#I just remembered the gif and wanted a post for it

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

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[logansargeantsbabymom]

Hi could you please write an imagine for the f1 boys (mainly Charles, lando, Pierre, Charles) where they surprise the reader at work and she works in childcare. Thank you

Hey pretty, thank you for the request <3!

Work Surprises with the F1 Boys

A/N: I did make this where Y/N has different occupations working with children so it's not the boring same old same old for every driver. I hope that's okay!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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Charles Leclerc: Pediatrician

I woke up at the same time I have for the past 3 years as I would everyday to get ready for work, at 5:30am. Now I was never and never will be a morning person but I absolutely love my job because it involves me helping kids whether they're sick or just need to get a physical for a school field trip.

I felt my boyfriend stir in his sleep next to me as I tried to sneak out of bed. My attempt of sneaking out though failed as I felt the strong arm of my boyfriend wrap around my waist and yanked me against his body. "Mmmm, don't leave" my boyfriend, Charles whispered against the crook of my neck, which caused me to shiver at the sudden breath hitting my skin.

"Baby, I have to get ready for work." I said as I ran a hand through his messy hair

A groan left his mouth before he continued, "Call out sick" his grip on my waist tightening as he snuggled closer to me to fall back asleep

"No Charles, I have too many appointments today and I won't have any cover. I'll be back soon though, remember the office closes early because it's the 4th of July?" that seemed to persuade him enough because I felt his grip loosen a bit and I took that as my queue to slip out before he had enough time to change his mind.

-

I'd only been at work for about 2 hours and I've seen about 24 patients and attempted to finish some paperwork but every time I get the second to sit down and start the papers, a new patient needs to be seen. I think the last time I've been more stressed in my life than I am right now was back when I was waiting for my score to see if I passed my pediatric exam to get my license and that because I have a waiting room of 6 more patients and all the other doctors and nurses are busy.

I can only thank the heavens because the next patient I had to see turned out to be quadruplets, which would save a significant amount of time on my behalf. Once I called the patients and led them to the room where I closed the door before asking the most important question any doctor could every ask.

"Who's Nicky, Ricky, Dicky and Dawn?" I was slightly annoyed with myself as I finished my question because anyone could tell who Dawn was so I could've easily excluded her from the question.

"I'm Nicky, that's Dicky, and that's Ricky. Dawn obviously is the only girl here so" Nicky said

"Right, well who wants to get their shots first?" I said as I looked at the pan of 8 needles. Each kid needed a flu shot and a hep b shot but as I looked around the already crowed room, none of the kids wanted to volunteer first.

With an unamused look on her face, Dawn reluctantly agreed to go first. It only took about 10 minutes to give all 4 kids their shots and when the last kid got his shot, they all bolted out of the room.

"I'm sorry about them, they hate needles" was all the mom said before she left to follow her kids.

-

It's now 11:55am and the last patient is just about to leave before we close for an hour to have lunch "Okay, if the meds aren't working for your son after about a week, I would come back but if he develops a fever and starts vomiting while taking it, I would suggest taking him to the emergency room." I said as I guided the new mom and her 3 year old daughter to the front lobby.

As soon as the last patient left, I locked the door before making my way to my office to attempt to get some of my paperwork done during my hour break instead of eating.

I was walking back to receptionist desk where I kept my paperwork so I could take them back to my office, only to find it not there. A look of confusion plastered on my face as I continued to look for my missing paperwork. I frustrated groan left my mouth as I realized I'd have to restart all that work.

"I hope you really weren't about to skip lunch for work mon cherie"

A gasp slips past my lips as I quickly turned around to see my boyfriend standing there with a stack of files in one hand and bag of Chinese food in the other.

"Charles!" I said as I walked over to him and took my paperwork back "I thought someone stole these! You scared me!" I placed my hand over my heart and I took deep breaths to try and regulate my heartbeat.

"Sorry, mon coeur but I had to take them because I knew you were going to skip lunch again." A baffled look played across my face because how did he know I have been skipping my lunch breaks to get paperwork done?

"Your coworkers have been telling me you're not eating at work. You can't tell kids to eat to grow and be strong and then not take your own advice. I'm here to make sure that you eat today so I'm making it a little lunch date. Sit and eat."

Lando Norris: Kindergarten teacher

"Ms. L/N, my dad told me that you're dating a famous wace car dwiver, is that twue?" my one student, who's name I just learn was Leo asked me.

Today was meet the teacher day at the school I taught at just 2 weeks before the first day of school and this question was very different than the ones I've been asked before. I looked up at the single dad behind him as I let out a little chuckle

"Why yes I am Leo, is your dad a fan?" I asked as I knelt to be at level with him

"Uh huh! He woves the orwange one!" I've always had a soft spot for kids and right now Leo is making my heart melt.

I didn't have a chance to respond before he ran over to his dad to tell him the good news. I got pulled aside by a parent who told me about an allergy her kid had to a specific cleaning chemical which I made a note of to avoid using in my classroom. I stuck the sticky note on my computer screen before hearing "MS L/N, YOUR BOYFRWEND HERE!" I could recognize that voice as little Leo's.

My head shot up to look at the door and sure enough, my very famous Formula 1 driver boyfriend was there with a bag full of school supplies and gift bags filled with goodies for the kids.

"Kids, I've got presents!!" Lando shouted which caused a little sea of 5-6 year olds kids ran over him making little grabby hands.

Once all the kids got their little baggy of toys, Lando talking to Leo's dad and I answered more questions, the classroom started to empty as Meet The Teacher time ended. The room fell in a comfortable silence as I started to clean up and organize all the supplies I was gifted today.

"Have you ever thought of having a kid or two?" Lando asked, my body tensed at the question

"I dunno, I haven't thought about it. Have you?" I asked as I looked him in the eyes.

"Everyday since we started dating."

Carlos Sainz: School Counselor

"Listen Jess, I can't keep getting you out of trouble. You have to stop getting attitudes with teachers over a small issue." I said with a sigh as I had to deal with a troubled 14 year old freshman for the 4th time this week and it only being Tuesday.

"It's not my fault Ms. Jones was being a bitch to me." Jess said as she shrugged and slouched back in the seat she was in.

"Jess! You can't go around calling your teacher a bitch!" I scolded

"I will if they're being bitches!" Jess shouted

The ring of my school phone is what prevented me from further scolding the student sat in front of me

"Ms L/N's office" I started as I listened to the person on the other line "Okay, tell him to sit at the door of my office while I finish up with this student I have now. Okay, thank you. Bye bye" I hung up the phone before turning my attention back to Jess.

"Do you have another student?" she questioned

"I have another meeting, yes, but you're my top priority right now." I said as I readjusted my position in my chair

"To be honest, I cause these problems because I need someone to talk to and I feel most comfortable with you." Jess admitted as she looked down at her lap

"Jess," I started sympathetically "How about this, once a week we will have a 20 minute meeting to talk about anything and everything you want?" I compromised, which got a nod from her.

I watched as Jess left my office, I attempted to clean my desk a little before bringing my other meeting in before hearing Jess' voice

"Woah, you're hot. Are you a teacher?" before I could questioned who she's talking to I heard a thick Spanish accent answer her question

"No, I just have a meeting with Y/N." Disbelief spread across my face as I recognized the voice. There was no way that voice belonged to who I thought it did to.

I quickly ran outside my office where I was met with the most beautiful man on planet earth and who I was proud to call my boyfriend.

"CARLOS?!" I shouted as I jumped in his arms before planting a kiss to his lips

"Sorry for calling your boyfriend hot Ms. L/N" Jess said before she walked away

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" I asked as he put me down but not breaking the hug

"We have the week off before the Miami Grand Prix so I wanted to surprise you." Carlos whispered as he kissed my temple

"Well, consider me surprised" I mumbled against his lips before littering his face in kisses.

Lewis Hamilton: Peds surgeon

I’m currently on hour 8 of my 12 hour hospital shift and I’ve never been more exhausted in my life. I’ve performed 2 surgeries today and I still have one more lined up, now don’t get me wrong, I love my job and everything that comes with it. The ups, the downs, all of it.

I’ve finally finished up a post-op check up with one of my patients before hearing my stomach growl, I sent one of my trusted nurse friends to do the post op check up on the other patient while I grabbed a quick bite before my next surgery.

When I got to the cafeteria, I got a sandwich and sat down with another one of my friends while I scarfed my food down.

“So what’d you do today?” My trauma surgeon friend, Nalani asked as she took a bite of the sandwich she got

“I had to fix a bowel in one kid and another one swallowed a whole bunch of magnetic balls so I had to remove those. One balls tried to stick to the other and pierced an intestine so I had to fix that up. What about you?” I asked a I took another big bite of my food

“Oh well two people came in impaled in the chests with a long rod. Had to separate them, they both survived. It was a real miracle of God because when the images were taken, it looked like neither one of them were gonna survive.”

-

I’d been prepping for my last surgery of the day before I finally get to clock out and not worry about coming back for the next 4 days.

I walked into the OR getting suited up before noticing a figure in the amphitheater which caused me to look out of pure curiosity. Looking up I was locking eyes with the most handsomest man Ive ever seen in my whole life, who just so happened to be my fiancé.

“What is Lewis doing here?” I questioned the surgical intern

“He said he really missed you. The chief of surgery gave him clearance to be there, I think he promised to autograph a whole bunch of things for him and his kids?”

“That sounds like something Lewis would agree to” I giggled as I started to walk to the head of the table before hearing over the intercom

“Good luck with this surgery darling, I love you.”

“I love you too” was all I whispered before starting my last surgery of the day.

Daniel: Summer Camp Director

“Alright everybody, can I have your attention please?” I shouted as I glanced around the room filled with 10-15 year olds.

This is my 3rd summer being a Camp Counselor and I have to admit that I always have a blast here.

“Thank you. My name is Ms. L/N, and I’m the main counselor here at Camp Kikiwaka and I’m going to be going over everything that we’re going to be doing here over the course of the summer and you then I’ll open the floor to you guys so you can ask me questions, okay?”

I heard a sea of “Yes” “Okay” “Got it” before I continued. It only took about 45 minutes to go over the expectations at Camp Kikiwaka and the summer itinerary, “Okay, now does anyone have any questions?” A small hand shot up the second I finished my question

“I thought the big kid camp was the building?” a little girl said

“Yes it is, the camp section for older kids is right next door, why? Do you have a sibling over there?” I questioned as I looked at the little girl in front of me

“So who’s that man and why is he smiling at you?” okay, that was scary at all.

Before I could register who she was talking about I heard an older boy say “That’s Daniel Ricciardo!! What is Daniel Ricciardo doing here?!” which caused me to shoot around to see if he’s actually here.

“Hello guys! Don’t mind me, I’m just here to be your counselor’s assistant for the next week and a half” Daniel said as he walked over to me and engulfed me in a hug, swaying us side to side before placing a quick kiss on my temple.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, looking up at him to stare in his beautiful eyes

“We have two weeks before the next race so I thought I’d volunteer my time here. I already got permission” Daniel said as he cupped my face.

Turning around I let the kids know the news “Okay guys so this is my boyfriend and your guys’ new camp counselor for a week and a half, Mr. Ricciardo! You guys can go up to him and ask him questions just as you are able to come to me!”

“You guys can call me Daniel, there’s no need for formality. Alrighty, any questions?” Daniel corrected me

“HOW CAN I BE YOUR ASSISTANT IN FORMULA 1????” The older boy shouted which caused Daniel to let out a loud laugh before he answered the question.

This was going to be a fun week and a half.

Pierre: Therapist

To say that today has been stressful would be an understatement. The lady who was in charge of booking my appointments scheduled who people at the same time and then proceeded to fill my schedule today so I couldn’t place the poor girl anywhere so I did the only logical thing anyone would do: I skipped lunch.

