolute $height$. As "record store culture" became more popular & increasingly commodified, the industry used rsd as a trojan horse to seize the means & the narrative back from the very people who kept it going while they - the industry - were gouging people on CDs & fumbling a cogent approach to digital music.

2) rsd stock is expensive, for us & you. Usually 25% more than your standard releases. Why? Good question.

3) rsd stock is unreturnable for shops. As a store, what you order, you're stuck with. Huge stores don't seem to mind, as you'll see bin after bin of rsd leftovers going back 5+ years, more in some cases.

4) The Disappointment Factor. When "one band fans" & newer collectors have been conditioned to seek out "the one thing", there's inevitable disappointment when smaller stores get tiny allocations of records people seem willing to fight over. That disappointment usually ends up directed at the people/place, meaning yours truly, something I want no part of.

5) Manufactured Scarcity. Undershooting demand by a few thousand units as a marketing strategy sounds fun to someone... not sure who though. Driving a rabid wave of buyers (say 500,000) into a physical marketplace that's more likely to NOT have what they want (say 10,000 copies)? Nope. Which leads to...

6) Unrealistic Manufacturing Capabililty. With seemingly every popular (read: really common) record of the last 50 years being repressed in 18 colors to satiate insane demand (a particularly impatient, Amazon era, "want it NOW" demand), not to mention the same approach to new LPs by many (Billie Eilish called this out recently), the industry is basically pretending this is the early '80s when massive, industry-wide manufacturing infrastructure meant they could turn big orders around in days rather than months. Trouble is, this isn't the '80s. The big industry titans dumped their pressing facilities & hardware at the dawn of the '90s. Now, demand greatly exceeds manufacturing capabilities, and while there have been new pressing plants opening (and thriving) in recent times, these aren't owned & operated by Warner or Universal: these are the indie operations that kept vinyl alive in the '90s & '00s, and now the big label business they can't turn down means slower turnaround for all the labels & artists that aren't major/indie property. AKA all the artists who ordered records from them for the previous 20+ years. Which leads too...

7) Astronomical Pricing. Yes, rsd pricing is "a quarter above the vig". Cost of doing business in that world, I guess. If it sounds like the mafia, it is, because rsd is 100% "big record industry" controlled in 2024, regardless of early intent. Unsurprisingly, the cost of new records across the board has seen an insane surge, with little mind paid to the audience, whether that be boomer age dudes who can afford $80 Neil Young records & $900 box sets, or high school/college kids, who are expected to drop $40 for a new LP. Regardless of the public face they put on it, the industry still sees "this", meaning records, as a trend that will at least partially fade off. Hence their lack of interest in committing to better & more sustainable pressing & manufacturing. No plants or presses, but the money will be fine for now, thanks.

8) Flipper Culture. I say this knowing full well there's no way to put this element back in the box, but your ebay/discogs flippers are the boogeyman that its easiest to put a face to. Not much nuance necessary, they just want as many copies of of whatever "hot" rsd release is fetching the most $$ online. We've all had to hit the secondary market to find some "limited" record we missed. Being forced to do it on rsd because 2000 dirtdicks who stood in a line all night & bought up 2/3 of the existing copies of the record by your daughter's favorite artist? At 10x list price? Oh, okay.

9) The Generally Punishing Nature Of Having To Stand In Line For Something You May Not Actually Get. If there's a group of folks out there who love standing in lines, I mean no offense, but come on now. I'd guess that most bands/artists probably aren't aware of what goes on around rsd, or I'd like to think they'd decline involvement, because who wants to punish their fans like that?

I could go on & on but... The record scene has changed a lot since I opened up, particularly in the last 7-8 years. For the better? I kinda doubt it, but we shall see... I've been carping out these warnings since 2011, and there isn't much I can do about it, aside from running my little shop in the manner I see fit. I don't begrudge anyone what they're into, and while my place is as personal as it gets, I don't take these weird record store times personally. I hope anyone who reads this understands that like my store, it comes from a place of love, with all the passion & care that encompasses. In the end, this should be fun... I've had some incredible discoveries, comraderies & experiences in records stores, and that I wish for everyone.

