#I wonder if someone’s done this before?

[stylesispunk]

"Unholy christmas" day 3/3

outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After spending months wandering outside in the wild, you and Joel find safety inside the gates of Jackson just around christmas. A confession and a kiss lead to other things and you wake up wrapped around each other's arms.

wc: 4,5k

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut and no proofreading at all, sorry my head hurts.

a/n: welcome to the third and last day of my joel's fic christmas version event. This one didn't turn out as i planned but is still cute. (my personal favorite was merry christmas, please call me) thank you so much for being here and reading and I wish you all a merry christmas, i hope you all have a beautiful night either if you spend your night with other people or alone. happy reading and merry christmas 💌♥️🌲

You couldn’t believe your eyes the first time you stepped inside Jackson. How the gates creaked open, or how the snow crunched beneath your boots as you and Joel made your way. A town in the middle of the hell you had faced felt almost surreal. After months of wandering through the wilderness, living on edge, Jackson felt like stepping into a dream, all decorated and bathed in warm lights, strings of Christmas decorations you thought you would never see again.

As you made your way inside, Joel glanced at you, his rugged features softening for just a moment when he took a glimpse of your awe expression. Something inside his heart felt at peace for the first time in months.

He had put you through so much during this time. Dragging you through the danger and fighting just to kept you both alive, and doing terrible things just for him to allow you to see another sunrise. He didn’t regret the things he had done for keeping you safe, not for an instant, but when the weight of it all bore down on him. When you were sleeping clung to him at night and he’d lie awake, watching the firelight flicker against your face, wondering if you would be better off without him.

But what would it be of him without you?

Your existence overwhelmed him. In a way his heart would stop beating the second your gaze locked with his. In a way his breath caught up his throat when you held his hand or simple touch him when sleeping.

It terrified him how much you had become a part of him, how much he depended on the sound of your voice to lighten the weight on his shoulders, or how your simple presence was enough to silence the worst of his thoughts. His chest ached whenever your gaze locked with his, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

He felt alive and vulnerable all at once, and it scared him. But what scared him more was the idea of losing you.

Without you, the hollow emptiness he had spent years suppressing would swallow him whole. He had fought so hard to keep you alive since you gave him something to fight for.

And now, looking at you smiling at the big Christmas tree in the middle of Jackson, he felt whole.

He stayed rooted in place for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of you. How could someone like him, a man who had done unspeakable things, deserve to stand by your side? But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when you looked at the tree with the kind of joy he thought was lost forever.

“Joel?” Your voice broke his thoughts, soft and questioning as you turned to face him.

He cleared his throat and stepped closer, the snow crunching beneath his boots. “Yeah? You okay?”

You nodded, a small, wistful smile tugging at your lips. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I can’t remember the last time I saw a Christmas tree.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to the tree for a moment before settling back on you. “Yeah, it is.”

Joel opened his mouth to say more, but the sound of approaching footsteps on the snow made him pause, breaking the moment between the both of you. You both turned to see Tommy and Maria approaching, their faces lit with warm smiles.

“There you two are,” Tommy said, his tone teasing. “Figured we’d find you here.”

Maria stepped forward, her eyes flicking between you and Joel. “We’re heading over to the hall for dinner. Thought you might want to join us.”

You blinked in surprise, glancing at Joel before looking back at Maria. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Maria said with a nod, her smile widening. “The community does it every year around Christmas. Everyone pitches in—food, music, decorations. It’s a nice way to celebrate together.”

Joel shifted beside you, his hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets. He glanced at you, silently asking what you wanted to do.

“That sounds… nice,” you said after a moment, the idea of a communal dinner feeling strangely foreign after so long on the road. “We’d love to join.”

Tommy clapped Joel on the back. “See? Told you it’d be good for both of you to settle in a little.”

Joel grunted something under his breath, but his gaze softened as it lingered on you. “All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

The walk to the community hall was short, the warm glow of lights spilling out through the windows guiding your way. Inside, the hall was alive with the buzz of conversation, the smell of roasted food, and the soft strum of a guitar from one corner.

As you followed Tommy and Maria to the community hall, the air around you felt festive, filled with laughter and the warm glow of lanterns strung along the path. The hall itself was bustling with life, long tables set up with trays of food and steaming mugs of cider. People greeted each other warmly, their voices blending into a symphony of holiday cheer.

You and Joel stepped inside, your eyes taking in the scene. For a moment, it was overwhelming—the sheer normalcy of it all after so many months of survival.

Maria nudged your arm gently, pulling you from your thoughts. “Grab some food and find a spot,” she said with a smile. “Tommy and I will join you in a bit.”

You nodded, glancing at Joel, but he was already being pulled away by Tommy, who had clasped a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward a group of familiar faces.

“I’ll catch up with you,” Joel muttered, throwing you a quick glance before disappearing into the crowd.

You made your way to the serving table, piling a plate with roasted vegetables and slices of bread before settling at a spot near the corner of the hall. From there, you could see Joel easily.

At first, it was endearing to watch him interact with Tommy. It reminded you of how hard he had fought to came here in order to be reunited with him all over again. And it was endearing, the sight of him, relaxed, the rare ghost of a smile playing on his lips. But as the minutes passed, your gaze lingered longer, drawn to the way people seemed to gravitate toward him.

Women. several of them.

They approached him with bright smiles displaying on their lips. Some were close to his age, others younger, their faces lighting up as they introduced themselves or leaned into a conversation with him. Joel, ever the gentleman he was, nodded politely, his deep voice lost in the noise of the room.

You knew Joel wasn’t the type to encourage attention, but the sight of him surrounded by all these women, some of whom placed a hand on his arm or laughed a little too loudly at something he said, sent a nagging feeling creeping into your chest.

You had never had felt the feeling of sharing before, it has always been you and him.

Until now.

You tried to focus on your food, but your appetite had vanished. The hall, went from feeling warm and inviting, to feeling suffocating. You told yourself it was nothing, that Joel was just being polite, but the tightness in your chest didn’t ease.

And you felt alone as if you were a burden Joel had to carry with him because he didn’t have the heart to left you behind.

Your gaze dropped to the table, your fingers toying with the edge of your plate, but what did you expect? Joel had done so much for you, had carried you through hell, he had brought you to a safe place where you would be able to live a life again.

The nagging feeling twisted into something sharper, something you didn’t want to name. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your eyes drifted back to Joel, now leaning slightly as another woman spoke to him, her hand lingering just a second too long on his forearm.

You set your plate down, your appetite gone completely. For the first time since arriving in Jackson, you felt an urge to leave, to escape somewhere else.

The sight of Joel, so effortlessly blending in and laughing softly at something Tommy said, nodding politely as the women around him vied for his attention, made you feel like an outsider looking in.

And then it happened.

Joel’s gaze found yours across the room. His expression softened, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the kind of smile you rarely saw from him, one that seemed reserved just for you.

For a fleeting moment, the world quieted, the knot in your stomach loosening ever so slightly. But as your eyes scanned the room, taking in the familiarity shared between the townsfolks you felt it again. That foreignness. Like no matter how hard you tried, you’d never quite belong here.

Joel might. He was already starting to, even if he didn’t realize it yet. The way people looked at him, sought his attention, told you he could find a place here, a life.

But you? You weren’t so sure.

The thought settled heavily in your chest, and before you could overthink it, you pushed your chair back and stood.

You didn’t look back as you walked out of the hall, the cold night air biting at your skin as soon as you stepped outside. The muffled sounds of laughter and conversation followed you briefly before fading as the door swung shut behind you.

The town was quiet, the snow under your boots crunching softly as you wandered aimlessly. The lights strung along the houses glowed warmly, but they only deepened the ache in your chest.

You stopped at the edge of the main street, your breath visible in the cold air. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stared up at the sky, the stars barely visible against the glow of the town.

The crunch of snow beneath your boots was the only sound accompanying you as you wandered, drawn toward the faint glow of the Christmas tree in the center of town. It stood tall and proud, adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments that glittered like tiny stars.

As you reached it, you came to a stop, the cold biting through your coat, but you barely noticed. You gazed up at the tree, and a flood of memories washed over you, brief, fragmented flashes of a childhood long gone.

A living room dimly lit except for the glow of a tree like this one. Laughter, faint and warm, as presents were unwrapped. The scent of pine and the soft hum of a Christmas carol your mother used to hum under her breath.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, a lump forming in your throat. That world felt like it belonged to another life, to someone else entirely. The woman standing here now, hardened by years of survival, couldn’t reconcile with the girl who once giggled over snow angels and stockings by the fireplace.

Joel stepped outside, the cold air biting at his skin as he scanned the bustling streets of Jackson. It wasn’t like him to let things go unsaid, especially not when it came to you. He’d noticed the way you pulled away, your silence heavier than usual. He could feel the weight of it, pulling at him, gnawing at him.

You inhaled deeply, your breath shaky as it clouded in the cold air. This was why you felt out of place here. Jackson was built on hope, on community, on remnants of a world you weren’t sure if you were going to fit into.

He’d watched you slip away from the warmth of the hall, your figure disappearing into the night. Without a second thought, he followed. He couldn’t let you disappear into the night like that, not when something was so clearly eating at you.

The snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way toward the glow of the Christmas tree. The town was quieter now, the hum of conversation and laughter fading as he walked through the streets, searching for you.

He found you standing under the towering tree, your face lit by the soft, flickering lights. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, so small against the backdrop of the glowing tree, lost in thought. Your gaze was fixed on the ornaments, the lights reflecting in your eyes, and for a moment, he just watched you.

His chest tightened, and he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. He couldn’t stand to see you like this, so distant, so detached from the world around you. It was like you were still trapped in the past, somewhere far away from here, far away from the safety of Jackson and everything it had to offer.

“Hey,” he finally called out, his voice low but steady.

The sound of Joel’s voice startled you, low and rough but unmistakable. You turned to find him standing a few feet away, his broad frame silhouetted against the glow of the Christmas lights. He was breathing hard, like he’d been searching for you.

“I wondered where you ran off to,” he said softly, his eyes scanning your face.

“I just needed some air,” you replied, your voice quiet.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until he was standing beside you. His gaze flicked to the tree for a moment before settling back on you.

He stepped closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until he was standing beside you. His gaze flicked to the tree for a moment before settling back on you. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone there”

“Don’t worry.” you said quickly, but even to your own ears, the words felt hollow.

Joel's brow furrowed slightly, sensing the distance in your voice. He could see it in your eyes, the same unease, the same weight that had been there all night. Something was pulling at you, and he could feel the space growing between you both, even as you stood so close.

“I know you don’t like crowds,” he said, his voice softer now, as if trying to tread carefully around your thoughts. "But you don't have to be alone, not here."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. "I just... need to figure things out."

Joel turned his body to face you more fully, his expression open but intense. He wasn’t going to let you pull away from him, not now. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers along your arm, his touch warm against the chill of the evening.

"Hey," he said, his voice steady. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

You hesitated, glancing back at the tree. “About us. About how maybe it’s time for me to… move on. Find my own place here. I don’t want to be a burden to you anymore, Joel. You’ve done so much for me already-”

His jaw tightened, and before you could finish, he cut you off. “Stop.”

You blinked, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I think it’s time we go our separate ways," you said softly.

Joel froze, the words slicing through the cold air. "What?"

You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You’ve done so much for me, Joel. You got me out of the QZ, kept me alive out there...but I know I’m just a burden. You don’t have to keep looking out for me. Tommy can find me another place."

He stared at you, stunned. "You think I’m tired of you?"

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Aren’t you?"

Joel closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands gripping your arms gently, but firmly enough to make you look at him. "No," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I ain’t tired of you. Not even close."

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his tone. "Joel, I just don’t want you to feel like-"

"Like what?" he interrupted, his jaw tightening. "Like you’re something I have to put up with? You aren’t. You’re the one thing that makes this goddamn world a little easier to stand. Don’t you dare think I’d ever want you gone."

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in. The way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in his life, made your heart ache.

"Joel?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why would you want me to stay? I don’t… I don’t bring anything to the table."

He exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over your sleeve. "You bring more than you’ll ever know. You keep me sane, keep me fighting. You’re the only thing in my life that feels right."

The lights from the Christmas tree flickered behind you, casting soft patterns across his face as his voice softened. "I need you, baby. And if you ever think about leaving again, you tell me first. I’ll set you straight."

You let out a shaky laugh. "You really mean that?"

Joel’s lips twitched into a faint, crooked smile. "Damn right, I mean it."

Before you could overthink it, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his torso. He held you close, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head.

Joel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands still resting on your arms. His eyes softened, a quiet intensity behind them that made your heart skip. The flickering glow of the Christmas lights reflected in his gaze, but it was the warmth in them that held you still.

He tilted his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re not going anywhere."

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as if asking for permission at first, as if testing the waters. The world seemed to stand still as his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb gently grazing your skin.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, carrying a quiet desperation that told you everything he couldn’t put into words. He was telling you that you were his world, that you were his, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze lock with yours, his breath mingling with the cold night air. His voice was rough, almost a whisper. "You understand now? I don’t just want you here. I need you here. With me. We are a team."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you smiled, your hands resting against his chest. "Okay, I promise I won’t go away from you.”

He closed his eyes briefly, relief washing over his face, before pressing another kiss to your forehead. Then, he went all over for your lips again, this time deeper, as if he wanted to imprint this moment on his heart forever. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you closer, while his other arm wrapped securely around your waist.

You melted into him, your fingers clutching his jacket as if to anchor yourself to the only steady thing in your chaotic world. The cold air nipped at your skin, but you barely noticed, lost in the warmth of his skin, of his presence, on the way his lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go.

When the kiss broke, you both stayed close, breaths mingling in the frosty air. His thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze soft yet unreadable.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “let’s get you back inside before you freeze.”

You nodded, but your hand found his, intertwining your fingers as he led you to the house. The walk was silent, but the tension between you was electric.

Inside the house, the fire burned the room dimly lit by the soft orange glow of the embers between the both of you. Joel shut the door behind you, his eyes lingering on you as you removed your coat. There was no space for words now, just the unspoken language that pull you back to him.

He crossed the room in two strides, his hands finding your waist, his lips meeting yours again with a quiet urgency. You let him guide you toward the bed, his touches careful, his gaze searching yours for permission every step of the way.

You gave it to him, silently, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips that almost felt like they burn, his breath hitched, but he didn’t stop, he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him with those puppy eyes that made him feel like he was your biggest treasure.

That night, the world outside didn’t exist anymore. It was just you and Joel, tangled together beneath the blankets, your mingled warmth chasing away the cold. Every touch, every kiss, every whisper of his name felt like a promise you didn't dare break.

Later that night, the room was dim, only the crackling of the fire providing light. You could feel his breath on your skin, slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you, every moment with you leaded to this and his hands moved with a gentleness that surprised you, as if he was treating you like something fragile, precious he has promised himself he would protect.

But there was nothing fragile about the way you felt. With him, there was strength, a connection that ran deeper than anything you could put into words. You felt it in the way he held you, in the way his body responded to yours. It was raw, but it was also tender, and that combination left you breathless.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. You wanted to show him how much he meant to you; how much you needed him in this moment.

Joel’s lips found yours again, but this time, the kiss was slower, more conscious. It was a silent plea, an exchange of everything you couldn’t say aloud. You didn’t need words. You had each other, and that was all that mattered.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short, soft bursts. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, a faint hint of concern threading through his words.

You nodded, your hands slipping into his hair, tugging him back down to you. “I’m more than okay,” you whispered, taking his lips on yours again.

But Joel’s voice broke the kiss as he pulled away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips before he stood, turning toward the small table in the corner of the room. “I, uh... I got you something for Christmas,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, but there was something softer behind it.

You blinked, surprised. Christmas hadn’t really felt like Christmas since the outbreak, and you hadn’t expected anything, certainly not from him. As he turned his back to you, his broad shoulders and his muscles in his bare back caught your attention. He was a picture of raw strength, but in that moment, you saw something else in him, vulnerability, tenderness, and a depth of care you hadn’t expected from the man who had carried so much loss during his life.

Your chest tightened as a strange, overwhelming sense of clarity washed over you. It was like everything had all led to this. To this moment, with him. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need a world full of certainty or things that made sense. With Joel, every simply made sense.

He reached for something on the table, a small wrapped box that was too carefully wrapped. His fingers lingered on the edges of the paper before he turned back toward you. His expression was unreadable, though there was a small, almost shy smile on his lips.

He stepped toward you, the firelight casting a warm glow on his face, illuminating the lines and scars on his temple. When he stopped in front of you, he held the gift out, his eyes meeting yours, softly “It ain’t much,” he muttered, “but I thought... I thought you deserved it. I got a while ago but since we’re here and we can celebrate Christmas again, I feel like I can give It to you.”

You took the small box from his hands, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your heart skipped a beat as you met his eyes, seeing the love in them, the thought behind his gesture. It was so simple, so genuine, that it took your breath away.

You slowly unwrapped the box, your hands trembling just slightly as the soft paper fell away. Inside was a delicate silver necklace, the pendant a small, simple heart with intricate engravings along its edges. It caught the firelight, glimmering softly, and something inside you fluttered as you held it in your palm.

Joel watched you, his gaze soft but intense. He seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for your reaction. You could tell it meant something to him, something more than just the gift itself.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotions from flooding your voice. “Joel...” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edges of the pendant. “It’s beautiful.”

His face softened, the corners of his mouth curling into a quiet smile. “I saw it a while ago,” he said, his voice low, almost uncertain. “Thought you might like it. And... I didn’t know when the right time was, but I guess now felt right. This... this is for you to carry me with yoy everywhere you go.”

You felt the warmth of his words seep into you, settling in your chest as your heart pounded. This wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was a symbol of the quiet love he had for you, the love that had been building ever since you had met in the ruins of the world.

Your eyes lifted from the necklace to his, you cupped his jaw, feeling his breath catch as your lips met his again, soft at first, but deepening as the world around you seemed once more. It was just the two of you, lost in each other, breathing each other in.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your chest heaving with the emotions swirling inside you. “I didn’t get you anything,” you murmured, the guilt creeping into your voice.

Joel’s hand brushed through your hair; the soft gesture meant to comfort you. His eyes met yours, the warmth in them determined. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, but then he leaned in, his voice softer this time, laced with something tender. “But, uh... Can I call you love?”