Well skipping lunch obviously wasn’t the best idea ever because just about 4 patients after lunchtime is when my headache started settling in, right in that spot behind my eyes. God I hated headaches so much but I despised them even more at work because how am I supposed to be helping my patients if I can’t even think straight.

To make matters worse than they already were, the headache went from just being pulsing behind my eyes to throbbing every time I moved my head in the slightest moment. Thank god this meeting ended quicker than intended and I had 15 minutes before my next patient was to walk in which gave me time to pop a few ibuprofen’s and let it settle in, in hopes that this would go away before the next one walks in.

I must’ve drifted off because two seconds after popping the ibuprofen’s there’s a knock at the door. I suppressed my groan before letting out a weak “Come in!”

I heard the door open but I just couldn’t bring myself to lift my head up

“Woah, you look like shit.” I heard a thick french accent say as the person let out a little giggle.

I knew who the voice belonged to, the owner was my longtime boyfriend who I haven’t seen in 3 weeks but right now, I couldn’t even be excited because I was in pain.

“Pierre please, I love you but right now I have such a massive headache. I feel like I’m going to pass out.” I mumbled into my hands

“Did you eat? I brought food.” He said as he lifted up the bag of french food that he claimed I “needed” to try.

I reluctantly lifted my head so I was able to take a bite or two out of the food. After a few bites I could slowly feel my headache going away, letting out a satisfied groan I continued to dig into my meal.

“You look like you haven’t eaten in days” Pierre chuckled as he watched me absolutely scarf down the food he placed in front of me.

“I feel like I haven’t” was all I managed to get out before I finished my food.

By the time my next appointment arrived, my headache was nothing but a slight throb behind my eyes which I was eternally grateful for.

I made a mental note to thank Pierre in different ways when I got home.

Logan: Speech Therapy

I’d been working with this kid to say ‘Water’ for the past 20 minutes and I’m nowhere with him.

I work with kids who have trouble talking and I get them to where they need to be at whatever age they are. Like if the kid is 4 years old and isn’t talking, I have to work a lot with the kids to make sure that I can get him to talk and be at a 4 year old’s level of communication.

Something about this 4 year old though, I just can’t get him to say ‘Water’ no matter how hard I try. I glanced up at the clock noting that it’s almost lunch time and I would have to end our session soon.

“L/N, your boyfriend is here and he brought food for all of us!” My coworker Destiny said

“Logan, can you help me? I can’t get him to say ‘Water’ and I’ve been trying for the last 20 minutes” I’m pleading with anyone at this point to at least help me get some type of progress done with him.

I watched as Logan got at level with the kid before attempting his own way “Hey buddy, can you say ‘water’?” after a second of silence he tried again “say ‘wah’.”

“Wah” my body tensed at the kid talking

“ good! now say ‘ter’.”

“Ter” I can’t believe he’s doing it

“Yes! ‘water’ !”

“AMERICA”

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Lance: Nanny

“Baby why are you here?” I shot around to face my boyfriend

“When the fuck did you get here?” I asked in disbelief

“I missed you. How about we dip?” The nerve of this handsome man.

“Lance, I’m babysitting YOURE NIECE because YOU didn’t want to”

“I’ll pay my sister to take her kid back”

“Jesus”

Oscar: Librarian

“Excuse me Ms, do you have the Pete the Cat book? Me and my friend really want to read it. Please” I heard a little girl say.

I looked down at her before typing in my computer to see exactly where in the store it was at.

“Yes, you can follow me right this way and I’ll take you to them!” I said as I made my way over to where the books were placed. “They’re right here then. Just come up and let me know if you need anymore help!” I said as I watched her and her friends grab different books before going over to the bean bags to sit and read.

Back at my desk I was trying to place pre-orders for the new Ana Huang book coming out. I only got to the part where I could place the amount I wanted in my cart before I was being asked a question

“Do you guys have the King Of series? My girlfriend really wants to read them.” I looked up from my computer only to be faced with my Fiancé of 6 months

“Oscar?? What are you doing here?” I asked in disbelief

“I was in the area. Okay well I was a few cities away but it was only a hour drive” He said shrugging

“You’re so weird. The books are this way” I said as I grabbed a hold of his hands to guide him the way to my favorite Authors section.

Max: Nutritionist

“Okay Mom so you want to make sure that baby gets as much veggies in his system and more water, Santa said he only puts kids on the nice list if they listen to their mom and eat what she gives.” I said as I directed that last part to her 5 year old son who scrunched his face before hiding behind his mom.

“See Chase, I told you that Santa said that. He didn’t want to believe that Mommy has ties with Santa.” She smiled at the last part before picking her son up to take him out. “Thank you again, Chase is going to eat his veggies, right Chase?”

“No!” he yelled

“Do you want to be big and strong?” A thick Dutch accent could be heard

“Uh huh!!” Chase replied

“We’ll eat veggies. That’s the only way.” I turned to see my boyfriend Max in the doorway of my office.

“Otay!”

“Oh well that was one way.” The mom shrugged

“Have a good day!” I shouted as she left “I don’t know how you did that”

“Kids love me”

“oh that’s not-”

George: Sports Coach

“RUN THE FUCKING LAPS NOW!!!” I screamed at the kids in front of me

To the outside world I would seem crazy for yelling at a bunch of kids like this but in reality, I’m coaching my brother and his bastard friends soccer team this season and they bet me $20 I wouldn’t say that in front of their parents, so that was a quick $20 I put in my pocket.

“CURSING AT KIDS NOW BABE?” My boyfriend George asked.

He was helping me coach them this year and he’s a really do-by-the-book type of guy and he really disapproved of me cursing at the kids.

“Sorry baby, they deserve it. They said that you’re too bad to be in F1” I said shrugging as I made up that lie

“RUN 2 FUCKING MILES NOW!!”

taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @eddieharrington @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @Ggasly.p @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan

[a-tragical-tale]

little light ; dysphoria

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader

TLDR: reader suffers with post-coital dysphoria after her and Spencer's first time - it's fluff, but like, emotionally i did just butcher myself for tumblr - 3969 words

Warnings: they had sex before but no smut, it is sort of depressingly written tbh, talk of bad past sexual relationships, reader has low self worth - please let me know if anything else

Notes: Second Person, no y/n because it's 2024 and I can't keep reading about Yename. He's listed as being thirty-one so we are hovering around mid-Crim-Min-Spence x

-

You are not broken.

You know this. Every Google search, WebMD article, and Reddit thread you’ve ever stalked tells you this over and over. There’s nothing wrong with you. It just happens sometimes. It’s the way it is. The brain is weird. Funny. Easily wired. So, maybe your brain made connections in the wrong places, or you hit your hardware, or were born with switches facing the opposite direction. It’s not you, it’s… it’s your brain. There’s peace in that, you tell yourself. There has to be. Everybody says it like there is.

How you handle it though – that part – is all you.

Because guys don’t typically mind when the girls they sleep with stalk off for some alone time. It gives them a hot minute to find their clothes and pack their things and plan their best excuse – I have work tomorrow, or I actually have someplace to be, or I just remembered I need to be at home for the – uh – electrician. You let them go easily enough; a lie doesn’t change the fact that they don’t want to be here with you any longer than they have to. Maybe that part is you – the reason why they leave – but… the feelings that you have aren’t your fault. Maybe you’re not cut out for casual sex, or serious sex, or any kind of intimacy at all.

But you want intimacy. You want to be known. To be felt. To be understood.

Spencer knows you.

He has known you romantically for five months, and for two years you’d known each other as friends – coworkers, people who trade glances across cluttered desks and offer coffee and restrap bulletproof vests because you didn’t do it tight enough, are you asking to get shot? – and, well, in the modern age, you guess five months is a long time to not sleep with somebody you’re dating.

And it’s not that you didn’t want to sleep with him.

He’s gorgeous. Obviously. And completely unaware of how gorgeous he is.

It’s just that things change afterward. You wonder if there’s a certain je ne sais quoi that burns up after you’re intimate like that with somebody. Is it about seeing people in a new light? Is it… that it was all they wanted anyway? You’re not sure.

So, you held off. You wanted him to see you like this. The version of you that he asked out for coffee.

But then, one night, after your first day off in two weeks, you’d spent it lazing around in pyjamas and eating snacks instead of meals and watching old reruns from television shows you hadn’t seen since you were twelve, the moment had felt right with Spencer, and you’d slept together at his apartment.

Then, you were holed up in his bathroom, fifteen minutes into a toilet-seat slouch wondering how he was going to kick you out of his home; how you were supposed to face him when your heart was in your stomach and your brain was grey and foggy.

Spencer wasn’t going to do that, surely… he’s Spencer, he’s nice, he’s… he’s too kind for his own good, and that’s what drew you in in the first place. Nobody is just that nice, right? But he is. He was.

But he’s also a guy. And you did just sleep with him. And you are you.

There’s nothing with you. Reddit says so.

About five minutes into your toilet-seat slouch, you remembered this was Spencer’s first time with anybody, and you were being cruel by leaving him out there, all alone, probably wondering if he’d done something wrong and if you were trying not to lose your cool.

Ten minutes in, you feared the sound of two delicate, rhythmic knocks on the old oak door, followed by the gentle cadence of his voice as he mutters you okay?, heart pounding, brows creasing, palms sweating and rubbing against his briefs that he’d found fallen behind his chest of drawers. It never happened, but for every second that passed where it didn’t, you feared every other second where it might. You splashed your face with cold water. You smoothed your hair. You used the toilet and left it so that, in all your genius, you could flush it just a few seconds before you walked out, and you had some story built into the fake look on your face.

Fifteen minutes in, you know you have to leave. It’s getting brutal. It’s getting weird. Even Reddit would call you the asshole with Spencer lying in bed, picking at his fingernails, glancing at every micro-noise echoing from colliding dust particles and creaking floorboards as though it might offer answers to the silence emanating from the door.

You splash your face again and smooth your hair, and you scrub yourself ‘clean’, as though if you look your very best you can bury this feeling.

This horrible feeling.

The… end of the world and you don’t care… feeling.

No amount of cold water rubbed into your murky eyes can clear their heaviness, and how you can’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not sure if it’s shame. WedMb suggested shame – they said you might have pent up feelings of guilt around sex and intimacy, and maybe that’s true, you’re not sure, but like hell are you going to approach a therapist and tell them you feel sad after sex. WedMd also said trauma. You don’t think it’s trauma. Nothing’s… nothing’s happened, right? Like you can’t have trauma if nothing bad like really happened. You’re just delicate. You’re… too… old-fashioned for the modern world. You don’t casually date. You don’t hook up. You tried it. It left you empty.

So, fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds into your hiding away, you flush the toilet and wash your hands and give yourself a last once over. One of your old t-shirts hangs loosely on your frame. In the movies, in the right book, you’d have found Spencer’s and put it on instead, but you know that means you have to take it off when you get hit with the ‘I had a work call’ and it feels far more embarrassing than it needs to. Fifteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds into hiding away, you open the door, and coil your hair about your ear, and put your best profiler forward.

Smile softly, you tell yourself, shoulders back and straight, form not too stiff, and try to look at him or he’ll think you’re weird – weirder than you already are – and your body language has to be open, like you’re not hiding something.

Spencer’s eyes are on you the moment you come into view. Hair messy, brown puppy-eyes searching for something wrong, brows stitched in quizzical thought, his lips part to speak, but then he says nothing. It’s not you that says there’s something not quite right. It’s the air. Amongst the scent of old books and clean sheets, there is the rotting corpse of words left unspoken. It hides under the bed like all good monsters do, and so, you hover beside it, feet away from the shadows.

“Hi,” you call – why you say this, you’re not sure.

“Hi.” He gulps, voice all raspy, one hand coming to run through his messy curls, the other still firmly planted on the bed to keep himself upright, “Are you okay?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He’d had the question charged from minute three, and now it ached with all the moments passed. His gaze kindly scrutinised your form – perfected, you think, in the art of ‘everything is blissfully okay’ – and then searched your face, from your half-lidded eyes to swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, I am all good.” You force a smile as you peer at him, “Are you okay?”