(link)

[pinkiepiebones]

blue for some writing inspiration

It stains his fingertips.

He had been pursuing this one for weeks. The Count had smelled her on him; a chance brush of shoulders as they passed on a street. She was a rare one. Not something pious as a nun or lithe as a cheerleader, but on scent alone the Count knew her blood was a degree of pure he had not tasted in ages.

So. Renfield had his mission.

He found her again easily enough. Humans, like the animals, the insects they are, are subject to routine and schedule. A chance encounter. A chat. A fumbling with an umbrella. An offer to share a cab. Smiles, and a hasty-written telephone number on his palm. It was a proper courtship. The Count would be placated by lesser offerings in the meantime. Little apéritifs before the main course.

He tries not to learn much about her as the days grow and stretch into weeks. He maintains an affable aloofness that she finds charming. He nods and smiles. She talks about work. Some kind of artisan, or a manufacturer of things for artists. He doesn't really listen when she talks. Until she talks about him.

"I want to match your eyes," she tells him one day. He's seated in her store, folded up on a patchwork recliner meant to showcase a variety of fabric dyes. Renfield allows himself to feel peaceful in the hazy sunlight filtering through the large window. She's holding swatches near his face. "Western civilisations largely ignored blue for a while, you know? Or, rather, saw no beauty in it. The Romans associated blue with mourning an' misfortune."

"Hm.?" Bit on the nose there, Romans.

"Then about the twelfth century, Christians started giving the Virgin Mary those ultramarine robes instead of hidin' her in the shadows to grieve." She sets the swatches down and makes notes. Takes jars from shelves.

"Christians are always up to something, aren't they."

She smiles, unsure. Then: "I feel like I've bored you with enough work stuff. Let's get out of here."

After a month, at the full moon, the Count declares that Renfield has strung this meal along long enough. Time to bring her in.

Renfield reaches up to silence the little bell hung above the door. He quietly flips the OPEN sign to CLOSED. She's in the back, the little room behind the counter, stirring a dye.

"Oh! Didn't hear you come in." Her smile is too trusting. She gestures to the little stove and the pot. "I think I've finally got your blue eyes figured out. I'm gonna start selling this, I think. Gonna call it 'Renfield Blue.'"

Renfield looks into the pot as she takes off her work apron and goes to put her notebook under the register.

"I need some fresh air. And a drink. You want to grab a bite to eat?"

Renfield touches the dye. It stains his fingertips. It stains his handkerchief as he pulls it out of his coat pocket and puts it over her mouth and nose.

They don't make it to dinner.

Well, they do. In a sense.

Renfield's fingertips stay Renfield Blue for weeks after the Count devours her.

[ellstersmash]

pinot noir

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Makon (@bearlytolerant) x Athi Lavellan (professor au) Rating: G for General (no swears?!) Words: 2241 [Read on Ao3] Athi reluctantly informs her professor she'll be dropping his class.

This is the right call.

Athi repeats the thought with each step, walling off her doubts with manufactured confidence. Unfortunately, Professor Makon’s office is a decent hike from her advisor’s, across campus and two floors up, giving her way too much time to cave.

This could've been an email. Should've, really. After what happened, he won't want to see her any more than she wants to see him. Maybe he won't be there. That syllabus was pretty dense; Athi’s only mostly sure she's remembering his office hours right. Maybe she got them wrong and he won't be there and she won't have to admit her defeat to his face.

The dark, polished wooden door is closed when she finally reaches it, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Surely a note will be fine.

But luck is not on her side today. As Athi approaches, it opens, and a student she doesn't recognize emerges. They hold the door and she gives them a tight smile in reluctant thanks.

It snicks shut behind her.