His question caught you by surprise, but it also made your heart skip. The simple, honest sincerity in his eyes made your chest ache with affection.

“Love?” you echoed, testing the word in your lips. It felt strange and foreign, but in his presence, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He nodded, his gaze earnest. “Yeah. If that’s alright. That would be a gift for me, for now” he clarified, smiling at you.

You felt the warmth of his words wrap around you, making your heart flutter with a mix of emotions. The sincerity in his eyes made the world feel smaller, like everything was finally making sense.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you gazed up at him. “You can call me love.”

A smile stretched across Joel's face, his eyes softening with joy. He leaned in again, this time his lips capturing yours with a tenderness that made everything feel right. The kiss was deep, filled with the promise yet to be written, and as you pulled away, your heart ached with a love that had been growing between you, unspoken, until now.

Joel gently guided you back onto the bed, his hands roaming over your body with a careful urgency. You felt his warmth radiating from his body as he settled beside you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire, but in that silence, everything spoke.

You pressed your cheek to his chest, your hand splayed across the warmth of his skin, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. It was a beating you could now call yours, a melody that you caused.

“Merry Christmas to me, then, I guess,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection as he pulled you closer. His body felt like a shield, protecting you from everything that had ever threatened to tear you down.

You smiled, nestling into him even more, your own fingers tracing patterns along his skin. “Merry Christmas, baby.” you whispered back, feeling more alive, more complete than you had in years.

In the quiet darkness of the room, wrapped in his arms, with the world outside frozen in time, you knew this was where you were meant to be.

And that was enough. The world could wait. Tonight, it was just the two of you.

[vibelladonna]

𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈'𝓈 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝜗𝜚 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒!

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

This Christmas special was inspired by Valentine's Special [2nd Love Interest] by @fantasia-kitt (the creator!)

For this Christmas, I decided to write this fanfic while running errands with family for the holidays, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes. 

I was thinking about writing something for New Year’s Eve, like a party fic, but I feel like this Christmas special is enough for now while I take a short break and catch up on some upcoming projects (three of them with deep plotlines!).  Also, this ties in with Tkatb’s 1st anniversary, which was yesterday, the 23rd! I’m super proud of how far this little game has come.

And yes, I saw the update on the plans and progress. It looks like I might start working on some of my other favorite fandoms since the game will be on hold until the major update! I’ll still be keeping an eye on the progress as a Soulmate on Patreon, and you can always ask for a fanfic if you’d like! I’ll be responding to the messages in my ask box soon!

Anyway, happy reading! Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season!

The crisp, cool December air wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, the kind that reminded you of winter's quiet power. You stepped out of the lecture hall, your final class a fading echo behind you. 

The world, for a moment, felt as if it had been held in stasis: college was finally behind you, and relief surged through your veins like a slow, satisfying exhale.

You almost burst out laughing at the thought. Thank God that's fucking over. It totally drained you, and ate away at your insides until you felt there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. But then, as it all started to sink in, this weird emptiness crept up, like that quiet moment right before a storm hit.

The goodbyes, those last waves, and parting words were still stuck in your chest, kinda just out of reach, weighing on you like you were still tied to something that wasn’t done.  

Then your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You looked down at the screen and spotted Brittney’s name.

— Brittney: REMINDER! Gift exchange on Christmas Eve, my place at 7! Don’t be late, or you’ll owe me extra cookies.

You scoffed and let out a soft chuckle. Brittney had this incredible thing for making demands with a level of authority that was, somehow, oddly charming. As much as you rolled your eyes at her, you couldn’t deny that her quirks always brought a smile to your face. Still, as your gaze flicked back to the message, a groan bubbled up in your chest. You scrolled back through her earlier messages to confirm what you already knew. 

"Great," you muttered under your breath. Brittney had really gone all out this year, assigning everyone a specific person to shop for, and, of course, you ended up with Crowe. 

You exhaled, frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him—he was one of your closest friends—but trying to find a gift for someone who had everything felt like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. You could almost hear his voice in your head, teasing, cutting through whatever you picked out: “Really? This is what you think of me?” Of course, he’d never say anything like that—but what if he didn’t like it? What if he hated whatever you got him? The thought twisted uncomfortably in your chest.

You shook your head and continued walking toward the bus stop, the weight of the decision hanging over you. Simple wouldn’t cut it, but anything too over the top would make him throw a sarcastic comment at it. You had to find something that hit that sweet spot—the kind of gift that felt thoughtful without making him retreat into one of his jokes.

As if your thoughts weren’t already tangled enough, your phone buzzed again. You hesitated, almost instinctively glancing down. 

— Hyugo: Hey, what are you doing Christmas Eve? Sol and I are planning to check out the lights walk at the park. You should come!

A smile tugged at your lips. Typical Hyugo—direct, unfiltered, full of energy. His message was as breezy as his personality. And then there was Sol’s name, and that grin only deepened. The two of them together were a comedy show on legs—Sol’s quiet balance countering Hyugo’s endless whirlwind of ideas and antics. 

You stood still, fingers hovering over the screen. Christmas Eve. 

Oh no… For a moment, the thought of walking through the park with them, bathed in twinkling lights, was tempting. It would be the perfect kind of distraction, a night filled with laughter, just as you’d imagine. You pictured Hyugo pulling you and Sol into whatever wild antics he’d planned, Sol trying (and failing) to keep everything in check with his usual, resigned eye rolls.

But then, as your thumb hovered over the screen, your thoughts drifted back to Crowe. 

Last week, in the group chat, Crowe had mentioned something cryptic about "making big plans" for the holiday. He’d shrugged it off when Brittney pressed for details, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he had something in mind that involved the whole group. You felt the weight of his words in your mind. Would it be weird to bail on him now? 

You sighed, tucking your phone into your pocket as the bus stop loomed closer. 

"Why is it never simple with these friend groups?" you muttered under your breath.

Now, you had two conflicting decisions on your hands: find the perfect gift for Crowe, and decide whether you were spending Christmas Eve with him and his friends or tagging along with Hyugo and Sol on their sparkling adventure.

Your mind raced with the uncertainty, and the thought of making the "right" choice felt more elusive than ever.

The mall was buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy only the holiday season could bring—families weaving in and out of stores, the sound of Christmas music drifting from every corner, and glittering displays of tinsel and fairy lights winking at you from every window.

You hadn’t stepped foot in a mall in ages—mostly sticking to the convenience of online shopping and the hunts of thrift stores—but here you were, begrudgingly dragging Brittney along in your quest for the perfect gift for Crowe. 

“I still don’t get why you’re this stressed about it,” Brittney said, effortlessly balancing a caramel macchiato in one hand while gesturing with the other as she walked beside you. “It’s Jericho. He’ll probably be smiling no matter what you give him. Honestly, wrap up a rock, and he’ll love it anyway.”

You let out a long, drawn-out groan, clutching your coat tighter as you passed yet another store that screamed not Crowe enough. “That’s exactly why it’s stressful! If I give him something random, he’ll think I didn’t put any thought into it. And if it’s too thoughtful—well, you know how he gets.”

Brittney raised an eyebrow, her heels clicking against the tile floor like the beat of a very judgmental drum. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. But fine, we’ll find him something perfect.” She paused dramatically, then grinned like the cat who’d just caught the canary. “Right after we fix this.”

She motioned toward you like you were a mannequin in need of serious intervention. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, already dreading whatever plan she was about to hatch.

“Oh, come on,” she said, practically yanking your arm as she steered you toward a clothing store. “You cannot show up to my place tomorrow night wearing your same old flare jeans-and-sweater combo in dull colors. It’s festive! It’s Christmas! You need to bring your A-game.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a small get-together,” you protested, resisting her tug.

“It is. Small but fabulous. Which is why I, as your friend, am going to make sure you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed.” She pulled a sequined dress from a nearby rack with the kind of flourish reserved for Broadway stars. “What do we think? Too much?”

You stared at the dress in horror. It was so sparkly it could probably be seen from space. You shot her a flat look. “If I wear that, Crowe will definitely never let me live it down.”

“Fine, fine,” Brittney said, laughing and tossing the dress back on the rack with the grace of a fashionista throwing a tantrum. “But you’ve got to admit, you’d turn heads.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as she tossed another, more reasonable outfit your way.

After what felt like an eternity—and after Brittney vetoed every “boring” outfit you tried to pick—finally, you emerged from the dressing room with a pretty outfit, you both agreed with. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Brittney said, clapping her hands in approval. “Chic, confident, and just a little bit mysterious. You’re welcome.”

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head. “I guess it’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” she repeated, feigning offense. “Please, you look amazing. Crowe is going to have his jaw on the floor.”

You shot her a look, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “Why are you bringing him into this?”

Brittney smirked knowingly. “Oh, please. Like you don’t know.” 

You rolled your eyes, but her grin was infectious, and you couldn’t suppress the smallest of smiles.

After leaving the clothing store—with Brittney carrying your new outfit like it was her triumph—you wandered into a cozy little shop filled with knick-knacks and handcrafted items. It had that eclectic, artsy vibe that immediately made you think of Crowe.  