Spencer’s taken aback by the question, though tries not to show it.

From the moment you excused yourself a little faster than he expected and hadn’t looked back, he’d been running through the ordeal, trying to work out what he’d done wrong or if he’d missed some obvious social cue. He hadn’t had much a chance to think about what this experience meant for him – losing your virginity at the ripe old age of thirty-one is… well… something to think about.

But it had happened. Eighteen-year-old Spencer would be losing his mind over this.

And with you, of all people – you with the snappy tone and expressive eyes and delicate hands and cloak of daggers worn to keep people far away from you. You, who gazes into space for far too long, watching the wavering of trees as the leaves caress the breeze, from dawn to twilight, like they’re talking to you – like they have answers. You, who, underneath all the sarcasm and avoidance, is soft and warm, and, knowing of your tenderness, understands best how to keep it safe from harm.

“I’m fine.” His tone is shy and bashful, and he peers away to his creased bedsheets and clothes strewn about the room.

He doesn’t know how to act around you – he’s waiting for you to get closer, to tell him what you’re thinking behind those furrowed brows – and, in turn, you hover, waiting for the next words that will leave him.

“Did I-,” his eyes flick back to yours for a brief moment, “did I do something wrong?”

“Huh? No, no, no…” you say a little too quietly.

“Oh… okay…” his lips flatten, “it’s just, I get this… feeling, like… like I did something wrong.”

And then the guilt drowns you. It doesn’t change those initial feelings of shame and sadness that swallowed you whole but adds another tone of blue to the already sea-swamped canvas.

How could Spencer ever do anything wrong?

You know you have to speak now; offer some cheap, shit excuse that’ll at least make him feel better. Just something not as vulnerable as, I just get really sad after sex. In essence, those words are easy enough to say. They’re a string of simple feeling. But they’re… electrified with so much more than the letters that form them.

It’s all too close.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Spence.” You rasp, “You’re such a worrier.” You force that façade again – the smug, the aloof, the all too cool for heavy emotions version of yourself that Spencer asked out for coffee – that has carried you since you were young.

“I always worry about you.” He admits in this beautiful, delicate way.

The ghost of your smile still lingers.

You keep your distance as you gather clothes from the floor, feeing the icy brush of Spencer’s gaze as you move about the room. You shake the wrinkles from his shirt and hang it on the corner of his door so it might straighten out a little, and then fold his trousers and find his socks.

“You’re stressed.” He mumbles.

“Hm?”

“You always clean when you’re stressed.” He straightens a little more then, “You – uh – you clean your environment because you think it’ll help you think better, o-or you’re compensating for the mess in your head by dealing with the mess right in front of you. The physical is easier to deal with the mental, but… you probably knew that already because you… you always clean when you’re stressed.”

You lay his trousers on the edge of the bed alongside his socks, balled together, and then clasp your hands in front of you.

“’m not stressed.” You say.

“You’re upset.”

“’m not upset.” This one comes out snappier than you mean it to – like a growl before a bite.

“You can tell me if something’s bothering you, you know,” his head slightly cocks to the side, “I… I know I’m not… I mean, you’ve obviously been with guys who know more than me-,”

“It’s not you, Spence.”

Gentle. You manage the gentleness in this one.

“But there is an it.”

Your jaw tenses and you look away.

You wonder if you should just show all your cards and let him decide for himself if he wants to deal with that. With you. There’s nothing wrong with you, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of, even if that heavy feeling tells you differently.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He says then, “I don’t know if that’s what you’re thinking, but… just in case.” he scratches the nape of his neck, “I… did you- do you… wanna go, I don’t…”

You preferred it when this happened in your apartment. At least then, you weren’t edged out. Guys leave easier.

But there’s a lot on the line.

You can’t just leave and never speak to him again – well, at least, not easily – and, at some point, you’d have to deal with this. He would coax it out of you one calm day at your desk, or you’d admit it drunk and stumbling out of a bar. That would likely be worse. What about your relationship? Do you never sleep together again? Do you do this song and dance every time? Or do you separate to run from it – from the shameless shame?

You try to be honest.

“I just…”

But honesty – vulnerability – does not come easy.

“I… sex is just… a weird subject for me.”

Spencer straightens now, hands in his lap, sitting in the mess of bedsheets and odd pillows, the tender glow of his lamp emphasising golden threads weaving his hair. His gaze is always so intense, and you do best to avoid it when it comes to matters of the heart – of the serious, emotional kind.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known, I don’t really talk about it.” you rush to say – don’t blame yourself, you’re not wrong, Spence, how could you be wrong? It’s me, or, it’s not me because Google says that this happens sometimes because of shame or trauma but I’m not ashamed of you, a-and nothing happened, I just… fuck, Spence! – but you shrug and say none of that.

“Well, I…” he blinks as he glances around the room, cheeks rouging, “I… need to know about this kind of stuff,” he says your name so gently, you could sob – he always speaks to you like he’s mid-prayer, “I… need to know if you’re okay, and what I can do to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay.”

“If you were okay, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“It’s not… it’s not really a… thing you do something about.”

A moment of quiet.

“I’m sorry, angel, I don’t really understand – can you… what kind of thing is it?”

You know he thinks something happened in your past. His gaze screams of it so loudly that you think back and wonder if being abandoned every time you showed the most intimate parts of yourself could be classified as a somewhat traumatic experience. You wonder if you cloud your skin with indifference so that it’s easier to hide your disappointment – like the leaving might hurt less if you’re already prepared, or if you’re expecting it, if you look like you don’t care.

Spencer, however, has made no move to leave just yet, and his offer for you to leave was more for your sake than his own. He is different, you guess. He’s always hummed at a different frequency to the rest of the world, like some… extraterrestrial that knew the universe better than anyone else.

His brows flick up and you realise you’ve been quiet in thought for far too long.

“I…” stop, your body yells, “nothing, nothing.” your head shakes, and you emit somewhere between a self-effacing laugh and a cry of terror at how close you’d gotten to showing your cards.

“Baby…” his voice is low and calm and all-too-patient and so much nicer than you probably deserve, “I need to know about this.”

And God, if he didn’t say it so sweet, you might’ve had the edge to snap back and tell him to leave it well enough alone.

He reaches out and his fingers gesture you to finally sit on the bed, instead of remaining planted on your bare feet, ready to run. You watch him, as though half-expecting his touch to be aggressive or painful or burning, but cave under the weight of such wide, brown eyes, searing into yours with their heaven-sent leniency and infinite understanding.

You think about leaving.

You could be alone, then, and you’d rather be alone when you feel like this – like someone could hold a gun to your head and you wouldn’t even flinch. You’d close your eyes just to make it easier for them.

And yet, as his fingers stretch outwards, you swallow the wretchedness, and you crack. Not meeting his gaze, you settle on the bed, legs still hanging off the side, in distance enough for his calloused hands to grasp your forearm and for his thumb to trace your skin in a rhythmic back-and-forth that grounds you far more than a violent grip ever could.

Some people are born temperate.

“Talk to me.” he urges.

“I don’t like talking.”

“I know you don’t,” his lips quirk at the corner, “but, your feelings, they’re safe with me. I just wanna understand you – I wanna help, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t believe you. Fuck, you don’t even believe yourself.

Instead of pointing out the lie, his smile ghosts his lips again.

“You’re so stubborn.” He murmurs in this nostalgic way, as though the stubbornness – the lying – isn’t all that bad.

“It’s why you’re obsessed with me.”

His head softly shakes.

“What’s going on in there?” his fingers trace your hairline and coil around your ear, and then his thumb grazes your cheek, and it’s all too painful with its featheriness, and your teeth grit in a bitter attempt to not let it show.

You didn’t know you could feel such light touches.

Your brows, however, aching now, reveal your thoughts all too well.

You decide to show your cards. At the end of any game, every player exhibits their hand out of  morbid curiosity.

Your gaze shifts away. Cool air prances around your feet, raring to take you anywhere else.

“I…” you stammer, “erm… sex… is…” you bite your cheek as you think, “I get sad… sometimes. ‘nd I don’t know why.”

“Okay.” he says, and for a moment, that’s all he says – just quiet acceptance of the truth.

His hand drops from your hair. Your heart’s electric beat shocks innocent parts of yourself and you struggle to keep the panic from reaching your face. Instead, his grasp returns to your forearm.

“What kind of sad?”

“Just…” you shrug, “sad… like… really sad.”

“And what are you thinking?” he asks, “When you’re sad like this, what kind of thoughts do you have?”

“Uh…”

It feels a little easier to speak now the threshold into your shadow has been crossed, but that doesn’t mean the words come any easier.

“Just… wanna be alone, I guess. Not that… not that I want to be alone, not that I want you to lea- or I would leave, I guess, it’s your place, it’s- I-I just… figure… if I’m going to be a crying mess, I’d rather do it in private.” You swallow, “I’m sorry, I’ve… I’ve never talked to anyone about this before.”

“Nobody? What about – you know – guys before me, you never had this conversation?”

You think about telling him they’d already left by this point, but instead you shake your head and hope he understands.

He does. In the delicate scrunch of his brows and wandering of his eyes to your forearm as he traces those soothing lines, you know he knows. 

“I’m…” he sucks in a breath, “not… gonna ask you to leave or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know.”

You’re on fire tonight. Every other phrase out of your mouth is littered with an attempt to pacify his mind and hide your own.

He calls your name.

“It’s… normal sometimes-,” here we go, you think, “to have complicated feelings after sex. It’s intimate. It’s vulnerable. And the chemicals released during sex can really confuse any pre-existing emotions. Right now,” his fingers return to trace the lace of your hair around your ear, “your serotonin and dopamine levels, having skyrocketed, are plummeting fast… and that, combined with any – uh – intricate feelings about sex can really mess with your mood. It’s called – uh – post-coital dysphoria,” you know this, but he’s trying to help, so you let him talk – it sounds much better coming from him than any medical research website anyway, “really, at its root, it stems from some kind of idea or feeling, like… resentment… anxiety… or if something happened-,”

“Nothing happened.” you breathe quietly.

“Okay,” he lets you have it, but you’re not sure if he believes you, “you know, physical contact and talking are actually ways to help regulate the emotional crash you receive post-intercourse.” You cringe at the use of the word, and he smirks, “So… what I’m saying is,” his thumb traces your cheek, “I love you, so… come back to bed… and let me take care of you.”

Your gaze is glassy as they flick about his features. His shadowy eyes. The bump on the bridge of his nose. His lips, curved into a sympathetic smile, gently perking at his cheeks.

“You don’t want to feel like this, do you, angel?” he asks.

“No.”  you whine quietly, like a shot dog.

“You deserve to be taken care of.” His brows pinch, “Just because you haven’t been doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

 You realise that no number of Google searches or WedMD articles or Reddit threads could soothe that restless worry constantly stirring beneath your skin, and you probably did need the intimacy that comes from being told by somebody you love that you deserve softness. You are more than the way your body moves. You are more than the chemical crash coursing through your brain.

“Something’s wrong with me.” you say it just to say it.

“There could never be anything wrong with you.”

“People don’t typically feel like killing themselves after sex.”

It comes out much sharper than you intend, but it doesn’t stab Spencer at all.

“I don’t really… believe… in a typical or a normal. I think we’re both far from it, anyway. The brain is a strange thing.”

“The strangest.” You mumble.

There is this soft, quiet moment, as a stream of light breaks through the drawn curtains from a streetlamp outside, as Spencer’s skin runs across yours with its only purpose being to soothe your aching heart and busy mind, where you realise completely that there is no leaving or being left tonight. It scares you a little. You don’t know if you will weep when your head hits the pillow and if your cries will be charged by the inexplicable, or if you will opt for sleep and hope that your unconscious brain can unscramble the twisted tracks guiding your thoughts from one assumption to another.