The professor is seated at his desk in the center of the decently sized room. It's a dark, heavy, ornate piece of furniture that matches the door and full bookshelves and is large enough that he doesn’t dwarf it like he undoubtedly would a more delicate one.

“Miss Lavellan.” His voice is calm but his surprise is plain. “Please, take a seat.”

She takes in his office in one discerning sweep. It's lovely, but moody and serious, high ceilings and cohesive décor utterly drowned in black and brown and crimson, though the huge arched windows set into two of the walls help keep the room from being oppressive. Afternoon sun streaming in turns the red from vampire edgelord to pinot noir.

It feels comfortable, but not the lived-in sort. Immaculately clean, and there are no papers on his desk, no garbage in the bin, no personal effects anywhere—save a single picture frame set on one corner of his desk and a pipe stand and humidor on the other.

“I won't be staying that long,” she says.

The large leather chair behind the desk creaks slightly as the professor leans back, arms folded to his chest. His dark eyes are fixed on her in precisely the situation she was hoping to avoid.

“Very well,” he says, then continues before she has a chance to blurt out her confession. “In fact, it is quite fortuitous for me that you visited my office today, as I have been desiring to speak with you since the regrettable events of last week.”

Of course he wants to talk about it. Athi drops her gaze to the desk and clenches her jaw, fully prepared to derail whatever tiresome rant he has planned.

“I owe you an apology, Miss Lavellan,” he says, yanking the fight right out from under her. She scans his expression for signs of insincerity or mockery but finds none. “I singled you out among your peers, and despite any vexation I may have been experiencing, it was not at all my intent to confound or mortify you. I assumed—wrongly, we may agree—that all the students enrolled in a course on the medicinal magic curriculum would already be able to perform the spell I requested, and hoped that by being a part of the lesson you might become more engaged with it.”

The way he speaks, like some century-old thesaurus is swapping words out for him as he goes, is both mesmerizing and irritating. Athi could listen to him speak for hours in that deep timbre which rumbles at the lowest dips in tone, though she has to hold onto the actual words a while, shuffling them around in her head until they fall into some kind of sense. But once they do, she has to agree; his assumption was fair. Most of the others probably could have done it without a fuss. 

Athi digs her thumbs into the back of the padded wooden chair as he keeps talking.

“We may not always see eye-to-eye on appropriate classroom behavior. However, it is not my job to embarrass you into submission, but to teach you. I am afraid I did you a disservice, and I am sorry for it.”

He is quiet, then. Finally. Waiting for her acknowledgment? Her acceptance? Her forgiveness?

The silence hovers a little longer as Athi finds her words.

Then she slumps into the chair. “No.”

His straight black eyebrows draw together, a few deep furrows appearing between them. “I beg your pardon?”

She shrugs one miserable shoulder. “You asked me to do something I should have been able to do. I couldn't do it, got upset, and took it out on you and your very nice shoes. I'm sorry.”

Professor Makon waves one hand in dismissal. “Please do not trouble yourself over the shoes. They survived the assault quite unharmed, I assure you.”

“Glad to hear it. I'd hate to force you into sneakers.” Athi bites back a grin.

He sets his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers in front of him. Taps the tips together thoughtfully. “I appreciate your apology, yet I find myself unable to surrender the entire portion of blame for our… altercation. Perhaps we might agree to share it?”

There's the beginnings of a smile on his face, too, uncertain but warm. It disarms her.

“If you insist,” she agrees.

“Excellent. And now, perhaps you and I can start afresh. Your magi—”

“I’m dropping the class.”

His expression sobers. “Oh.”

“My advisor said I should talk to you about options, but I think it's pretty obvious I'm not cut out for this.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Oh, please. I can't even unwilt a few leaves. And there's no way I'll be able to make up for the hands-on portions with theory, much less put it into practice in future.” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have even enrolled.”

“May I ask why you did?”