Brittney was busy examining a shelf of scented candles when she asked casually, “So, do you ever think about dating?” You froze, nearly dropping the ceramic figurine you were holding. “Excuse me? Where did that come from?”  

“I mean, it’s the holidays,” she said, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Romance is in the air. And you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with a certain pair of guys.”  

Your stomach flipped. “Brittney...”  

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning against the shelf with a teasing grin. “It’s Jericho, isn’t it? Or wait—maybe that dude with the green streaks in his hair?” She paused, thinking, “What’s his name again…?” She asked. You rolled your eyes, “Sol.” 

“Right, the quiet one that likes to draw…” She mentioned, “So? The prince or the artist?”  

You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Sol, with his warm, easy-going nature, always made you feel like you could be yourself. But Crowe... Crowe had a way of drawing you in, his sharp wit and creativity sparking something you couldn’t quite name.  

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Brittney’s expression softened, her teasing giving way to genuine curiosity. “Hey, no pressure. I just think... whoever you pick, they’re lucky to have you.”  

As you walked through the mall, still thinking about her words, you stumbled upon something that made you stop in your tracks.  

It was a gorgeous, handcrafted music box, intricately carved with a winter scene. You’d seen it before on display, months ago, and fallen in love with it. But the price tag had always kept it just out of reach. You’d told yourself it wasn’t practical—your money had to go toward rent, groceries, and textbooks, not something so frivolous.  

Yet here it was, glimmering in the soft light as if waiting for you.  

“What’s that?” Brittney asked, peeking over your shoulder.  

You swallowed hard. “It’s... something I’ve wanted for a while. But it’s too expensive.”  

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at you, then back at the music box. “Maybe it’s time to treat yourself for once. It’s Christmas, after all.”  

You shook your head, stepping away reluctantly. “I can’t. I need to stick to my budget.”  

Brittney frowned but didn’t push. Instead, she linked her arm with yours and said, “All right, let’s go. We’ve still got to find gifts.”  

By the time you left the mall, you were exhausted but triumphant. You’d found the perfect gifts—Brittney had, of course, insisted on adding a bow to each package.  

With the gifts secured, you headed home, your thoughts kept drifting back to the music box—and to the question, you couldn’t quite answer. Crowe or Sol?  

Standing in front of your mirror, you smoothed the soft fabric of the outfit Brittney had picked out for you—a cozy yet stylish off-shoulder sweater black sweater dress paired with maroon tights, and a matching bow that sits on your nightstand.

It fit perfectly, hitting all the curves, and you had to admit, Brittney had an annoyingly good eye. When she handed you the bag earlier, she had waved away your protests with a grin.  

“Think of it as a gift,” she’d said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I had no clue what to get you anyway, so this counts. You’re welcome.”  

You laughed at the memory as you reached for the maroon bow. It was a small, thoughtful gesture from her, but it carried more weight than she probably realized. Brittney always had a way of showing her care through actions, even if she hid it behind sarcasm.  

Your gaze shifted to your phone on the dresser, the screen still lit up with Hyugo’s text. You tapped your nails on the dresser, reading the message again and again. The idea of strolling under the glowing canopy of Christmas lights was tempting. Hyugo’s steady, dependable presence had always been a source of comfort, and Sol...  

Your chest tightened slightly at the thought of Sol. He wasn’t the loudest or the most expressive, but he had a quiet way of showing he cared. Whether it was walking on the side of the road closest to traffic or remembering your favorite snacks when you studied late, Sol went out of his way to protect you in the subtlest ways.  

But then there was Crowe.  

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, sighing softly as you adjusted the collar of your sweater dress. Crowe was the opposite of Sol in many ways—charismatic, quick-witted, and always so present. He had a way of being there when you needed him most, whether it was cracking a joke to pull you out of a bad mood or reminding you to take care of yourself when you pushed too hard. Crowe didn’t just care about you; he saw you.  

Your brush stilled in your hand as your thoughts tangled. Sol, with his quiet strength and unspoken devotion, versus Crowe, whose vibrant energy and unwavering support had become a constant in your life. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt torn like this, but tonight, with everything hanging in the air, the question loomed larger than ever.  

You placed the brush down and reached for your phone. Your thumb hovered over the screen, Hyugo’s text still unanswered.  

The truth was, both options held their kind of magic. You could picture yourself with Sol and Hyugo, laughing as Sol attempted to grab a runaway balloon from a vendor at the Christmas lights. But you could also imagine spending the night with Crowe and the rest of the group, his familiar presence anchoring you as the chaos of the party swirled around you, perhaps playing games and catching up. 

Would Crowe be disappointed if you didn’t go?  

You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a moment as you let out a long breath. There wasn’t a perfect answer, and no amount of overthinking would make the choice any easier. Finally, you set the phone down with a soft thud and looked back at your reflection.  

“Just go with your gut,” you murmured to yourself.  

As you adjusted your clothes in the minor one last time, you headed to your living room. You put on your leather boots, then grabbed your coat, and you made your way toward the door. No matter what decision you made tonight, you knew one thing for certain: the holidays weren’t about the lights, the gifts, or even the plans—they were about the people who mattered most to you.  

And whether that person was Crowe or Sol... maybe the night would help you figure that out.  

If you picked Crowe!

You stood in front of your front door, staring at your phone screen as your thumb hovered over the keyboard. Hyugo’s invitation sat open on your messaging app, the words staring back at you like a challenge.  

Spending Christmas Eve with him and Sol sounded wonderful. The idea of walking under glowing lights, sharing laughter and stories, and basking in the quiet warmth of their presence was so tempting. You could already picture Sol’s quiet, steady energy and Hyugo’s easygoing humor, balancing each other out like always.  

But then there was Brittney’s party. She had been planning it for weeks, texting in all caps about the details and how “NO ONE was allowed to skip out unless they wanted to face my WRATH.” And Crowe… well, Crowe had been unusually involved in the group chat about the exchange. You could sense his subtle excitement, even though he’d never admit it outright.  

Your heartfelt caught between two equally important choices. One evening with Hyugo and Sol would mean stepping away from the rest of your friends, missing out on the little traditions that had brought you all closer. And yet, declining Hyugo’s invitation felt like a lost chance to make a special memory with him and Sol.  

Biting your lip, you finally typed out a reply, your fingers moving hesitantly:  

— You: I’d love to, but my friends already planned something. Maybe next time?  

You stared at the message for another moment before pressing send, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.  

It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed with Hyugo’s response:  

— Hyugo: Got it. Have fun!  

You smiled softly at the screen, some of the tension in your chest easing. Hyugo was always so understanding—steady and reliable, no matter the situation. But before you could set your phone down, it buzzed again.  

The name flashing on the screen made your stomach flip.  

Sol.  

You hesitated for a beat before answering. “Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light despite the sudden tightness in your throat.  

“Hey,” he replied, his voice calm but noticeably quieter than usual. “I just wanted to check... So, you’re not coming tonight?”  

Your chest tightened further at the faint thread of disappointment in his tone. “I’m really sorry, Sol,” you said, sighing softly. “I already have plans with others friends. I don’t want to bail on them.”  

There was a pause, long enough for your heart to sink. When Sol spoke again, his words were careful, and understanding, but there was no hiding the sadness that laced his tone. “It’s okay. I get it. Maybe we can hang out another time.”  

The lump in your throat grew heavier. “We definitely will,” you promised quickly, wishing you could say something to lighten the weight you could feel in his words.  

In the background, you heard Hyugo’s voice. “Is that them? Gimme the phone.”  

There was a rustling sound before Hyugo’s familiar warmth came through the line. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said with an easy chuckle. “We’ll survive without you. But next time, no excuses, okay?”  

The lightheartedness in his tone made your shoulders relax slightly. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, relieved by his usual charm. “Thanks, Hyugo. Have fun tonight, okay?”  

“You too!” he teased before adding, “And try not to let your friends drag you into too much chaos. See you soon.”  

The line clicked, leaving you standing in the quiet entryway of your apartment. You lowered the phone slowly, staring at it for a moment longer as an ache settled in your chest. Sol’s voice lingered in your mind, soft and careful, and you couldn’t help but wish things could have been different.  

But tonight, you reminded yourself, was about being with the others, about keeping the traditions you’d built with them alive. With a deep breath, you slipped your phone into your pocket and grabbed your coat, stepping into the night air with a mixture of anticipation and bittersweet longing swirling in your heart.  

The evening of the party arrived, and as you approached Brittney’s house, the warmth and energy of the gathering spilled out onto the deck porch. Golden light glowed from the windows, the cheerful hum of music and laughter drifting into the chilly December air. You paused for a moment at the door, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you gathered your thoughts.  

With a steadying breath, you knocked. A moment later, the door swung open, and there was Brittney, her face lighting up with her signature, effervescent grin.  

“Finally! I thought you’d never get here,” she said, already reaching to help you with your coat.  

“Sorry, I was—”  

“Fashionably late,” she interrupted, her eyes scanning your outfit. A satisfied hum escaped her lips as she appraised you. “Now this is what I’m talking about. You’re stunning.”  

You laughed softly, slipping out of your coat to reveal the gorgeous outfit Brittney had insisted on picking for you—a soft black off the shoulder dressed, paired with maroon tights with an matching bow that made you feel both elegant and confident. She handed you a pair of house shoes, the ones you knew she kept around for occasions like this.  