Either way, you decide very much that you would probably prefer doing that someplace warm, someplace safe, someplace familiar like the crook of Spencer’s shoulder as his fingers brush your groomed hair and his lips dust kisses over your forehead.

“Can-,” you swallow the question, and look away.

“What?” he asks.

“I – uh -,” how can you ask to be held? “you’re probably right about… about how to – erm – deal with this.”

Spencer smirks.

“You think so?”

“Stop it.”

“I never hear you say I’m right-,”

“I said probably.”

“What’s the probability – seventy-thirty?”

“Spencer.” 

He challenges you back with your name and a raised brow, a soft grin crossing his sleepy face.

“Well, I’ll take any sort of win when it comes to you, my… sweet, stubborn girl.”

His offered smile is pure and genuine.

“Come back to bed.”

--

Feedback is welcome :) xx requests too

[toxycodone]

𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 !

𝘤𝘸. 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘰𝘴, 𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘶, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬

Laios:

I genuinely think Laios is attracted to the unconventional or stereotypically attractive. Anyone with unique features, personality quirks, etc. If you don't fit in, you're more willing to catch his eye.

He finds it difficult to really like? Gain an interest in someone who doesn't really "stick out". I think it's clear with the way he treats Kabru that like! People kinda are a blur to him! So! anything that makes someone stick out will catch his interest and he'd be more willing to remember them + actually continue to think about them.

MUST. Share his interest in monsters/animals. This is very important. Like there must be a shared interest there whether its just about anatomy, behavior, etc. I just think he needs to be accepted to talk about this and share fun facts. He likes it. Cooking or an interest in food would also be another plus.

Also just? He likes really easygoing people who aren't super judgemental. Laios is really unapologetically himself and he gets chewed out for it by his friends enough. He's very self aware when it comes to his own issues (esp by the end of the manga) so. Yeah. Just someone who he doesn't feel the need to mask around.

Honestly, maybe someone childish would fit his vibe too? I mean this in a more lighthearted sense. Like someone he could play tag with or goof around in the woods with. He missed out on being a kid for a while, and he's still kinda interested in stuff like that (bug collecting, cool rocks, etc.). Even in post manga he still wants this.

Also uhhhh beastkin/monsters/whatever of any kind get bonus points. Do they have to be this way? No. But. It would definitely do some favors to be feral/wild in some way like this.

Kabru:

Okay I am not saying this is healthy or anything, but Kabru is ridiculously attracted to fixer-uppers. The main character/savior/hero complex kicks in and he cannot help it.

This can either be super good for him if the person is like. not terrible and is actually okay with this. but uh. that isn't always the case. Bro is often setting himself up for some sort of situationship most of the time. He cannot catch a break.

But he totally needs to be confronted about this to have a relationship work out. Hope you can be at least a little assertive!

Oh and the people pleasing. It's going so far. Please, I-....

He needs to be stopped.

Ultimately. He's gonna go after the people who show the least interest in him and this SPECIFICALLY comes from his own insecurities as a person.

But in the end he's gonna truly fall for someone who can put their foot down and confront him about these issues. He's so insightful and perceptive when it comes to others and can easily point out and help you with you're own shortcomings. But he is super blind to his own faults. Legit does not. Even realize.

He honestly needs someone to help him grow, because in my eyes I can see him like even post manga being pretty stagnant here so . Yeah. You don't need to be like some badass assertive person either. As long as you can just sit down and have a serious conversation w him about this I think it'd go well.

And he'd fall for you because I think it's the first time he genuinely sees someone who recognizes things that are bad about him + still loves him despite that + wants him to grow as a person and assert his own wishes and needs more. Yeah. I just have a lot of feelings about that.

Chilchuck:

This goes two ways.

Non Toxic Route

He'd easily see himself falling for someone mature and responsible. It would start out as just a professional admiration but it would slowly become more intimate as Chilchuck starts to enjoy their more unique personality traits (and even ones he'd consider annoying) --like being feisty, or maybe they're picky, or they can be silly sometimes. That type of thing.

It's a total slow burn with him.

But he also likes people who are more lowkey. Chilchuck is not a "falls for you immediately/puppy love" kinda guy. He's jaded and has a past and has KIDS so. He needs to be treated gently and not rushed into things. Anyone who lets him come to them and start to be more affectionate without demanding it...yeah. Handle him with care PLEASE.

And speaking of this...he wants to keep up appearances since he does value his professional life and has kids and an ex-wife. So he wants someone that can blend into this life without causing drama or more headaches (his party gives him plenty. pls.)

"Toxic"/Not Gonna Last Route

Chilchuck is easily motivated by the more basic pleasures of life, so I can definitely see him having a bootycall that becomes some weird "what are we" type of vibe.

He's like...in the back of his mind the type to enjoy a "dirty little secret". Something he thinks only him and this person know about. But as time goes on he eventually gets emotionally involved with them and is like "we need to cut this off".

It is an extremely painful breakup on his end for sure and makes him more jaded when its literally! His own fault.

[chefkids]

thoughts on this article: https://dnyuz.com/2024/06/29/the-bear-jeremy-allen-white-explains-why-carmy-daydreams-of-sydney/

Sorry but I refuse to believe that Carmy finds peace in Sydney because she's just such a wonderful coworker. His panic attack in Season 2 was about his relationship with Claire and his family, nothing at all work related. He was not thinking about "Wow Sydney has some serious cooking skills!" there. He thought of the first time her met her, and when she came back to him when he thought she was gone forever. He has also worked with the best chef's on this planet with far better skills than Sydney, many of whom were calming and supportive presence in his life.

In Season 3 the thing that sets him off is seeing an imagine of meeting Claire in his mind. Then he is reminded of his fight with Richie.

He tries to think of The French Laundry and then Noma to calm down. Then he tries to think of Nat at Marcus's mom's funeral.

And only after that when Sydney talks to him he calms down. He's always stressing about work, in that moment the trigger was Claire, not work, and the peace was Sydney. Not because she is helping him do his job or work, but because her presence brings him peace and pulls him away from what causes him anxiety, which is remembering Claire who is tied in his mind to so much family trauma.

You can't shoot down what was already written! Carmy took Claire to Sheridan Road and Post Office like UPS, those are both tied to Sydney. He made her Sydney's pasta that led to her coming to him. He had a far more intense and passionate moment with her under the table making promises of prioritizing her over his girlfriend, never letting her fail, promising to always be there for her, giving her the most thoughtful gift one could imagine. Far more than he has ever had with Claire.

So what he's trying to say is that they have this deep cosmic connection, intense passion, and she brings him peace and happiness and security but the only thing he could never possibly have is any form of physical attraction towards her? That Sydney can meet all of his emotional needs and work needs and share the same interests and goals and passions. But Claire will always win at the end of the day, in spite of the lack of peace she actually brings him and there being seemingly no actual shared interests between them, because he just wants to sleep with her? Like...

1. I don't buy that Carmy has absolutely no possible interest in Sydney in terms of physical attraction.

2. If that's genuinely the case, and this is all ending with her either leaving forever and Carmy giving up or staying as his calming sidekick while he's endgame Claire, it is basically putting Sydney in some sort of black woman savior trope for him whose purpose is to serve him and his story and his progress while remaining undesirable, while also simultaneously giving her nothing back because he can't uphold any promises to her cause he's too damn busy thinking of Claire.

If they wanted to keep them platonic they could have done so after Season 1 without constantly drawing comparisons between Sydney and Claire and making her everything he wants and needs except being ya know.... his white girlfriend.

[divinelolita]

hii could you do bill x ftm!reader?? like reader is really dysphoric and he needs lots of reassurance 😭😭 there's literally no th ftm fics and I'm feinding

BILL KAULITZ X FTM! READER

a/n: ive been waiting to post a fic like this! as someone who's trans myself ive literally found like 2 fics...like what? 🙁 tysm for requesting and always remember you're loved xx!

"What's wrong, baby?"

Bill asks as he flops down on the couch next to you, his messy black hair sprawled out on the cushions as he looks up at you. You're visibly upset, but he can't quite put his finger on why.

"...Nothing," You had murmured back, shrugging softly as your fingertips roamed over the remote control, trying to find a show you might enjoy. "...just things." You finished, letting out a small sigh.

Bill raised his arched eyebrow high at that. He adjusted himself a little on his elbows, propping himself up to see your face better. "Things?" He parroted, giving a small tilt of his head.

You just gave a small nod. It was a little very hard for you to be able to open up about your gender dysphoria, you always had fears of your insecurities being turned against you. Bill had known you were trans, you broke the news a few days into dating.

He didn't see you any differently. You were his boyfriend. His boy.

When Bill narrowed his eyes a bit and bit his inner cheek, you knew he definitely wasn't satisfied with your answer. He was very keen on wanting to talk things out, which was great for most things. But this was...different. Hard.

"...I guess, it's just, uhm..." You began slowly, trying to find the right words to describe how you felt. Your tongue felt tied as Bill's head tilted, gesturing for you to continue.

"I feel...different." You finally manage to mumble out. You felt hot tears prick your eyes and you tried desperately to blink them back, biting your bottom lip nervously.

"I mean...I...I know I'm different. But it hurts, y'know? I just want to be normal, feel normal." You whisper, your voice cracking as your body shakes. You feel a hot tear run down your cheek and your heart races. You quickly go to wipe it, before you feel Bill's soft, gentle thumb brush beneath your eyes.

When you bring yourself to meet his gaze, his hazel eyes are soft, soothing almost. "You are normal, honey." He whispered, speaking in a calming voice as if he was speaking to a wounded animal. "You're perfect the way you are, I wouldn't trade you in for anybody." He murmured as his black manicured fingers softly stroked your cheek in soothing circles.

You felt tears well in your eyes as twice the speed, but not from sadness or worry this time. You felt comforted, more calm than you've felt in what seems like forever. "You mean everything to me, babe. I mean...look at you. You're perfect." He says softly, his own voice cracking slightly as he looked over your features.

"I promise, no matter what, you'll always be my boy."

[voidfloyq]

your shadow

warnings: some violence & immense tension !!! not too many warnings for this chapter

summary: as you attempt to run away from your past, it seems as though a presence brings the past back at your door.

word count: 1.7k

authors note: the qimir brainrot is so real i decided to publicly post my first ever fic since there is a drought of them for this man. so hopefully you guys like this :’) i plan to make another part to this series soon!! so be on the look out <3

Olega was supposed to be an escape. A way out. This was supposed to be a safe haven from your suffocating life you had run away from. You were constantly on the run. Finding nothing but remembrance of your past everywhere you settled. There was never a break, just a faint breath at the back of your neck whispering a hot memory of what you try to forget.

Today you thought- a simple task should be all that I tackle today. You didn't want something to weigh you down your shoulders every time you stepped outside as it usually does. But you thought a simple grocery run would be enough.

You walked through the streets of Olega. Vendors left and right. Smells that were salivating to sense here or strong rancid smells that clearly physically took on your appearance there. Fruits here and skinned animals you couldn't name there. It was definitely overwhelming, which in this case you were thankful for. You needed something off of your mind. Finally, you made your way to the vendor selling meiloorun fruit. You grabbed three and put it inside your basket, then gave enough credits to the seller.

The feeling of the fruit under your touch brought you back. Your eyes stung at your defeat. You remembered. The hot days on your homeplanet. Where you and your older brother would play outside in the hot forsaken heat, and your mother would juice her meiloorun fruit that awaited you both when you were done playing. The drink has forever been a comfort to you. Feeling as though, swallowing the juice healed your insides. Physically and mentally.

As you are deep in thought strolling along the street, you bump into a person. But before your fruit can fall out of your basket, you and the person catch the two fruit that flew out, into both of your own hands. Together, frozen in place, you both look at each other. Immediately there is a smile onto your face as the situation is quite funny in itself. As for the person, or now you know as you look at them, the man, is puzzled. He has a face of concentration. Like he is trying to read you. The expression on his face drops your heart to the floor instead. You pick yourself up in front of him and force your shoulders straight, as you were taught.