Athi can't stop the sheepish smile that spreads across her face. “Healers get the best gigs. And the biggest paychecks.”

“So this is merely a means to an end?”

“Does that offend you? That I should want to end up with a reliable, stimulating job that pays me well enough to live a comfortable life?”

“Of course not. That is your prerogative.”

“If it's any consolation, I don't mind the part about saving people’s lives, either.”

His low hum of acknowledgement settles in her ears. Gods, but he’s handsome. It's hard to hold his gaze too long. Athi grabs the frame off his desk and flips it around.

It's a picture of the professor with one arm draped around the slender shoulders of a much shorter woman. He's dressed down, shirt open in a loose vee, and she's gorgeous, with tightly coiled green hair and a wide, infectious smile. A lover, likely enough; he certainly seems happy to be with her. His wife?

Odd that the idea should sit so poorly in her stomach.

“Has finesse always been a struggle for you?”

Athi nods, strangely glad for the interruption, and sets the photo on her lap. “Can’t warm a mug of water for your tea, but I can set a pond boiling.”

“I hope you don't know that from experience.”

She smirks and lets him speculate.

“I wonder if you might indulge my curiosity,” he starts slowly, “with another demonstration.”

So she’s to be a circus act? Watch the sad semi-mage bumble through simple tricks—what fun. Athi barely keeps from grimacing at him. “Why? Are you in the slim and elusive market for a hot spring?”

He laughs, then coughs as if to cover it.

“Believe it or not, I gather no pleasure from your success or failure. I am a teacher, Miss Lavellan, and I only wish to assess your abilities for your own benefit.”

Athi fills up her lungs, then hisses out a long breath. “Fine.”

Professor Makon fishes a pair of scissors out from his desk then unlatches one of the windows, drawing in a branch from the outdoors and snipping off some leafy new growth. He lays it on the gleaming unmarred surface.

“Remove some of its life.”

Athi does so. Stretches out her hand and focuses on drawing its life force, its moisture, its vitality, into herself until the leaves lay crisp and withered on his desk.

“Very good. Now restore it.”

It’s but a sip of life, not enough to have her glowing but enough to drain her when it’s gone. The leaves start to unfurl, then a stray thought, a doubt, and she nearly loses her grip on it. Cuts it off to avoid a disaster.

The professor hums again. “You very nearly had it. Based on what I've witnessed, your magic is indeed quite strong,” he says. “Your willpower is formidable, though your focus and discipline are…” His head tilts back and forth as if sifting the right word to the top of the pool.

“Pathetic?” she supplies.

He levels a weary look at her. “Unbridled.”

Athi snorts. “Tactfully put.”

“It is not a matter of tact but of implied permanence. Do you not wish to improve your skills?”

“I guess, but why do you care?”

“Ah, right. You are quitting.”

She hates the way he makes it sound, but it's not inaccurate. “Yes.”

“And so I should wash my hands of you, then?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

His index finger, long and well-manicured and probably capable of channeling more magic than her entire body, taps steadily on the desk. “What if you did not quit? What if you remained enrolled in my course?”

Athi narrows her eyes at him. “Are you promising to pass me?” He doesn't seem at all the sort, but people can be surprising.

Apparently not this one, though, because he looks thoroughly offended she'd even suggest it.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Whether you pass or fail will be entirely up to you and your efforts. However, I am willing to take the time to assist you in your studies outside of class if you are willing to apply yourself. I would hate for you to walk away from my course because I failed to assign an appropriate prerequisite. Might I plead with you to finish out the semester with some personal assistance?”

“Outside of class?”

“Can you not make the time?”

“I can, but—”

“Then what holds you back?”

Fair question. He is a master of his craft. It's a generous offer, and one he has no reason to extend. Plus, she could think of worse ways to spend a few hours per week than personal lessons with Professor Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy—even if he does have a smoking hot wife at home. But there is still no guarantee that she won't fail, wasting both her time and money and denting her GPA in the process. And this way, she'll be disappointing more than just herself.