“I feel like I’m overdressed,” you said lightly, but Brittney shook her head, waving a dismissive hand.  

“Overdressed? Please. It’s Christmas. You’re perfect.”  

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the cheerful din behind her.  

“Hey, you made it.”  

Your gaze shifted, and there stood Crowe. For a moment, you simply stared, taking him in. He wore an azure button-up shirt, paired with a black vest that complemented his rich brown skin, the deep hue drawing out the warm tones of his deep blue eyes. A sapphire brooch glinted at the center of a meticulously tied black bow around his collar, and his long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, tied back with a matching azure ribbon.  

In his hands, he held a small bouquet of blue irises.  

Your breath caught, and as he stepped closer, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his outfit . “Wow,” you murmured. “You look... princely.”  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk faltering as a flicker of warmth crossed his expression. “And you look...” He paused, his gaze lingering on you before softening. “Really beautiful.”  

“Only tonight?” you teased, raising an eyebrow and tilting your head.  

His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words, flustered in a way you didn’t see often. “No, I mean—you look beautiful every day, but tonight you just—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish laugh escaped him.  

You both burst into laughter, the tension easing in an instant. Brittney rolled her eyes dramatically, patting Crowe’s shoulder as she passed. “Well, my work here is done,” she said, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. “Don’t mess this up, princeling.”  

As Brittney disappeared back to the living room, leaving you and Crowe in the hallway. He turned his attention back to you, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you,” he said simply.  

You took the flowers carefully, the soft petals brushing your fingertips. Your eyes widened slightly as you studied the blooms. “Blue irises,” you said, your voice thoughtful. “They’re beautiful.”  

He tilted his head, his smirk returning. “I thought you’d like them. They’re supposed to mean hope and trust—or something like that.”  

“And wisdom,” you added, looking up at him with a smile. “The iris has been associated with wisdom and truth because of the Greek goddess Iris, who was a messenger for Zeus and Hera. And nobility, too—it’s been connected to royalty throughout history.”  

Crowe’s brow lifted, clearly impressed. “Well, aren’t you just a walking encyclopedia?”  

You grinned. “Maybe. But you picked well. Thank you.”  

The warmth in his gaze deepened, and for a moment, it felt like the noise of the party faded away.  

“You’re welcome,” he said softly.  

Soon the room was buzzing with anticipation as the gift exchange began. Brittney, playing hostess to perfection, had everyone seated in a loose circle, with the mountain of brightly wrapped presents taking center stage. You were perched on the edge of a couch, trying to calm the slight flutter in your chest as the turn order worked its way closer to Crowe.  

When his name was finally called, he shot to his feet with his usual flair, bowing dramatically as the room cheered. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, waving his hand like a performer accepting applause. “But this isn’t about me—it’s about you all witnessing the unveiling of my superior gift-giving skills.”  

Brittney rolled her eyes. “Just get on with it, princeling.”  

Crowe smirked at her before his gaze flicked to you. A mischievous glint lit his deep blue eyes as he strode toward you, a carefully curated basket in his hands. He stopped in front of you, his grin softening into something a little more sincere.  

“This one’s for you,” he said, holding the basket out with a slight flourish.  

You blinked, surprised as you took the basket from him. “For me?”  

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Well, yeah. You’re hard to shop for, so don’t judge me too harshly, okay?”  

You set the basket on your lap and began pulling back the tissue paper, and your eyes widened as you took in the contents. Inside were all your favorite things—snacks you couldn’t resist, small trinkets in your favorite color, and even a notebook that perfectly matched your aesthetic.  

“Crowe...” you murmured, already feeling a warmth spreading in your chest. But as you moved the tissue paper aside further, your gaze landed on something at the center that made your breath hitch—a beautifully crafted music box.  

“You...” You looked up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Crowe shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of nervousness. “I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re always saying you have everything you need, and every time I offer to get you something, you turn me down like I’m trying to buy your soul or something.”  

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile. “So, I figured I’d just... cover all my bases. You know, a little bit of everything. And, uh... I remembered how much you like little tunes and stuff, so...” He motioned awkwardly to the music box, looking anywhere but directly at you.  

Your chest tightened as a wave of emotion swept over you. The thoughtfulness behind the gift—the way he’d paid attention to all the little details about you—left you speechless. Without thinking, you stood up, leaned toward him, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.  

“Thank you, Crowe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.  

For a moment, Crowe froze, his eyes wide as the room erupted into a chorus of whistles and teasing laughter. His hand flew to his cheek, and the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of red.  

“Well, well, well,” Brittney said loudly, holding up her phone and snapping a picture. “Looks like Crowe’s the real winner tonight.”  

Crowe groaned, glaring playfully at her. “Don’t you have a party to host or something?”  

Brittney smirked. “This is hosting. Carry on, lovebirds.”  

The teasing didn’t stop there. Someone shouted, “How about a speech, Crowe?!” and someone else chimed in with, “Yeah, tell us how it feels to win Christmas!”  

Crowe sighed dramatically, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed how much he appreciated the attention. “It feels like... a conspiracy,” he quipped, shooting you a quick, fond glance.  

As the laughter died down and the gift exchange continued, you found yourself clutching the basket tightly. You caught Crowe looking at you a few times, and each time, he offered a soft, almost shy smile.  

As the night wore on, the room buzzed with laughter and excitement. You sat quietly, watching the group banter back and forth, their camaraderie filling the space with a warmth that rivaled the glow of the twinkling fairy lights strung across the walls. Brittney flitted from group to group, her laughter ringing out as she teased someone about their gift-wrapping skills. Crowe’s voice cut through the chatter every so often, his witty remarks earning groans and snickers alike.  

You smiled at their antics, but the warmth in your chest was tinged with a bittersweet ache. The ease with which they all interacted—the history they shared—sometimes made you feel like an outsider, no matter how much they cared for you. You still felt new. You blinked quickly, willing away the sting in your eyes, but the knot in your throat tightened, looking down at your hands.

A quiet voice broke through your thoughts.  

“Hey.”  

You looked up to find Crowe standing beside you, his brow furrowed, concern softening his usually playful expression. He crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.  

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low so only you could hear.  

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile as you wiped at your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I just need some fresh air.”  

He didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he held out a hand, helping you up. “Come on,” he said softly, guiding you toward the door.  

Outside, the crisp night air greeted you, sharp and refreshing against your skin. The muffled sounds of music and laughter from inside felt distant now, replaced by the soft rustling of trees and the faint twinkle of stars overhead.  

You leaned against the railing of the porch, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a deep breath. When you opened them again, Crowe was watching you, his expression unreadable.  

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. Crowe noticed immediately, his brow knitting in concern. Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief.  

He stepped closer, his movements gentle as he raised the handkerchief to your cheek, wiping the tear away. His touch was warm and deliberate, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.  

The tenderness of the gesture caught you off guard, and when he realized how close he was, his hand faltered. “Sorry, I—”  

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as a small, shaky breath escaped you. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.  

His hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled back, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly.  

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a while, the cool night air brushing against your faces. Eventually, Crowe leaned against the railing beside you, his arm brushing yours as he tilted his head back to look at the sky.  

“Do you know much about constellations?” he asked, his tone lighter now.  

You glanced at him, grateful for the change in mood. “A little. Why?”  

He pointed upward, his hand tracing the shape of a cluster of stars. “That one right there—that’s Cassiopeia. The queen who bragged about how beautiful she was and got herself in trouble with the gods.”  

You laughed softly. “Sounds like someone I know.”  

Crowe gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know, I am humble to a fault.”  

“Sure, princeling,” you teased, nudging him gently with your shoulder.  

He grinned, his gaze drifting back to the stars. “Anyway, you’re more like Andromeda. You know, the princess who was chained to a rock but ended up becoming a constellation. Quiet strength, endless beauty... and the kind of person you can’t help but notice.”  

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, and when you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you, warm and sincere.  

“I...” You hesitated, your emotions threatening to spill over again. But instead of speaking, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small box.  

“I almost forgot,” you said, your voice steadying. “This is for you.”  

Crowe blinked, surprised, as he took the box from your hands. When he opened it, his expression softened even further. Inside were two matching necklaces, one in gold and one in silver, with interlocking stars at the center.  

“They fit together,” you explained, taking the gold one and clipping it around his neck. “Yours is gold and mine’s silver. I thought...” You hesitated again, suddenly shy. “I thought it’d be a nice reminder.”  

Crowe’s fingers brushed the charm, his gaze flicking between the necklace and you. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice low. “Thank you.”  

The two of you stood close, the distance between you barely enough to breathe, yet it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. Your hands brushed as you admired the matching necklaces, an unspoken connection flickering between the two of you. Crowe’s lips parted, as if he was about to say something, but then he suddenly laughed, his eyes catching something in the distance.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, your head tilting curiously, the soft flicker of the holiday lights casting a warm glow on your face.

He pointed upward, his eyes mischievous. “You didn’t notice?”

Following his gaze, your eyes landed on a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above you, its green leaves almost glowing under the lights. The realization hit you, and heat surged to your cheeks, a soft flush spreading across your skin. You looked back at him, your heart suddenly racing, and found him raising his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into that knowing smile of his.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his tone playful but edged with something deeper, like he was daring you to take the plunge. “It’s just a belief, you know—.”