"I'm sorry about that, that was my fault." You apologize. Although in your head your voice was louder than when it actually came out your throat. You felt small at this moment. And indeed you were.

The man in front of you was covered in sheets of cloth like a robe, with straight black hair with strands in front of his face, and tall. He towered over you. The intimidation was seeping out through your stance. He says no words to your apology. No "It's okay" or "It was my fault." Just dark orbs staring into your apologetic eyes.

"Okay." You mumble, "Sorry, again." You turn your heel as quick as you caught the fruit and start to walk away, until.

"I think you're forgetting something!" He spoke. For the first time.

You turn around to see him still holding the fruit in his hand, that he didn't put in your basket. Embarrassment washes over you and you can feel your ears grow hot. You walk towards him to grab the fruit out of his hand with a shy smile planted on your face, but instead he still locks eyes with you as he drops the fruit into your basket himself. Leaving your hand in the air still.

"You new around here?" The man asked

Your hand is still in the air, you put it down before you answer. "Yes." you replied shortly, feeling the sting of embarrassment continue to course through your body.

He nods in return.

There is an awkward silence between the two of you. Although it feels as though his presence is something you've felt before. Something you recognize. It seems like the two of you sense it, but say nothing.

"I gotta get going. Again, sorry about that."

He says nothing again, just shakes his head up and down with a smirk plastered on his face. He moves to the side swiftly, and bows his head down as a signal of goodbye.

You start to walk away, but the farther you get away from him, the more you realize you have been holding your breath more than you thought. Heavy inhales and exhales left you as you left yourself.

-

When you had made it home, the man's presence lingered behind you like a shadow. You drank your childhood drink still wondering why he stuck to your thoughts. It started to frustrate you to the point you felt the fire in your throat, so you decided to sleep it off. To hopefully wake up in the morning with the encounter faded from your mind.

Hours had passed in your bed and your body sunk into the blankets. Your room was dim with a shadow casting through your blinds from the moons in the sky. Deep in sleep, your hand twitches. You felt something. Something there. With you. It brought you out of your slumber to only wake up to a dark tall silhouette inside your room with you.

The tightness in your chest from fear became so overwhelming you felt frozen. Your elbows rested from the jolt of you waking up, and lifted as the silhouette took a step towards you. The soles of your feet met the cold floor, and force dashed outside your room.

It was the first time you force dashed in years. You thanked Maker that you still knew how to do so. Your heart galloped against your chest as you stood inside your living room.

Waiting for their next move. That move being your bedroom casting a red glow. Ever so slowly, did the stranger walk outside your room beside the red lightsaber in their hand.

A Jedi? You thought. But demolished the idea of it as quickly as it came. Jedi don't attack the unarmed.

Your lightsaber. You knew where it was at. It laid in its case above your bathroom ceiling. You just needed to get past the stranger into the bathroom behind them. Your force dash is the only option that seemed to have the best survival against them. Your heel lifts against the floor and you speed past them in a blink of an eye, but you feel the swift of heat from their lightsaber right behind you. Luckily they miss you, barely. You close and lock the bathroom door. Although you know damn well that wont hold forever.

"And where were you.. all this time."

The modulated voice behind the door sends chills down your spine. You step on top of your toilet to grab a hold of the box above you. Finally, after years of never opening this box again, you take your lightsaber out and light it.

The stranger force pulls the door from their side, leaving you revealed.

You use the stance the Jedi have taught you. Whereas the stranger still lays their lightsaber down to their side while yours rests against your face leaving the purple hue against your complexion.

They stand in front of you, unmoving. You feel the intimidation radiate off yourself, and you decide to do something about it. You strike them and sway your lightsaber towards them. Only for them to block it immediately making both of your lightsabers clash together making a bright white shine as you two clash.

Both of you dance together. Moving both of your feet in sync, both going in a circle. Now their back is facing the bathroom you came out of.

Now this time, they strike. You block and force push them away from you, but it barely does anything. It could either be the fact you haven't used the force in so long. Making you weaker than before. Or the fact they could be more powerful than you thought. In this case, it's both.

You begin to feel your exhaustion take over. Your stamina on using the force is taking a toll on you. You internally curse to yourself in this moment knowing you need to survive. Feeling nothing but failure for all that you were taught, all gone to waste.

Purple and red bounce off of each other in the room. Red comes forward and they charge at you once more. You block with all your energy and the two of you clash together repeatedly making the loud sounds of the lightsabers hurt to listen to. You flinch at the sound, making you weak. Your durability has faded, and you feel disappointment for all that you are.

Your chest heaves up and down from exhaustion, while the stranger stays completely composed. If anything, it fueled you with the anger you needed in this moment. You were revisited with the exact thing you were trying to run from. Feeling as though you fell off of the cliff you tried so hard to climb and rest at. Now, just bruised and wounded.

This time, you strike them and of course they block immediately. The two of you keep your lightsabers against each other in place this time. Sparks of the lightsabers flicker through the air. You look at the helmet before you. Cracks rest on their helmet making you finally take in their appearance. Although there is something of the presence before you that flows through your veins. It feels electrifying, in a way that doesn't resemble the fear you've felt this whole encounter. It's something curious. A curious feeling. The stranger sways their wrist to push your lightsaber away from you, only to push their blade to your arm.

Air escapes your lungs for a few seconds from the pain. You look down to your arm to see that there is a red flame latched onto the cloth of your shirt, with a tear showing your now burnt skin before you. You take a few steps back, swallowing your winces of pain to only look up to see the stranger gone.

Your home became empty with nothing but the sound of your lightsaber humming through the air.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

𝒩ℯ𝓍𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ

3 sum, MDNI, smut, 18+, p in v, oral (m), I’m really bad at writing threesomes I guess,

yes this is Heavily inspired by challengers. I meant to queue this but I accidentally posted it…

It started with the three of you hanging out at your house, the others had left early. It was late, and the movie playing on your screen got boring.

You all sat on the couch, just talking. You don’t even know how it happened, but you do remember pope and jj tripping over themselves to simply follow you into your room.

—

It flowed smoothly, like you’ve all done this before. Their hands on each of your thighs, tongues on yours, and each others. You didn’t really know whose mouth was who’s anymore.

Your hands were on the back of their heads, and suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

A small smile making it onto your face, both of their eyes were closed as you slowly leaned back against the bed, your arms propped up as you watched the boys unkowingly make out with each other.

You rubbed your thighs together, smirk on your face. It took them a while to notice they were kissing each other and not you, until you finally spoke up.

“Okay.” You spoke. Both their eyes opened at the same time, their lips pursed as they stared at each other, turning to you at the same time.

“Fuck. Am I gay now?” JJ asked, his eyes going wide. You giggled.

“You weren’t before?” You snickered.

“If I was, would I be in your bed?”

“If you weren’t, why do you have a hard on right now?”

He looked down. “Shut up.” He grumbled out, looking back at Pope who raised an eyebrow at him. “Shut up!” He groaned again. Pope and you laughed at him, and then the room fell into silence again, before they both turned to you.

Eager, you pulled both boys by the collars of their shirts, they both yelped but didn’t complain as they fell onto the bed next to you.

Both boys attached their mouths to your neck and skin again.

“How do you want us?” JJ panted against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Do what you guys want.” You told them, turning to both boys with a smile.

“Oh, shit, seriously?” He said, giddy like a kid on Christmas morning. He looked at Pope with a smile, raising an eyebrow.

That’s how you ended up with Pope’s cock in your mouth, gagging and sobbing around his length, and JJ thrusting in and out of your wet pussy. Your hands dug into the sheets, fisting them.

“Doin’ so well for us, y/n.” Pope had told you sweetly.

Your moans around his length made him shudder, letting out a loud moan that was like music to your ears, egging you on.

JJ was the complete opposite, leaving harsh grunts and groans, slapping your ass.

“God, her mouth feel good, Pope? Cause I know this pussy does.” JJ snickered, hand moving to rub at your clit, his other one holding your waist.

“Yeah, man.” Pope nodded at the boy, giving him a small smile before turning his attention back to you.

“You close, baby?” JJ asked, feeling your walls spasm around him, he struggled to hold himself back any longer.

You attempted to nod, and JJ took notice, biting his bottom lip as he took in your face, watching Popes cock leave your mouth, your throat thoroughly bruised and your makeup ruined. You panted.

“Jayj!” You screamed out as you came around his cock, your body spasming, he came in you with a groan, your eyes were shut as Pope came on your face.

You panted, all of you breathing heavily, mixed in each others fluids.

“Dude, she fuckin’ squirted.” JJ told Pope, laughing at the realization.

“No way.” Pope said, shaking his head, but smiling as he went over to Jj. “Holy shit.” He laughed. “Nice job, dude.”

JJ raised his hand and the two high fived, watching your ruined body on the bed, leaning your head back and looking at the ceiling.

Both boys went into the bathroom, stumbling into their boxers, Pope starting a bath for you.

They both stood in there, air thick with tension.

“So, we’re never talking about this ever.” Pope spoke, interrupting the silence.

“Agreed.” JJ sighed.

“Like ever.” Pope spoke again.

It was silent for a little, nothing but the water flowing.

“But next time I wanna get to fuck her.”

JJ tilted his head. “Shit, It was fucking… mind blowing pussy.” He laughed.

“I can hear you!” You shouted from inside the room.

“Sorry!” They both shouted at the same time.

[angellbambii]

⊹₊⋆ things to do instead of eating ༘⋆

˚　　✦　.　　. 　˚　.　　 .✦　　　 . ★⋆.

1. ּ ֶָ֢.๋࣭ ⭑Make a cute notebook to write your calories in for the next times you do eat (decorate it) ֶָ֢.๋࣭ ⭑

2. 𐙚 Remember, you're probably not hungry, you're just bored~ wait about 10 minutes for hunger to pass and distract yourself by looking at thinspø 𖹭

3. ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Try on new outfits to be excited to wear on your new pretty body that you are about to have, as long as you don't eat too much ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

3. ⋆.˚ .𖥔˚ Rewatch your favorite and longest movies (make time pass) -- (my fave free site to watch them on is hurawatch ;) ) ༘⋆✿

4. °❀⋆. Drink plain black tea, green tea or coffee as they give you the feeling of being filled up ~

(If you dislike those plain, limit yourself to 1tbsp of sugar / 5tbsp of soy milk in them) ּ ֶָ֢.𖦹⭒˚.⋆

5. ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ Try new makeup looks/hairstyles (make time pass) ˖⋆࿐໋

6. 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑Think about how perfect you can be for your crush, he/she probably wants to date a skinny, beautiful person 𓈒𐙚 ࣪⭒𖦹

7. ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ Start your own Tumblr blog to inspire others, take your time on making it. ~

(If you already post, make a new post and make it super aesthetic, take your time on it) ⭒𖦹˚.⋆

8. ⭒˚.⋆ Listen to songs that motivate you to lose weight (my fave is "Boarding School" by Lana Del Rey) 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

☆ (9.) ✮ If you absoloutely feel like you need to eat, i recommend these foods:

1 whole cucumber = 40 calories

1 cherry tomato = 5 calories

1 rice cake = 40 calories

HALF of a banana = 60 calories

15 grapes = 50 calories

1 water based popsicle = 90 calories

1 olive = 10 calories

HALF of an avocado = 100 calories

♡ ! Remember that spices do not have calories, you can make your food yummy by adding them ! ♡

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 18: Who Are You?

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The ruins stippling the mountainous valley look ominous at night when the chalky light of the moon stumbles upon the toothed edges of broken walls and sharp-angled vestiges of what used to be a grand temple. The wilderness has reclaimed the land stolen, and the spindly trees forge stringy shadows that squirm when the wind tangles through the cliffs.   