Athi sits back in the chair and sighs. “Will there be snacks?”

Her professor’s eyes soften, deep brown crinkling at the edges as he smiles. “You should take the evening to consider your options. If you are not present in class tomorrow, I shall take that as my answer.”

She’s been dismissed. He holds his hand out and Athi nods and returns the picture. Gathers her bag from the floor and makes to leave.

“If you decide in my favor,” he says, “then I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Lavellan. And if not—”

“See you never?”

He straightens the picture on his desk and meets her eye. Jaw tight, a sharp nod, and he lets her go.

-

Too early the next morning, Athi paces the hall, avoiding the gazes of her potential classmates as they file into the lecture hall ahead of her. She envies their confidence, their probable magical skills, their sense of belonging. Wants to be one of them. Wants to show them.

Wants to show him.

A careful sip of coffee; she leans against the wall to weigh her options. She could leave. Drop the class, and lose the option to label herself a healer-surgeon and all the benefits that would incur. Maybe take another course that’s more to her strengths, like Patient Relations, or Experimental Medicine.

Or she could stay.

Take the professor’s offer and walk in that room like she deserves to be there. Like her magic is every bit as good as it should be. Make her dad proud. Or, if she fails, make him regret subsidizing her education—and still lose the lucrative subspecialty of “healer,” making it that many more years until she could pay back his investment.

Professor Makon wouldn’t fail her, though. Would he? He cares. He’d try. He’d teach her.

Another minute until class starts. Everyone planning to show is already inside, seated, books open, ready to learn. And she’s out here, cradling her coffee like a coward.

The door creaks open. Professor Makon’s head pokes out, black hair pulled back in a neat bun and eyes scanning the hall. Too soon, he spots her loitering like an idiot.

Smiles.

“Well?” he says, “Will you be joining us, Miss Lavellan?”

She gives herself another five seconds to consider, then holds her coffee up—a lavender anti-spill travel mug she purchased especially for this class—and says, “This is my price.”

The professor examines her offering, then opens the door wider to let her in. 

“I accept.”

[plethomacademia]

wip thursday (idk)

before i go back to prompts (SEND PROMPTS), thank for to @nullcanary for the wip tag! i am zagging on y'all with a snippet from my most recent dip into my modern AU for Maeve and Gortash.

Reminder: In this AU, Maeve is a Gwyneth Paltrow/Ivanka Trump mishmash nepo baby health guru influencer and Enver is her husband of fifteen years who started as a genius engineer in aviation/rocketry and is now an executive in a weapons manufacturing company. They have an agreement that they each go to one event a quarter to support the other and this is when Maeve makes him go with her to a movie premiere. They have a big house in north NJ that neither of them live in but their three kids (via surrogate) are there.

Anyway y'all ever do good drugs at an afterparty and end up reconnecting with your estranged husband?

In the dark of the room, it’s easy to lean back against the same strong chest, to breathe in the same rich cologne that he has always worn. It settles around her just as his arms settle around her and she feels her own body relax, a combination of success and drugs and heat and dark folding them back together into the shape that they always seemed to end up in. They talk in an easy way, a way that does not stick in her mind in terms of what is said but how it is said, soft smiles and genuine interest, questions and follow ups, eyes that, when they do meet, seem to see each other for the first time in months.

Finally, she feels hot breath on her ear and through the haze, she hears him ask, “Do you want to get out of here?”

She is transported back fifteen years to another party, one with louder music and much stronger drugs, one where she was the one who asked the question, a socialite with dreams and a low cut dress, and he was the young genius that she had taken a shine to.

She takes his hand without a word.

As they wait for the driver to bring around her car, he puts his jacket around her shoulders and she finally feels the chill that he had noticed before she had, the gooseflesh running up her bare arms and back. She closes her eyes and only the light of a flashbulb brings her back enough to realize that they are kissing. She can imagine the comments already, how her fans will gush about her perfect life and her perfect family and her perfect marriage to a perfect man. Neither of them stop, if anything he pulls her closer as another set of flashes go off just before their Escalade blocks them from view.