But you didn’t let him finish. Without a second thought, you stepped closer, closing the gap between you until you were mere inches apart. Your fingers gently cupped his cheek, and as his breath hitched, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was electric. Crowe froze for the briefest of seconds, as if surprised by your sudden boldness, but then he melted into it, his hands settling onto your waist, his touch firm yet careful. The world around you seemed to vanish, the only thing that existed was the sensation of his lips against yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. It was soft, tender, but there was an intensity to it—like a fire that had been smoldering, just waiting for the right moment to ignite.

His lips moved against yours, slow at first, savoring the closeness. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the way his chest pressed gently against yours. You pulled him in closer, your hands tangling in the fabric of his jacket, as though afraid that if you let go, the moment would slip away. His body was pressed against yours now, his chest flush against yours, his strong arms securing you in place, as if to make sure you didn’t fall.

When you finally pulled back, the air between you seemed charged, crackling with unspoken words. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, deeply in love and warm with something that made your heart race. He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips, his voice low and tender when he finally spoke.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he whispered, his words almost lost in the space between your lips. His hand remained at the small of your back, holding you close, his fingers warm against your skin.

Before you could even process the weight of his words, a loud voice broke through the fragile moment.

“Got it!” Brittney crowed from the window, waving her phone triumphantly as if she had just captured a moment of great importance.

You groaned, your face immediately hiding in your hands, embarrassed, but Crowe just laughed, the sound warm and carefree, his arm effortlessly wrapping around your shoulders.

“Let them watch,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer, his breath tickling your ear. “I don’t care.”

And for the first time that night, as his arm pulled you tighter against him, you didn’t care either.

If you picked Sol!

You stood motionless, phone resting in your hand, as you stared at the glowing screen.  

— You: I’d love to come. When should I meet you?  

Hyugo’s response came almost immediately.  

— Hyugo: 6:30 at the park entrance. Can’t wait!  

A small smile tugged at your lips, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You knew tonight would be special; Hyugo and Sol had a way of making even the simplest outings unforgettable. But as your gaze drifted to Crowe’s name in your contacts, the smile faded.  

Crowe.

He deserved to know you wouldn’t be there. You owed him that much.  

Your thumb hovered over the call button, hesitating as a pang of guilt settled in your chest. This wasn’t an easy decision, but you couldn’t be everywhere at once. Taking a steadying breath, you pressed the button and lifted the phone to your ear.  

The line rang twice before Crowe answered, his familiar voice as warm and teasing as ever. “Hey, what’s up? Please don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me for tonight.”  

A soft laugh escaped you, but the guilt in your tone was unmistakable. “Not exactly chickening out, but... I can’t make it. I have other plans.”  

The silence that followed stretched long enough to make your chest tighten. You checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped, but then Crowe’s voice returned, quieter now.  

“Oh. I see. Well, that’s okay. I mean, we’ll miss you, but it’s not Christmas without options, right?”  

His attempt at lightness only deepened the ache in your heart. You could hear the subtle disappointment beneath his words, even if he was trying to hide it.  

“I’m sorry, Crowe,” you said softly. “I really hope you have a great time. Merry Christmas.”  

He chuckled lightly, though the usual energy in his laugh wasn’t there. “Yeah, you too. Take care, okay?”  

When the call ended, you stared at the blank screen for a moment, the weight of your choice pressing on you. Crowe’s voice lingered in your mind, and for a fleeting second, you almost reconsidered. But tonight was about something different—something you couldn’t quite name yet.  

Later that evening, you arrived at the park entrance, the crisp night air nipping at your cheeks as the scent of pine and roasted chestnuts filled the air. Strings of twinkling lights turned the trees into glowing sculptures, and the cheerful hum of holiday music mingled with the sound of children laughing and families chatting.  

Your breath puffed in the cold air as you scanned the crowd. It didn’t take long to spot Hyugo leaning against a lamppost, his tall frame relaxed and his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. He gave you a small wave, but it wasn’t Hyugo who drew your attention.  

A few steps away stood Sol.  

He was dressed impeccably, his white button-up shirt and green suit jacket tailored perfectly to his lean frame. The deep green of the jacket brought out the striking shade of his eyes, and his neatly styled ponytail only emphasized the sharp lines of his face. His bangs framed his expression, highlighting the glint of the piercings lining his ears.  

But it was the bouquet in his hands that truly caught your attention. A cluster of green roses, delicate and vibrant against the cold winter backdrop.  

Your heart skipped a beat as you walked toward him, your eyes widening. “Green roses,” you said softly, taking the bouquet from his hands with care. “They’re about life and growth. Hope, too.”  

Sol blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before his expression softened. A faint blush crept up his neck as he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah... I thought you’d like them.”  

You couldn’t help yourself. Without thinking, you leaned forward and hugged him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.  

Sol froze, his body going stiff as his blush deepened to an almost crimson hue. He stammered incoherently for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ground himself.  

“Well, this is already adorable,” Hyugo said, his calm voice laced with amusement as he walked up. “Thanks for officially making me the third wheel tonight.”  

You laughed, clutching the roses to your chest as you turned to Hyugo. “Don’t be so dramatic. Here, I have something for you.”  

Reaching into the small gift bag in your hand, you pulled out a silver katana necklace. Hyugo’s brows lifted as he took it, his fingers brushing the delicate chain.  

“Wow,” he said, holding it up to catch the light. “This is... really nice. Thanks!”  

“Only the best for you,” you teased, grinning as he slipped it on. The chain glinted under the lights, and he adjusted it with a satisfied nod.  

“Looks good on me, doesn’t it?” he said, striking a mock-serious pose.  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “It does. But let’s not let it go to your head, okay?”  

As the three of you began walking into the park, the weight of the earlier phone call began to ease. The twinkling lights, the crisp air, and the warmth of your friends’ presence all blended into a moment you wouldn’t forget.  

The world around you transformed into a glowing wonderland of twinkling lights. Strings of bulbs wound through the trees like cascading stars, and lanterns in festive shapes lined the paths. The air was filled with the sounds of cheerful laughter, holiday music, and the occasional jingling bell from a passing sleigh ride.  

Hyugo walked ahead, his easy stride and relaxed demeanor making him seem like he belonged in this magical setting. Occasionally, he pointed out displays, his commentary a mix of genuine appreciation and sarcastic humor.  

“See that?” he said, gesturing to a particularly gaudy reindeer display. “That’s exactly what my family’s yard looks like. Overachieving neighbors are a real thing.”  

You laughed, falling into step with Sol, who had remained quieter than usual. He walked beside you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets now that the bouquet was safely cradled in your arms. His reddish-orange eyes flitted between the lights and you, his expression thoughtful.  

“You okay back there, Sol?” Hyugo called over his shoulder, smirking. “You’re way too quiet. I’m starting to think the roses did all the talking for you.”  

Sol’s cheeks flushed again, but he managed a small smile. “I’m fine. Just... enjoying the view.” Hyugo snorted. “Yeah, sure you are.”  

You glanced up at Sol, catching the way his gaze lingered on you before darting away. Your heart skipped slightly, and you decided to give him a reprieve from Hyugo’s teasing. “The lights are beautiful,” you said softly, gesturing toward the canopy of stars above the path.  

Sol nodded, his voice equally quiet. “Yeah, they are.”  

The three of you continued along the winding path, pausing occasionally to take in the more elaborate displays—a massive tree covered in golden lights, an archway adorned with glittering ornaments, and a whimsical snowman family that had children running circles around it.  

Hyugo excused himself after spotting a nearby food stall. “I’m getting hot cocoa. Anyone want some?”  

You shook your head, and Sol muttered a soft, “No, thanks.”  

“Suit yourselves. I’ll be back in a bit,” Hyugo said with a casual wave, leaving you and Sol alone under the shimmering lights.  

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged with something unspoken. Sol glanced at you, his hands fidgeting slightly in his pockets.  

“You look really nice tonight,” he said suddenly, his voice shy but earnest.  

You turned to him, surprised. “Thank you. You do, too.”  

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he wasn’t sure how far to let it go. “I mean it,” he added, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “You always look nice, but tonight... I don’t know. You’re so pretty.”  

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you,” you said again, your voice softer this time.  

The lights overhead cast a soft glow on both of you, the world feeling smaller and quieter. Your thoughts began to wander, and a faint ache tugged at your chest.  

You’d spent so many Christmases surrounded by family, their familiar warmth and chaos filling every corner of your childhood home. This year was different. You’d made a life for yourself in the city and built relationships and traditions with your friends, but the distance from your family suddenly felt heavier than ever.  

Sol noticed the shift in your expression immediately. His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, stepping closer. “Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”  

You blinked quickly, realizing tears had started to well in your eyes. “Yeah,” you said, wiping at them with a quick smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking about home.”  

His concern deepened, and for a moment, he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Finally, he reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to miss them,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide it.”  

The warmth in his voice unraveled something inside you, and you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, Sol,” you murmured.  

A small smile returned to his face, and he pulled his hand back, letting the moment settle. After a few moments, you reached into your bag, a spark of excitement cutting through the heaviness in your chest. “Actually, I have something for you,” you said, pulling out a small box.  