Your legs dangle over the brink of a dizzyingly sheer precipice, and you’re laid flat on your back to stare at the celestial blanket, embroidered with flecks of stars. The party will leave this behind come dawn and enter the Shadowlands. You’ve never ventured there; not many have after the curse eclipsed the land in Shar’s dark silhouette, but from what you know, it’s entirely possible you will not make it out alive. If that is to be the case, you want to remember that there is light in the universe.   

The serene silence is fractured by the snapping of twigs and the rustling of dried leaves and underbrush. You sit up with orbs of fire already hovering above you in an arcing semicircle.   

Astarion stands with his hands up, but a haughty smirk quirks up the corners of his lips. “And here I thought we were friends,” he drawls.   

“You really should learn to announce yourself when you’re lurking around in the dark.” The balls of fire descend into your hand and fade out. “It’s not like you to be so careless with your feet.”   

“Careless? Hardly.” Astarion crosses his arms, jutting his hip out. “I was loud on purpose. I feared that if I popped out of the shadows, you might throw yourself off the damn cliff.”   

“You know what would have worked? Saying, “Kamena, it’s Astarion. Please don’t burn me to death.” You throttle the laughter that threatens to snap out.   

“Oh, please. You’re no fun. I think I was being very polite giving you any warning at all.” Astarion saunters over, lying beside you. “What are you doing out here anyway? Should you not be trying to get some rest?”   

“Probably, but I wanted to see the stars before we entered the land of monotonous darkness.”   

Astarion nods. “I’ll miss the sun.”   

“You’ll see it again,” you reassure, even though you know it’s entirely possible he won’t. The thought makes your lower lip quiver, but you’re swept up in a sudden surge of pure defiance. You will survive the Shadowlands, if only to get him back into the sun. “I’ll make sure of it.”   

“You’re sweet,” he quirks a brow at you, rolls onto his side, and props himself up on his forearm. “But I am no fool. I know well enough that the odds do not favour us. You don’t have to coddle me.”   

“Coddle? Gods forbid anyone tries to reassure you!” You roll your eyes at him. “The odds might not be particularly charitable, but neither were the odds of making it this far in the first place. We seem to make impossibilities into possibilities daily right now.”   

“True. The odds of a vampire spawn being infected with a tadpole that just so happens to break his master’s compulsion and most of the other rather pesky downsides of vampirism are infinitely minuscule, yet here I am.”   

“Wow, that sounded very close to optimism,” you quip. “I’m impressed!”   

He scoffs, deigning not to answer, and flops down onto his back.   

You bashfully whisper. “Can I ask you some questions about vampires?”   

“I suppose,” Astarion says hesitantly, sitting up to look at you with a furrowed brow. “I guess I am the only one here with a wealth of knowledge on the subject. What exactly would you like to know?”   

“Vampire Lords, how do you kill them?”   

He shrugs. “Like most vampires, a stake, beheading, dismembering, incinerating. The trick is not so much how to kill them; it’s actually getting them weak enough for it to even be plausible. They are incredibly powerful and resilient bastards.”   

You sit up, crossing your legs, and peer out into the valley. “But it can be done?”   

“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t advise it.” Astarion looks at you skeptically, leaning back and away.  

“And what happens to the Vampire Lords spawn if they perish?” 

“They are free to do as they please.” Astarion’s forehead pinches, creating a line between his brows. “Why?”  

“Cazador is in Baldur's Gate, correct?”   

“Yes, but…” Astarion’s eyes bulge, and he starts shaking his head. “Kamena. No. Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing what I think you are?”   

You smile at him angelically. “I would, but it would be a lie, and I don’t relish the idea of bullshitting you.”  

“Cazador is not to be trifled with.” Astarion blurts out hastily. “He will kill you. I was not exaggerating when I said he could walk into our camp and kill us all before we even woke.”   

“Oh, Astarion, don’t worry. I don’t plan on trifling with him. I plan on killing him outright.”   

“You’re actually serious?” Astarion exclaims.  

“Dead serious.”   

“I…” Astarion looks around. “Why would you do that for me?”  

Because I’m in love with you. 

It nearly leaps off your tongue like a startled frog off a lily pad, but you manage to snare it before it can be ejected from your lips. You feel the heat rush to your face as if your skin is trying to mimic the scarlet of his dissecting gaze. You glance away, clearing your throat and regaining the poise that was misplaced when your judgment nearly lapsed.   

“You’re my friend, and you deserve to be free. I will do everything in my power to make that possible.”   

Astarion looks down, picking up a rock and idly running his fingers over the surface. “I do not believe the others will share your sentiments.”   

“You leave the others to me. You have not yet witnessed exactly how persuasive I can be.” You smirk with a foxlike guise. “Plus, I think they all rather like you even if you do annoy the shit out of them.”   

Astarion chuckles. “Perhaps with the exception of Gale.”  

You quirk a brow at him, not quite understanding. Gale seems no more annoyed than the rest of the group at Astarion’s antics. “Why do you think Gale has anything against you?”   

Astarion’s eyes snap to you, and a handsome, crooked grin coils one side of his lips upward. “I have become rather close friends with a charming sorceress he fancies, I presume. Intimately close, one might say.”   

You flush red again and flop onto your back with a groan, hoping it might hide the rosy hue of your skin. Unfortunately, your traitorous heart lurches into a rapid pace you know he can hear, and he giggles spritely and genuine. You close your eyes and smile at the lightness and mirth that remind you of softly tinging windchimes. It’s not a sound you are granted too often, but you would do anything to hear it.   

“You’re so easy to fluster. It’s utterly adorable,” he purrs. Astarion lays back down beside you, looking up at the sky.   

The light of dawn is breaching the horizon, and the stars are starting to appear faint. The coolness of Astarion’s hand butting up against yours surprises you, and you tentatively lock your pinkie with his. Gradually, your hands seem to move of their own volition until his hand covers yours. You splay your fingers, his curl, and fit themselves perfectly in the spaces between, like your hand was made to hold his.   

“I envy you,” he murmurs. “Even when a literal God appears and threatens your very existence, you are fearless.”   

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you say, shaking your head. You crane your neck to the side to look at him. “I’m terrified.”   

He seems surprised by your candidness. His jaw clenches, making the muscles in his neck strain and pop out. You want to reach out and soothe that tension away, but instead you twist your hand into the earth to keep it from roaming where it shouldn’t.   

“How do you do it, then?” He finally asks, looking deeply into your eyes. There’s an openness there that makes you feel as though you’re truly seeing him, perhaps for the first time. “How do you keep going?”   

“I place one foot in front of the other, and then I do it again, and again, and again.”   

“You make it sound easy,” he breathes with a frown that’s weighted in the heaviness of sorrow.   

You know, at some point, he’s let fear paralyze him. Does he have any memories of true happiness? Are his memories all pain, torture and slavery at the hands of a barbaric master?  

“It’s not easy.” You conclude tightly. “Every step is hard, and sometimes you have to take a break between steps, but eventually, you take another step.”  

“Hmm.” A silence stretches out, and you just gaze at each other as the first rays of sun begin to plod over the land. “Take another step… May I kiss you?”   

The young beams of sunlight appear to infuse his eyes, lighting up the desperation in them. His stare is intense, like that of a coiled viper that’s ready to strike. You sit up, letting your hand drift toward him like it’s been yearning to do, but you hover just shy of his cheek. If he wants to be touched, he will close the gap. He glances at your hand, smiles sweetly, and pushes into your touch, closing his eyes when your thumb sweeps across his cheek.

"Of course.” 

Before the consent can even finish sighing from your lips, Astarion’s hand winds into your hair, and his lips catch yours with a greedy fervour that makes you groan into his mouth. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring, tentatively stroking yours in a slow erotic dance that’s all sensation and passion.  

His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed tightly against the muscles of his chest. Your fingers twist into his shirt. You’ve never been kissed quite like this. It feels like he steals the air straight from your lungs and replaces it with him until you’re drowning in him.   

You can’t say you mind that much.

Astarion breaks the kiss only when your heart is racing like you’ve been running up a mountain. He smirks, placing one more chaste kiss on your still parted, swollen lips as you try to iron out this disequilibrium making your head swoon.

“Do you kiss all your friends like that?” Astarion quips playfully.  

“No!” You squeak too high and a little too hastily.   

“Good,” he surmises plainly with a curt nod.  

“Good?”   

“Good. I think I would rather like to keep it that way.” Astarion stands, offering you his hands. “Come on, darling. We best get back to camp before Gale’s brain starts to conjure up images of the sinful delights we’ve snuck away to partake in. I fear he might explode and kill us all out of sheer jealousy.”   

You slip your hands into Astarion’s, and he helps you to your feet. Your eyes drop to your embraced hands with a million questions revolving in your head, but you don’t dare ask any of them as you let him lead you back to camp hand-in-hand.

The courtyard door clicks closed behind you, and you lean on it with a resigned sigh. The woman you used to be, who now only lives in memories, would never have entertained such a proposition, but she had nothing to lose. Now, you have your soulmate, friends, and yourself, who all stand to lose their lives if you decide to pursue this fight to its inconclusive end. 

Does a ring with the power Aldous described even exist, or is this just a very clever rouse to pique your interest? It would be smart to prey on your greatest desires, and it’s something a Vampire Lord would certainly take advantage of. 

But ... a little voice whispers, But what if it’s true? What if the answer to Astarion’s sun intolerance is sitting somewhere in Waterdeep, and all you have to do is make a deal and walk away? 

Astarion likely won’t agree, let alone let them sketch his scars, but you’ve been trailing your fingers over those scars every night. You might not be much of an artist, but you could replicate them closely enough. 

Your back slides down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, shivering, with your fingers twisted in your drenched hair. You can’t seriously be considering this, can you? Who are you anymore? Are you too far gone? You used to be so fucking unshakable, and now you’re shaking on the floor, stuck between what you are and what you think you should be. 

It feels like the vultures are circling, the walls are closing, and the devil is knocking. 

But you will always do whatever it takes to keep those you love safe, and they will never be safe if you allow another Vampire Lord to ascend. There is always the risk that, as soon as your usefulness has been depleted, they will kill you, Astarion, and your friends. 

It’s not a risk you’re willing to take. 

“Sorceress?” Tara’s eyes gleam in the low light as she trots in from the corridor with her tail held high. “You are soaked! Did no one ever teach you how to dry yourself?” 

You let your chin rest on your knees and hold your hand out. At the invitation, Tara comes trotting over, and you scratch behind her ears while she gives you a rumbly purr and butts her head against your palm. 

“You are burdened this night.” Tara states, sitting and wrapping her tail around herself. Her words make tears prick your eyes, but you force them away. You are so tired of crying. “I see how the others look to you for answers you do not have. You carry much responsibility on your shoulders. Yet, I do not believe this is what bothers you this night.” 

“Astute, as always, Tara.” You push yourself up to your feet, grab the milk, and pour some into a bowl, letting your palms heat until the milk steams slightly. 

Tara’s tail sticks straight up in the air and vibrates happily as you put the bowl down for her and return to your spot on the floor. She waits for you to speak while she laps up her milk.  

“I feel like I’m constantly falling apart. I’ve changed. When I look in the mirror, I don’t always recognize the woman who is reflected back.” 

“And this is a bad thing?” Tara asks, taking a break from lapping at her milk and licking her lips and chin. “Change is inevitable, sorceress. Seasons change. Time changes. People change. Even the stars change given enough time.” 

“It’s not the change itself; it’s what I’ve changed into,” you sigh, letting your head rest on your knees. “The me in my memories was dependable, sure, and bold. Even when I was afraid, I was at least steadfast and reliable. I cannot say that’s the case any longer. Now, sometimes, I fear the dark or storms — things I would not have batted an eyelash at before.” 