When her car stops at his hotel for the second time that evening, he offers her his hand and she takes it again, letting him lead her inside. The lobby is gleaming old Hollywood, lights reflected a million times on crystal and brass, and she is happy once they are in the elevator and away from it, happier still when he motions her into his hotel suite and closes the door behind them.

In the dark, they can be hands and hearts. In the dark, they can drop it all, clothes and scars and armor. In the dark, she can focus on the feeling of his hands trailing down her flat stomach that did not bear his children, his somehow still calloused fingers as they open her up, break her apart in the casual way that only someone who has done so a thousand times can manage. In the dark, she can be like she was the first time, drunk with love and the thrill of claiming something for herself, something she was not supposed to have, this man from nothing who built with his hands and saw a future where he owned the world, not because it had been given to him like it had been given to her, but because he had reached out and taken it. In the dark, she can offer herself up and be taken.

When Maeve finally opens her eyes the next day, she can already tell from the light sneaking through the windows that it has to be well past the afternoon. She goes to the bathroom, sees the mascara under her eyes and the marks on her neck under the harsh glow of the vanity light. She turns on the faucet and sets to putting herself back together.

[mydarllinglover]

Stars Collided || Fifteen

Previous

The three walked around the place, in silence, hiding in the shadows, as they kept an ear out, for any noise, as they tried to make it out of the place, which they soon came to realise, was a factory.

Anakin led the way, Lovisa clung to the back of his shirt, per his instruction, and Ahsoka held the girls hand.

As they were about to pass a corner, Anakin came to an abrupt halt, causing Lovisa to slam into his back, and Ahsoka into her.

"Ow, Snips, you've trodden on my foot." Lovisa hissed.

"Oh, sorry." Ahsoka apologised, bashfully.

"Shh." Anakin raised his hand at them, as he angled his head, to hear what was going on, in front of them. "Back, go back, this way, they're coming." He shoved the girls, back the way they came, to look for an alternative route.

"They're coming that way, too." Ahsoka panicked.

"Okay." He looked around, as he tried to think. "Okay, this way."

"The Princess is missing!" They heard a shout echo around the walls.

"I want everyone on the look out, you see her companions, you kill them, no harm is to come to her, yet!" A loud crackly voice boomed, before clearing his throat.

"Anakin!" Ahsoka groaned.

"I'm trying!" He growled, as he began trying every door they came across, but none of them were opening.

Eventually one had gave, and recklessly, the trio threw themselves in, shutting the door behind them, as marching footsteps were getting closer.

"For fuck sake!" Lovisa cursed. "WHY IS THERE EVEN A DOOR HERE?"

It had appeared that Anakin had led them into the manufacturing part of the factory, that was active.

"They went in there!" A soldier shouted.

"We can't go back!" Anakin fumed.

"We're going to die." Ahsoka cried.

Lovisa thought about her options, she could either walk back out the door, allow her friends to be killed, and her life bargained with, or she could jump on that conveyor belt and take her chances with the machinery.

She took in a deep breath, before sprinting, flinging her self into the air, capturing the giant hook above her, and using the last bit of momentum to swing herself towards the moving conveyer, rolling on her shoulder before, landing and standing tall, to catch her breath, as she turned around to see what the other two were going to do.

Once again, she had found that she left them speechless.

"Come on, we don't have time for this!" She called over to them.

"Me first, lover boy." Ahsoka pushed Anakin back, as she copied what the princess had done, to be amazed when she survived, instead of plummeting to her death.

Lovisa decided to focus ahead, trusting that Anakin and Ahsoka would be able to handle themselves.

She gathered the fabric of her long skirt, tugging it together before tying it into a knot, just below her hip, to prevent herself from tripping over it, as the conveyor carried her forwards.