Sol blinked in surprise, watching as you handed it to him. “What’s this?”  

“Open it,” you said with a grin.  

He carefully lifted the lid to reveal a miniature horse keychain, painted green and black to match his colors. Sol’s eyes widened, and a small, genuine smile spread across his face.  

“For me?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.  

You nodded. “And this one’s for me,” you added, pulling out a matching keychain—a small cat painted in your favorite colors. “Now we’ve got matching keychains. To think of each other, you know.”  

Sol stared at the tiny horse in his hands, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. “I love it,” he said finally, his voice quiet but full of emotion. “Thank you.”  

Before you could respond, Sol reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a neatly wrapped box. “I, uh... have something for you too,” he said, handing it over.  

You unwrapped it carefully, and your breath caught as the lid lifted to reveal the music box you’d been dreaming about for months.  

Tears sprang to your eyes again, but this time they were filled with pure joy. You couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. “Sol… how did you…?”

He stood there, his hands twitching nervously at his sides, the usual confidence he carried nowhere to be found. He took a tentative step closer, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your heart ache. “I remembered you talking about it once,” he said, his voice faltering, tinged with uncertainty. “I just thought you should have it.”

His words, the meaning behind them, hit you all at once. He was so thoughtful, so careful. But it was his panicked expression that really caught you off guard. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to comfort you or retreat, his green eyes wide with worry, silently questioning if he had done too much. “I—was this too much? I just thought you’d—”

You couldn’t bear to see him like that, unsure and vulnerable, so you stepped forward, closing the distance between you. Slowly, you rose up onto your toes, your hands resting gently on his broad shoulders, grounding yourself in his presence.

Before he could finish his thought, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, letting your emotions guide you. His breath hitched, and for a long moment, everything seemed to pause. The twinkling lights that decorated the trees, the distant laughter of other parkgoers, even the crisp winter air—all of it faded away, leaving only the heat of his skin and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat that somehow synced with yours.

Sol froze at first, his lips still under yours, as if his mind hadn’t caught up with what was happening. But slowly, you felt him relax into the kiss. His hands, unsure at first, settled lightly on your arms, and then, as if he was grounding himself in the moment, they tightened just slightly, pulling you in closer.

His touch was gentle, but you could feel the depth of his feelings in the way his fingers brushed against your skin—like he was afraid to let go, as if the moment might slip away if he did.

When you finally pulled back, the air around you felt charged, alive with the emotion you both had been holding back. Sol stood there, his wide eyes locked on you, his cheeks flushed so deeply that even the tips of his ears had turned a deep shade of red. His chest rose and fell quickly, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“I… uh…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, as if words had momentarily escaped him.

A soft laugh escaped you, breaking the intensity of the moment. You wiped away the lingering tears from your cheeks, trying to steady yourself. “Thank you, Sol,” you said, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling in your chest. “For everything. For the music box, for being here… for being you.”

Sol’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, but instead, all he managed was a shy, lopsided smile. The kind that made your heart flutter, as if his very soul was laid bare in that simple gesture.

You smiled back, your cheeks still flushed with warmth despite the winter chill, and there was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that made everything feel right, in a way you never expected.

“And for the record,” you added softly, your tone more serious now, “I care about you. So much.”

Sol’s smile deepened, and his eyes seemed to glow with a mixture of disbelief and quiet happiness. His voice, when it came, was so soft, so full of emotion, it felt like a secret meant just for you. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch warm and tender. “You’re the best muse I’ll ever have.”

His words hung in the air between you, and it felt like time itself had slowed down, each second stretching into eternity as you stood there, lost in the quiet connection you shared. The world, the winter, the chaos of everything else—it all melted away in that one moment, leaving only the feeling of his hands, his heart, and the soft glow of your shared affection.

Before either of you could say more, Hyugo’s voice cut through the tender moment, laced with amusement.  

“Well, I feel like I should leave you two lovebirds alone, but... I also don’t want to walk home alone, so…”  

The interruption made you laugh, the sound light and genuine as the heaviness in your chest fully lifted. Sol’s blush only deepened, and he looked down, scratching the back of his neck in his usual awkward fashion.  

Your hand found his instinctively, your fingers lacing together as you turned to face Hyugo. “You’re hopeless,” you called teasingly.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Hyugo said with a mock sigh. “Glad you’ve finally figured that out.”  

As the three of you continued along the path, Sol’s grip on your hand remained firm, his thumb brushing lightly against yours as though to reassure himself this wasn’t a dream. The lights above reflected in his eyes, making them shine like rubies against the backdrop of the winter evening.  

After a few moments of quiet, Sol glanced at you, his gaze steady but laced with a familiar shyness. “Thanks for being here,” he said, his voice low but full of meaning.  

You looked up at him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course. Where else would I be?”  

He hesitated for just a second, and then, with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, “…And I’m glad I didn’t have to shed any blood to win you over.”  

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him in mock disbelief before bursting into laughter. “What a charmer,” you said, shaking your head.  

Sol chuckled softly, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “What can I say? I aim to impress you alone.”  

The teasing gave way to a comfortable silence as the two of you continued walking, your hands still intertwined. The world around you felt warmer, and brighter, like the holiday lights above had found a way to settle into your chest and glow from the inside out.  

For the first time that night, you felt completely at peace, the bittersweet ache of the season replaced by something sweeter: the quiet, steadfast warmth of someone who cared for you deeply.  

You two reached Hyugo, who was waiting by another set of light displays with two steaming cups of cocoa in hand.

You couldn’t help but think that this chilly winter night had turned into something magical.  

The soft hum of your phone was the only sound in the stillness of your room, the faint light casting long shadows across the walls as you lay there, scrolling through the pictures from the night of Christmas Eve. Each image flickered before your eyes like a fragment of time—memories that felt both distant and vivid, frozen in the glow of your screen.

The liveliness of Crowe and his friends, the way their energy seemed to fill the room and make the night brighter. Or the warmth of the park, the laughter of Hyugo and Sol, their voices mingling with the cold December air. 

You felt an unexpected peace settle deep in your chest, a quiet kind of comfort.

College may have been over, for now, but something else had started to take root—connections that would stretch far beyond the walls of classrooms and lectures. Friendships that felt solid, steady, like something that might stand the test of time.

Just as you set the phone aside, your eyes began to flutter shut, your body sinking into the softness of the bed, drifting completely off to sleep.

Afterward, the soft sound at the window—a quiet rustle of fabric, the faintest click of the latch being undone. Then, a shadow moved across the room, sleek and fluid, dressed entirely in black. The figure moved with practiced ease, slipping silently through your window as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sol.

His silhouette was barely visible against the darkness, but you could feel the presence of his mischievous grin even before he stepped into the soft pool of light in your room. He was quick, and efficient as if he had done this a hundred times before, and yet there was something undeniably thoughtful in the way he moved—careful not to disturb anything, as if he didn’t want to interrupt the calm of the night.

He stood there for a moment, just watching your sleeping figure, his eyes heart-shaped, glinting with quiet amusement. You could feel something warm in his gaze. Then, he crossed the room, slow enough not to startle you, and crouched down at the edge of your bed. His black clothing blended into the shadows, the outline of his lean figure and the small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You were deep in sleep, the world around you a blur of comforting darkness. And yet, in that dreamlike space, you could feel his presence, like a whisper threading through the silence. 

"You made it through the year," his voice murmured, a soft, velvety tone that carried a weight of something unspoken—something meaningful. His words were like a gentle caress, and though you could barely register them in your dream state, they stirred something inside you, something warm, something that made you feel understood. 

A movement—delicate, almost reverent—pulled you from the haze of sleep. His hand, steady and sure, reached out to you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was feather-light, as though he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the moment. You could feel the warmth of his fingertips lingering on your skin, a soft, lingering touch that made you feel protected, and cared for, even in your slumber.

"Wishing you the best in the new year," he whispered, his voice barely audible but thick with intent. 

You didn’t stir, caught in the embrace of sleep, but somehow, his words echoed through your mind like a distant lullaby. His hand dropped, and then there was a shift, the movement of him leaning forward, his presence closer now, filling the space between you. 

His lips brushed against your cheek, the kiss so gentle it felt like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. It was brief, fleeting, but tender—an unspoken promise, woven into the light touch, something that lingered on your skin even after he pulled away. His warmth stayed with you for a heartbeat, then another, the feeling of him still hanging in the air like a quiet echo.

For a moment, everything was still. His expression remained unreadable, as it often did, but there was something else there—something deeper, more sincere than you were used to seeing. He didn’t need to say more; his presence was enough. 

"Happy New Year~” he said, his voice soft but carrying a quiet smile, one that tugged at the corners of his lips as though he knew something you didn’t. And then, as swiftly as he had come, he was gone—leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his touch and the faintest trace of his words, woven into the fabric of your dreams. Still, a smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the promise of the new year—of fresh starts and endless possibilities.

Whatever moments the future held, you knew they'd be all the more meaningful depending on who you chose to share them with.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[woso-story]

The Weight Of Love And Loss- Part Five

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three Four Six

The apartment felt unbearable. Alexia had barely lasted two days after your conversation in the café before she packed a small bag and left for Mapi and Ingrid’s. The weight of the emptiness, the silence, and the memories crushed her. Every corner of the space carried a piece of you: your favorite blanket draped over the couch, the little succulent you insisted on keeping in the kitchen, the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the hallway.