There’s no stopping the tears now. Despite your restraint, the rivulets inch from the corners of your eyes. “I’m just so fucking sick of crying, of being afraid, of running, of being this version of me.” 

“Yes, you have struggled with fear since you came to stay.” Tara looks at her feet, almost as if she’s contemplating what you need to hear, but more likely, she’s trying to decide if she needs to clean her face. “Fear is a serpent whispering uncertainties and breeding unease about moving forward into the unknown. It convinces you to remain rooted in your misery simply because misery is known and safe. Sometimes it helps us avoid legitimate danger, but other times it keeps us stuck in a self-perpetuating cycle.” 

“I don’t know how to break the cycle.” You wipe the wetness from your cheeks and eyes. “But I know I will never be who I was again.” 

“Nor should you be.” Tara scoffs. Her lips curl, pulling back her snout, clearly dissatisfied. “Stop glancing backward and look forward toward growth and change. Let go of this foolish notion that you should be who you were.” 

“I liked myself better that way.” Your voice is harsh and bitter, but Tara does not so much as flick an ear or twitch her skin. 

“Stop being so stubborn, Kamena.” Tara scolds you with a hiss, arching her back. “It is okay to be afraid, to be hurt, and to feel broken, but you needn’t wallow in it. You have two options. You can either let your fears chase you and run, or you can chase your fears and make them run from you.” 

“What if I make the wrong choice and get us all killed?” 

“Well, then you’ll be dead, and you won’t have the capacity to dwell on it.” Tara concludes brashly. 

She’s not wrong.   

“I would hug you if I wasn’t worried you would scratch my eyes out.” You hiccup out a laugh. 

“You are positively sodden!” Tara scampers back, far out of reach, and crouches low to the ground, ready to flee. “You would wet my fur! I would have to leave a dead mouse in your bed for such an egregious trespass!” 

“Hmm,” you hum, patting your lips with your index finger. “Worth it, I think.” 

When you sneak down the quiet halls back to your room, you’re surprised to see soft light radiating out under the doorway. Depending on how long he’s been awake, he likely heard the entire conversation with Tara and probably Aldous as well. 

Stupid vampiric hearing.   

You let yourself in and suck in a sharp breath at the incredulous scowl on Astarion’s face. A small fire is popping and crackling in the fireplace, eating away at the timber and suffusing the room with a light pine scent. 

Astarion sits in bed, leaning against the headboard with one knee up and the sheets pooled around his waist. Even though you know you’re likely in for an earful, your eyes still devour the sight of him — chiselled, toned muscles, pristine ivory skin, and those scarlet eyes that are seemingly burning as bright as the fire, bleeding into you. 

“Well?” Astarion asks. 

“Well what?” 

“Come now,” Astarion drawls, but his intonation is bordering on cruel, rougher than any stone. “I heard the little deal that worm offered you. Please tell me you’re not truly thinking about this. I do not have to remind you that Vampire Lords are not trustworthy.” 

You slip out of your wet clothes, grab a towel, and dry your hair. “I’ll admit, it’s tempting.” 

“Have you lost your godsdamned mind?” Astarion balks, eyes narrow, with a scowl so menacing that if you didn’t know him, it might scare you. 

“Probably,” you say solemnly, staring at your feet. “I was going to discuss it with you first.” 

“Oh,” Astarion’s scowl eases, and he looks askance. “I… Why?” 

“Because it’s your life, your siblings, your body, and your scars,” you state, sitting on the bed cross-legged and staring at him. “If what he said is true, and I’m not saying it is, there’s also the matter of that ring. You could walk in the sun without worrying again. I want that for you more than anything, but I won’t make these kinds of decisions without you. We are a team.” 

Astarion racks his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “If it were me a couple years ago, I’d likely have taken the deal and ran, but... I’m not that selfish a man any longer. Even if the ring does exist, it’s not worth all the lives that will be lost should we turn a blind eye.” 

“I suppose not,” you murmur, looking down at your lap. Your damp, wavy hair creates a wavy curtain between you and him, and you’re thankful for the coverage. 

“You would turn a blind eye to it?” Astarion asks, brushing your hair back. “All the lives the Rite would cost, and all the deaths that would come after?” 

“To ensure your safety and gain the ring to let you enjoy the sun again?” You breathe heavily. “Yes, I think I would. I would take the deal, run, and never look back.” 

Astarion cradles your cheek, bringing your gaze back up. “Tell me where this truly comes from, because it does not sound like you.” 

“Maybe this is the new me,” you growl. The fire sparks angrily as your emotions become manic. 

You want to yell. You want to cry. You want to turn back time and forget all of the last years. 

You want peace. 

But peace has shunned you. 

You dig your fingernails into your palms, jerking away from his fingers poised under your chin, and lower your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am; maybe I never was. Maybe all that’s left of me is broken pieces and ragged edges.” 

One of your legs jiggles erratically, shaking the bed. The old urge to run or hide is overwhelming, and you cannot keep your body still. Poisonous resentment and spiteful thoughts cross your mind. It’s his fault you’re this shattered shard of the person you once were; your soul a broken mirror that reflects some recognizable pieces of you, but some - most - of the splinters are too small to retain anything. You gave him your heart, and he absconded with it, like he had done to so many naive people before you. 

Now, he thinks he can return and tell you that you don’t sound like yourself without any consequences? Of course, you are not yourself! How could you be? But if you are not you, then who the fuck are you? 

Will whatever remains be enough? Are you enough? It would be so easy to blame him, so splendidly simple to lay the burden of pain at his feet, and he would shoulder it, likely without complaint. You don’t truly believe any of these thoughts. They are misguided animosities searching for anyone or anything to blame other than yourself, because at the crux of it all, you loathe what you’ve become. 

“Darling, tell me what’s going through your head,” Astarion urges, and his voice breaks you from your spiral and makes your head jerk up. 

“No.” 

You know your response and tone are clipped. Pulling away from him seems like the easiest way to keep yourself from hurting him needlessly in moments like this when your pain and anger coalesce into venom. Though it seems you’ve failed as you watch the hurt skip across his features and settle in his imploring eyes. 

“You talk to the cat more openly than you talk to me.” Astarion shakes his head, clearly frustrated. 

“Tara’s never abandoned me in the middle of the night,” you hiss through a clenched jaw. 

The memories of waking up to a tomblike silence, the creaks and groans of the wooden walls well up in your mind, his voice whispering to you that everything was going to be okay, which was a blatant lie. He had known he was going to leave. He had premeditated the breaking of your heart, and it stings. 

“I did,” he snaps, his shoulder tense. “I left you in the middle of the night. I abandoned you, and I knew what I was doing. I knew it would hurt,” he goads. 

His intention to provoke you into lashing out is obvious, but you seethe nonetheless. The guilt of having such toxic thoughts is gnawing at you, making your stomach unsettled. How could you even consider hurting him for a moment? He is your heart. Your soul. Your world. Your everything. 

He could kill you, by accident or purposefully, and somehow you would still find a way to crawl out of your grave and back to him, to love him so completely that you wonder if there’s even enough room left in your heart to love yourself. 

Astarion examines you for a moment, searching and trying to read you. Most days, you like being seen, but right now, it’s only intensifying your pique. 

“Stop it,” you sneer as the hurt simmering in you only grows. 

“Do you remember asking me if something was wrong that night?” He continues with a forced calm. His pain is carefully hidden behind a stone-cold expression, but you see it because, try as he might, he cannot keep it from his eyes. “Do you remember telling me you were scared, and I lied to you, didn’t I? I told you everything was fine when it was anything but.” 

Nothing will ever be able to erase that night from your memories. No amount of alcohol, tears, or running will ever be enough. You need him to shut up, lest you lose your tongue with unreasonable cruelty. White-hot rage clouds your mind, and there is a creeping sense of wanting to hurt him, wanting to let the corrosive words rise from your tongue and burn him. There is a sick part of you that wants to see just how far you can push him to see if he will leave. 

This conversation has become too much, and you do the worst possible thing you can in your desperation to hide. You lunge at him, slamming your lips into his in a bruising kiss and twisting your fingers into his hair hard enough to be painful. Astarion is not the only one who can use sex as a weapon, as a means of avoidance, or as a way to distract. 

His surprise is barely registered in the half-yelp he was able to get out before your lips mould to his despairingly, but his discomfort is abundantly obvious. There is a rigidity to his body; all his muscles are tense and flexing under you like someone who is waiting to be struck. Though he returns the kiss, it is mechanical. You know that this is wrong, but you press ahead heedlessly. 

“Stop,” he gasps against your lips. 

You throw yourself off the side of the bed as soon as the tight plea skitters across your lips. You clutch at your heaving chest, staring at him wide-eyed and wild with the horror of your actions. You stand awkwardly, half-lurched over, and unable to think straight. 

The same question keeps plaguing your mind: Who are you? 

“Astarion, I—“ 

He doesn’t let you finish. “No, don’t be sorry. I know better than most what that was. I see you. I understand you. You do not need to use sex to hide from me.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

He smiles kindly when he looks up at you. It only makes you feel worse. His arms spread, offering you sanctuary. As much as your first impulse is to dive into the safety promised, you take small, careful steps, keeping a close eye on him. Astarion waits patiently, and you see no signs of discomfort or the blankness that echos in his eyes when he withdraws. 

Climbing up the bed, you slide into his embrace. He pulls the duvet up, tucking you both in, and you settle into the comfort of being tangled up with one another. Your head rests on his shoulder, your forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, and your legs hooked over his lap. Astarion wipes away the wetness from your cheeks that you didn't even realize was there. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just—“ 

“Can’t get enough of me,” Astarion says, keeping his tone lighthearted. You can feel the smug smirk slink across his lips. “I’m not surprised.” 

But you know what you’ve done is a serious offence, so you try again. “Astarion, I’m serious. I feel terrible and sick over it.” 

“If kissing me makes you feel sick, I think we have bigger problems than you throwing yourself at me to get me to shut up, my love,” he quips, but his arms hug you tighter, pulling your flush against him. 

You’re flooded with warmth and gratitude, and you wordlessly press a small peck to his throat. It’s not nearly enough to express your appreciation or make amends for the boundary you just crossed, though. 

“We will get through this, Kamena,” he assures in a low baritone. “But we will have to talk about it at some point. You cannot keep running and hiding from this conversation. It must be had. I’m trying to be patient, and I can wait. Gods know I have a literal eternity, but I do not like to see you suffer so. I do not know what you need from me to feel safe.” 

“Was it easy to leave me?” You blurt out before you can rethink. 

Astarion jolts as if you’ve slapped him, easing back just enough to see your face but not enough to break the amount of contact between your bodies. “Leaving you that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Two centuries of torture, and nothing has ever hurt me that much. Nothing.” 

This information sickens and stirs a revolting sense of gratification in equal measure. It is comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has suffered at the hands of his desertion. It should not console you, though, should it? You should not be relieved that he hurt just as you did. The knowledge of just how far you’ve fallen disgusts you to your core, and you have to smother the urge to retch as if you might be able to purge this darkness your soul harbours. 

Maybe that is why you’re so afraid to move forward, one step at a time, into the future and away from the miseries that cast their grim shadows across your past. You are afraid that you will not like what you find there and that you will not like the iteration of you that awaits. 

All you can think about is how you wish for him to spread you open and fill you with him, with pleasure, with his love, as a reminder that you are still capable of feelings beyond fear, loathing, and disgust. You can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, afraid he will see the delight reflected in your eyes. 

“I know I’ve said it before, but I will keep saying it until the end of time; I’m sorry,” Astarion starts. “I—“ 

You clutch at the blankets and pull them up to your chest in a foolish attempt to shield your heart with something, anything. You cut him off. “We’ve discussed this. You don’t have to say anything. It’s in—“ 

“Stop,” he barks, and you can feel his glare, the heat of his eyes boring into the crown of your head. “Enough, love. Stop granting me avenues of excuses and room to distance myself from what I’ve done at your expense. You need to hear this, and I need to say it. Listen to me — I’m begging you.” 