"Look out!" Ahsoka shouted.

She looked ahead, as an hot iron press was about to slam down.

She hopped back, before waiting for the opportunity to roll under it.

The door had opened, and so had another, on the other side, guards flung in.

"Cease them!" One shouted, as they ran towards the three.

"Which ones the princess?!" Another called.

"The one about to fall in the vat of molten lava!"

Lovisa ran the opposite way of the conveyer belt, back towards Anakin and Ahsoka, who was getting closer to her, as she tried to escape the next obstacle.

"What are we gonna do?!" Lovisa shouted.

"What can we do?" Ahsoka shrugged, flinging her hands up, panic written all over her face . "We're out of options.”

All of a sudden, the conveyer belt was shut off, and they were brought to a stand still.

They looked over to the door they came in from.

Two stern looking men were stood there.

One had a passive expression on his old face, his hands clasped between his back, as the bigger one, who they could tell had lots of prosthetic parts, had his arms folded across his chest, looking angry.

"We would like to surrender." Anakin told them, his hands out, as if he was making an declamation.

On either side of the boy, Ahsoka and Lovisa side eyed him.

The trio were soon placed in a room, tied to chairs, their backs to each other, forming a circle.

"Great idea, Anakin." Lovisa grumbled bitterly.

"Yeah, one of your best." Ahsoka rolled her eyes.

"What else was I supposed to do? They were going to get us anyway, and I would have preferred to survive it."

The door slammed open, hitting the wall, aggressively, as the large man from earlier, walked in.

"Spare." He greeted the princess.

"It's pronounced Lo- Vee - Sa." Lovisa sighed, at him.

"Unimportant." He waved off. "Much like you."

"So why am I here?"

"Where's your sister?" He asked, crouching down, as he got close to her own face, glaring at her.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Why don't you go look for her, and let me and my friends go."

"Don't lie to me!" He spat.

"I'm not lying!" She lied.

"Yeah, think about it! Your lap dog snatched us up, on the road back from Tatooine, we haven't been at the Palace for days." Ahsoka spoke up.

Lovisa raised a brow at him.

"Quiet servant girl!" The man barked at her.

“Het, don’t talk to her, like that!” Lovisa berated.

"General Grievous, I hope you're not tormenting our guests, too much." The old man, spoke, walking into the room.

"Count Dooku, I was merely looking for answers, but the Princess is still proving to be insufferable."

"Still?" Lovisa screwed her face up, at the man. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"You don't know me?!" General Grievous seethed, as he advanced towards her, but Count Dooku stopped him, with just a hand on his shoulder.

"Should I?" Lovisa asked, leaning back in her chair, her thick curls touching Anakin's and Ahsoka's.

"I served for your father for most of his reign, until you had him fire me! Called me scary looking, put me out of a job." He pointed in her face, with an accusing finger, as his scarred face turned red.

"I don't even remember you."

"I guess you wouldn't, you were only young, perhaps four."

"Wait, hold on." Anakin interrupted. "So you kidnapped us, threw us in a cell, chased after us, all because Lovisa called you scary looking, when she was a mere toddler, and you can understand that she has no idea what you're on about, but yet, you're screaming in her face, and threatening her?"

"Quiet, boy." Grievous stepped towards him.

"General, why don't you go make sure the thing, is nearly ready, and that everything is prepared." Count Dooku told the half man.

He growled, bitterly, to himself, before forcing himself to stand up straight, marching out of the room.

"Princess Lovisa." Count Dooku turned his attention to her, speaking in a gentle and calm voice. "Your friends are going to die, regardless, but we don't have to let you die, as well, I'm willing to return you to your parents, for a trade, if you just tell the truth. You're not the one we want."

Lovisa rolled her eyes, as she looked at the ceiling of the room.

"I don't know where Padme is." She repeated.