You freeze, your fingers curling into his chest with enough force to leave red welts on his skin. Astarion doesn’t so much as flinch. If it hurts him, he does not show an iota of it. He cups your cheek, trying to get you to look at him, but you refuse, squeezing your eyes shut. 

He continues anyway, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth across your cheek. “What I did was cowardly. I was terrified to lose this, the love we share, due to my difficulties. You deserve so much more than I can ever hope to give you. By leaving, I thought I was protecting you from a lifetime of pain.” 

You mean to tell him to stop before your heart bursts, but words do not form, and it comes out as a pleading whine as you press further into him. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your breaths come quicker and quicker, progressively getting shallower until you’re dizzy. His arms tighten, and the hand on your cheek gently presses your face against his chest. He kisses the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair. 

Astarion inhales deeply. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “Breathe, my love,” he coos. “With me now.” 

It is a difficult task to sync your panicked breathing to his calm, and it takes minutes before you’re able to do so. He waits patiently, humming in a deep dulcet like he used to. 

When you begin to relax, he picks up where he left off. “I knew I should have spoken to you about my worries and told you my doubts and fears, but I didn’t. It has always been my way; for centuries, I suffered in silence. I lost the fight between what I knew to be right and two hundred years of programmed behaviour. I am sorry for the pain I’ve inflicted upon you, for making you doubt how much I care for you, for making you afraid — all of it. I cannot undo what I've done. Gods, I wish I could go back and change it, but I cannot.” Astarion strokes your hair. 

His voice is becoming strained with emotion as he forces himself to bare his heart to you. “I hope we can rebuild what we’ve lost, and maybe it’s different than before; maybe we are both different than before, but that’s okay. It’s okay to be different. Whether you are light or dark, fire or ice, good or evil, you are still you, Kamena. You remain the same wild, goddess-like woman I met on the beach and referred to as a shrew." 

A raspy giggle sighs from your throat, and you finally tilt your head up to look at him. A small smile breaks through onto his perfect lips, and you trace them in the perfect bow as they curve upwards slightly. 

“You would still love me if I were evil?” You ask a little shyly, with your thumb still brushing over his bottom lip. 

If he can love you, even in darkness, maybe you can face whatever lurks in the future you’ve been avoiding by digging in your heels and sitting in your misery. 

If the only thing you have left is him at the end of this, you can live with whatever life throws at you. 

“Oh,” he smiles fiendishly, grabbing your hand and kissing each finger with his attention completely rapt on you. “Most certainly. If you want to burn the whole of Faerûn to the ground and dance in its ashes, I will hand you the match and help you start the fires.” He smirks momentarily. “Not that you would need matches, of course. You are fire incarnate, but you understand my point.” 

He pauses, placing a kiss on your wrist against your veins. His eyes comb over your face, studying you and reading the hidden language of your soul as if it were etched upon your skin. 

Pain and anxiety are largely writ on Astarion’s face. “I love you. I wish you would tell me every dark thought you’re having, even if they are about me — every wicked inclination, every doubt, and every fear. I would have you tell me every thought that goes through your head, so I can show you that I will always love you anyway and that I am not going anywhere.” 

The fact of the matter is that you resent yourself for being stubborn and unable to fully trust him when he is so evidently trying to show you in any way he can think of. It’s not that you don’t see it; it’s that you purposefully ignore it, but there is no ignoring it tonight. 

You must do better than this. You steel yourself. Take the step. 

“I’m scared, Astarion. I’m scared that if I take the steps to move forward, you will not like the person I’ve become. Underneath all these broken pieces, there is a darkness there that wasn’t there before. I can lose everything, but I cannot lose you.” 

It may not be healthy, but you would rather spend your lifetime in his broken state, battling with yourself all the while, if it means that you will rest, wake, and do everything in between with him by your side. 

“Come here, my heart.” Astarion shifts you so that you’re straddling him, arms wrapped around his neck, and your head resting on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss on your shoulder, rubbing your back. “You could never be unloved by me, Kamena.” 

You are better than this ; your shame whispers in your ear. Try harder. Be better. The way forward is clear, and you can walk into it at any time. Why do you languish here?   

What rises tends to fall, you answer solemnly. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

[starlightsuffered]

Accidental Pic

Info - smut, accidentally posting pic of sex, tipsy sexo!;

The sex was deep and passionate. My cock sopping in her nectar, unable to stop. Though we were both tipsy, I had the energy of a God. Maybe it was because she'd been gone a weak. I wanted to drown my cock in her

wetness.

"Timothée, no please, l'm gonna come again. Please tell me three rounds isn't too much," she gasped. She was blissed out, sweating bullets, and clinging to me and entwined with me.

"No," I grunted, trying to give her powerful thrusts as I moved.

"Just wanna a pic baby," I moaned. I snapped what I thought was a good pick. She rose up and was kissing me desperately. My hand fumbled with the phone, trying not to let it break.

"Mmmmmmm, Tim," she whined and I said fuck it to the phone and dropped it. I hammered into her until we were both exhausted and passed out in a tangle of limbs.

When I woke up I was groggy, sticky, and still inside her. My eyes were heavy lidded. I fumbled for my phone, unwilling to pull out.

"Mmmmm Timothée," she groaned

"Morning baby," | said and kissed her lips. She stretched as I looked at my notifications.

"Fuck!" I gasped.

"What?" She asked.

"I Um, it's," I stuttered. She grabbed the phone. I shrunk away.

"You idiot, my orgasm face and side boob,?" She demanded.

"I'm sorry!" I wailed. "I promise it was an accident."

"No it wasn't. I remember you taking it!"

"Yeah but I didn't mean to post it!" I exclaimed

"I'm humiliated," she whined, covering her eyes. I deleted the pictures and wrapped my body around her.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled into her shoulder. She unstiffened a bit.

"Please forgive me," I begged.

"Oh alright," she sighed and kissed me.

"Isn't it kinda hot though baby?" I asked massaging her nipples with my thumbs.

"Don't push your luck" she giggled.

[taringill]

Happy pride month!🏳️‍🌈

Yes, at the end of the month. Well, that's fine. It's just that this month reminded me of the ideas I had in my head. I kept remembering and forgetting. I wouldn't even post this in pride month. Maybe I'll post the second part, but most likely not in the pride month anymore. Okay, whatever.

Да, под конец месяца. Ну, и ладно. Просто этот месяц напомнил мне идейки, которые у меня были в голове. Я то вспоминала, то забывала. Я бы выложила даже не в месяц гордости. Может быть выложу вторую часть, но, скорее всего, уже не в месяц гордости. Ладно, пофиг.

Casey Jones Junior (24 y/o) & Andrea Darvish (24 y/o)

Yes, they both happen to be bisexual. And quite by accident. I noticed it and was like, "Oh, funny..." Before Casey, Andrea dated a girl for about a year when they were about 16-17. Before Andrea, Casey dated Violetta for about a year. They were 20 (not 15, this is outdated information, the creators confirmed that Casey Jr. is 20 years old in the movie, so Andrea and Casey are not 21 on art, as usual, but 24, I moved the timeline a little bit to please the canon). Casey Jr was also in love with his friend Max. Read more in THIS post.

Да, так вышло, что они оба бисексуалы. Причем совершенно случайно. Я заметила это и такая "О, прикол..." До Кейси Андреа встречалась с девушкой примерно год, когда им было по 16-17 примерно. До Андреа Кейси встречался с Виоллетой около года. Им было по 20 (не 15, это устаревшая информация, создатели подтвердили, что Кейси мл. 20 лет в фильме, поэтому Андреа и Кейси на арте не 21, как обычно, а 24, Я немножко таймлайн подвинула в угоду канону). Ещё Кейси мл был влюблён в своего друга Макса. Подробнее в ЭТОМ посте.

Guys, catch a lifehack: if you want to push a straight couple into the lgbtq+ topic, then make them bisexual (or pansexual, or mix it, at your discretion). Lifehack is working, use it, I advise you👍 Yes, I like my joke.

Ребята, ловите лайфхак: если вы хотите пропихнуть гетеро парочку в тему лгбтк+, то сделайте их бисексуалами (или пансексуалами, или смешайте, на ваше усмотрение). Лайфхак рабочий, пользуйтесь, советую👍 Да, мне нравится моя шутка.

LFLS with Casey Jr. and Leo is with normal rottmnt fans: everything is cute, cute and cool father-son type relationship, Leo became a father to Casey, which is very cute. Everything is adequate, in short.

My LFLS with Casy Jr. and Leo...:

ЛФЛС с Кейси мл. и Лео у нормальных фанатов rottmnt: всё мило, милые и классные взаимоотношения типа отца и сына, Лео стал для Кейси отцом, что очень мило. Всё адекватно, короче.

ЛФЛС с Кейси мл. и Лео у меня...:

Did you understand where the meme came from? If not, I'll help you. I love this meme :) Bisexual moment, lol.

Поняли откуда мем? Если нет, я вам помогу. Обожаю этот мем:) Бисексуал момент, лол.

And, again, it happened by accident😅 I looked at it and remembered for some reason "like father like son" and "both is good".

Причём, опять-таки, так вышло случайно😅 Я на это посмотрела и вспомнила почему-то "like father like son" и "both is good".

And finally, cute <3

И напоследок, милота <3

Why did I draw Nori in a hetero flag when there are many variations of it, many people don't like it at all? Because I can, like this) My blog. Well, and this version of the hetero flag is beautiful🩷

Почему я нарисовала Нори в гетеро флаге, когда вариаций его много, многие его вообще не любят? Потому что могу, вот так) Мой блог. Ну, и это версия гетеро флага красивая🩷

Remember, these are just my silly headcanons.

Помните, это всего лишь глупенькие мои хэдканоны.

[onnoffwrites]

After recent events, I ended up going back to the beginning to check things, because my first reaction will always be "wtf, this is shit, why would you do this" and my second reaction will always be "okay maybe that was a bit much, maybe he's not THAT bad, maybe has a good reason-

Okay.. that doesn't rly mean anything, maybe she's just worried kaito found something he shouldn't-

Okay.. okay this looks, well maybe he's just leaving some recordings in case kaito found something he shouldn't! It's not like they can hide it forever! The room is part of the house! Kaito lives in the house-

Excuse me... What did .. what did you say...? Wha

What do you mean "designed"?

What??? What do you MEAN "designed to open after 8 years"???

I have been angry since April 12th and I've reached a point where I don't even know what to feel anymore I don't even know what to tell y'all.

Like, wow, omg, movie reveals. Other than family relations, the other thing isn't exactly anything new. We've all read Midnight Crow. We saw Kaitou Corbaeu. We've been in denial until finally reaching acceptance. For me at least. And then we spend a few years bargaining, bc surely there's a good reason kaitos not in the know. That kaito has to be KID. Surely there's a reason? Right?

Right???

At this point we don't even truly know if Jii is in the know and was acting as planned out by the parents or not. Or if he's just like kaito. Tricked, lied to, played for fools. At the very least ginzo doesn't know, so there's that. Not sure how much that would help kaito when he inevitably finds out. Because he will. The fact remains that it's quite suspicious that Jii just so happen to choose to don the KID outfit and become KID to draw out toichis murderers exactly 8 years after toichis death. EXACTLY the same amount of time that was set for that trap door portrait to open to kaito.

There's a lot of implications to think about

[kveom]

booseoksoon in 2023

thank you for saving my kpop booseoksoon <;3 i'd been drifting away from kpop for a bit but then booseoksoon happened and look at me now. changed my whole year literally don't know who i'd be if it wasn't for booseoksoon comeback. thank you for providing amazing music, even better performances and just entertainment all around. kings of fun, kings of energy, kings of adlibs, kings of performance please come back next year 😫 cr: x

[lestatlioncunt]

ROGUE AMENDIARES + 🍻

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)