"Does it pain you?" He asked. "To constantly live in her shadow, knowing that the only reason you exist, is to be there, to fall into her shoes, you will never get the throne, the respect of your kingdom, your happy ending, nothing."

"I have no desire to rule, I don't care for the crown, so no, I do not envy my sister, I love my sister, very much, and when it is her turn to rule, I will support her, she will make one of the greatest queens we have ever had." Lovisa told him. "You might as well kill me now, I will never betray her, or my family, or even our people."

"I really didn't want to do this, Lovisa, but you have left me no choice, I tried." He said it, as though he actually valued her life.

She spat at him.

He inhaled slowly, as he wiped the spit off of his face.

"Very well." Count Dooku said, in a quiet voice. "Guards, take them to the arena, the show is about to begin."

Next

[breaded-boi]

ngl i mourn for kids now because holy shit the toys do not have the same amount of detail or paint or anything nowadays. (with some exception, like i have no clue how MGA sells lol dolls for 20 bucks with the detail involved) the designers do the best they can but there's only so much you can do with modular plastic molds and stickers. i had a way better my little pony castle when i was 6 than the kids get now. like ok look at this.

This was the flagship g5 castle playset. and they try with nice molds, modular pieces, and leaning into a design that doesn't need much paint, right? The interactive bits are fun. But compared to what we used to have...

the motherfucking g3 celebration castle. The river, steps, climbing flowers, trim, rainbow-- all of it is painted detail. The inside does go with mostly stickers but that moat piece in particular is lovely. I may grab some more examples but my point is, the designers are still good, it's just wayyy more expensive to get stuff like this manufactured nowadays and it's sad that I idolized someday working in a toy industry that just does not exist the same way at all anymore. And I get if you may prefer the new design since the old castle is a little younger-skewed, but my point is the level of detail here is completely different between the two sets and both were suppose to be the "fancy deluxe birthday/christmas present" option for their respective generations. More examples--

I wasn't born in time to have clamshell polly pockets, but like.

The 2000 jungle pals set. Almost everything is colored!! the immersion is so good and the fact that it's a little fold-out house its so fucking cute. The gradient on the leaf canopy. there are modular pieces but the painted details bring it alllll together.

I didn't have this one but the little trees. the chair. come on. come onnnn

The modern polly, this is the most expensive set listed on mattel's site right now. And everything is either a separate mold or a sticker and i dunno like they try and it doesn't look super bad but it's not at all as immersive. they seem to push the interactive/moveable pieces to try and make up for the loss of immersion but its not the sameeee :( not to mention im honestly not a huge fan of the way they're pushing this particular palette of purple/teal.

This is an older set, and it uses similar colors to much better effect. even with hardly any painted detail the objects they choose to populate the scene with are tailored to that chunky look. Imo if you aren't going to paint a piece, molded detail can be a double-edged sword. the door and furniture in the modern set look much more like just chunks of plastic to me compared to the little food court chairs or the shrub in this one, because the pieces do not call attention to details that seem like they should be colored. There isn't much paint on this one, but if the floor flowers or the ferris wheel were just one solid color it would definitely hurt the appeal ykno?

now, littlest pet shop. im gonna take a second to spotlight the REAL old lps toys before the bobblehead style really came about because I had these as a kid (had a relative with an antique shop, these were before my time and I was lucky) and they are. just. the small amount of painted detail paired with good color choice really makes these work (had to take some of these from ebay listings, it's hard to find good pics)

The duck pond. Painted details on the trellis!! and the magnetic wand you could use to make the ducks swim 🥺 The swan pond is even more beautiful

Even some of the less detailed sets from this era still have enough painted detail on at least one part to help it feel less like just a hunk of plastic.

I don't dislike modern toy design, but it makes me sad. And obviously, I don't know anything about the working/manufacturing conditions at play here and no painted detail is worth compromising on good conditions. It's just wild, looking back. Kids today don't know what they lost :/