But what hurt the most was the bedroom. The space that had once been filled with whispered laughter and quiet intimacy now felt cold and sterile. She hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed after you left, curling up instead on the couch, hoping exhaustion would eventually overtake her.

It never did.

“I can’t do it,” Alexia had admitted to Mapi when she arrived at their doorstep. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her eyes were rimmed red from days of crying. “I can’t stay there.”

Mapi had simply pulled her into a hug, murmuring, “You don’t have to. Stay as long as you need.”

Ingrid prepared the guest room for her, making it as comfortable as possible. Alexia spent her first night at their place sitting by the window, staring out into the city lights, wondering how things had spiraled so far out of control.

---

The first few days at Mapi and Ingrid’s were a blur. Alexia felt like a shadow of herself, existing but not living. Mapi tried her best to cheer her up, dragging her to brunches with teammates or movie nights in the living room. But no matter how much Alexia tried to participate, the ache in her chest never went away.

One evening, Alexia was scrolling through her phone when she stumbled upon an old photo of the two of you. It was from a lazy Sunday morning, your hair tousled from sleep as you grinned at the camera, Alexia’s arm wrapped around you. The caption read: My favorite mornings.

Her chest tightened as tears welled in her eyes. She quickly put the phone down and buried her face in her hands.

Mapi found her like that, sitting at the dining table with silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You have to stop torturing yourself, Ale,” Mapi said softly, sitting beside her.

“I can’t help it,” Alexia whispered. “I miss her. And it’s my fault she’s gone.”

“You can’t change the past,” Mapi replied. “But you can work on the future. You’ve already taken the first step by recognizing what went wrong. Now you have to keep going.

It was easier said than done.

---

At Mapi’s insistence, Alexia made an appointment with a psychologist. It wasn’t an easy decision—Alexia had always prided herself on being strong, someone who could handle anything life threw at her. Admitting that she needed help felt like admitting defeat.

Her first session was stiff and uncomfortable. She answered the psychologist’s questions with short, guarded responses, unwilling to let her walls down. But something shifted in the second session.

“I lost her,” Alexia found herself saying, her voice breaking. “Because I couldn’t see what I was doing. I thought I was protecting her by not letting her in, but I was just pushing her away.”

For the first time, she spoke openly about the pressure she’d felt after her injury—the fear of being forgotten, of losing her place on the team, of failing to live up to everyone’s expectations. And slowly, session by session, she began to unravel the tangle of emotions she’d been carrying for months.

---

Alexia threw herself into her recovery, but this time, she approached it differently. Instead of overtraining to the point of exhaustion, she followed her physio’s advice to the letter, focusing on both her physical and mental well-being.

Her days became a balance of rehab sessions, therapy, and spending time with her teammates. She started journaling, pouring her thoughts and feelings onto paper. She even picked up a new hobby—painting—which helped her quiet her restless mind.

Mapi and Ingrid noticed the change almost immediately.

“She’s getting better,” Ingrid remarked one evening as she and Mapi watched Alexia paint in the living room.

“Yeah,” Mapi agreed. “But she still misses her.”

They weren’t wrong. Even as Alexia started to find her footing again, there was a part of her that still ached for you. She often wondered what you were doing, whether you were as okay as you seemed during that last conversation.

There were nights when she wanted to call you, to tell you about her progress and promise that things could be different. But she held back. She knew you needed time, and so did she.

---

While Alexia was rebuilding herself, you were rediscovering who you were.

Your new apartment became a haven, a space that was entirely yours. The freedom to decorate it however you wanted, to come and go as you pleased, felt liberating. You spent your weekends exploring the park nearby, taking long walks by the lake and watching the world go by.

Work became your escape, and your dedication didn’t go unnoticed. The promotion you’d been working toward for years finally became a reality, and it felt like validation for all your hard work.

But it wasn’t just your career that flourished. You started reconnecting with friends, saying yes to dinner invites and weekend trips. On a whim, you adopted a small Maltese puppy named Mylo, who quickly became your constant companion.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like yourself again.

---

One evening, you were scrolling through TikTok when a familiar face appeared on your screen. It was Alexia, walking onto the pitch, the caption reading: La Reina is back.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Without thinking, you opened Instagram and went straight to Alexia’s account. There it was—a photo of her being subbed on, her face glowing with a smile that looked real, not forced.

You couldn’t stop yourself from double-tapping the photo and leaving a comment: Proud of you.

It was a simple gesture, but you meant it with all your heart. No matter how things had ended between you, you couldn’t deny how much you admired her strength and determination.

---

On the other side of the city, Alexia sat in bed scrolling through her phone. Normally, she didn’t read the comments under her posts, but something compelled her to that night.

And then she saw it.

Proud of you.

Her breath hitched, her fingers hovering over the screen. It wasn’t much, but it meant everything. After all the mistakes she’d made, after all the pain she’d caused, you were still proud of her.

She set her phone down and lay back, a small smile spreading across her face. For the first time in months, she felt a glimmer of hope.

If she kept working on herself, if she continued to heal, maybe—just maybe—there was still a chance for the two of you.

But for now, she would focus on the present, knowing that if it was meant to be, your paths would cross again.

---

And so, while you curled up on your couch with Mylo by your side, and Alexia drifted off to sleep with a rare sense of peace, the future remained unwritten. Both of you were healing, slowly but surely, and perhaps that was the most important step of all.

[chaos-vixen]

@clockwayswrites @hdgnj

In all fairness, Tim was not expecting the solution to be not only done quickly, but so efficiently that he himself wondered why he didn’t think of that solution.

The solution you may ask? ASKING. NICELY.

Mildly rage inducing but incredibly heart rate elevating was the 10 Sart smile the King have as he floated over the street(s), kindly asking in a firm yet general command (that totally wasn’t doing things for Tim) for the citizens of Gotham to kindly cut the shit.

But Tim will 100% admit that the otherworldly and eerie smile the Ghost King gave him as he ever so gracefully lowered into his portal back to probably his keep (is those ancient tombs where correct- seriously he spent a pretty penny on those they better fucking be accurate).

But that all aside, because not only did the general population not actually remember the King being there- but John got some weird ass heads up or notification about what was going down (via magic alarm or a favor, Tim did not want nor need to know-) and was breathing down Tim’s neck as if he of all people had a leg to stand on in terms of not “selling one’s soul to a High Being™️”. Honestly if all that wasn’t bad enough, someone SAW the Ghost King headed towards the Drake house, and Constantine managed to get that out of them before they forgot. (John later explained this to be a similar affect to what Chathulu has in the Lovecraft books- he’s beyond the bounds of comprehension for the normal human except for those with paranormal bloodlines, magic, or semi-related meta abilities. Then he muttered something about “those damned liminals..” but Tim decided to table that for later)

John magic misogyny aside, Tim got a very useful lecture on some magic workings his tombs did not have in-depth lore on. The downside was that, according to his trackers on his family, they are approaching the Drake Manor at a pace which Tim does not like.

The solution is to reenact Harry Potter and do a little side-along apperation the hell out of there before the family realizes that he isn’t in fact where he’s supposed to be (on bed rest in the medical wing of the cave because he dislocated his arm literally three hours before he had to summon The King)

And where does magic itself (because Ti me I’ll never admit but PERHAPS he may have not been thinking of a destination, not he was NOT panicked!):

The House of Mystery

To which they fall from two feet in the air to Raven and Zatana sipping tea.

The last cherry on top of his pile of cherries (regrets) is the black slowly fading into his vision, probably because of how much magic it took to summon The High King, Supreme Ruler of the Infinite Realms and Overseer of the Dead and their resting. Also the teleporting probably didn’t help-

Oop why is John shaking him?

Probably doesn’t matter- he can’t really make it out anyways …

Plz continue this the original prompt and continuation where amazing and there’s already so much lore in this AU I’m not sure if I did good with my tid-bit, really want to see this in full!!

Tim Drake becomes a mini Hellblazer

Tim is determined to be the best Robin he can be- he has a hero's legacy to live up to. He has a thirst to know as bad as Bruce’s. And... he's a bit morally grey. All this leads up to an encounter that will change his course forever.

While he is off training in Europe (wtf on that Bruce), he runs into Constantine and some demonic trouble. Just so the stubborn kid survives, Constantine teaches him some of the basics. Tim, living up to his name, takes to it like a duck to water. After Tim gets back to the states, books just show up every so often in Drake manor. Sometimes even Constantine.

It's surprisingly easy to keep the secret in that big, empty house.

And then one of Gotham's curses come to play, the dead are around as ghosts, and only Tim has any idea what's going on. Problem is, he'd rather the Bats never knew what he knew. Problem is, he might have to pull a John and sell his soul to win.

He hopes the Ghost King is a good master.

Some added possible bonuses:

Constantine has no clue that his mini Hellblazer Tim is a Bat or he would have never.

Tim has been using his powers this whole time- being able to portal and literally become one with the shadows, but it just works for a Bat Mood™️ so no one catches on.

Tim has tattoos like John for powers, but they're the invisible UV ones so they're not visible when he's getting his check overs as Robin/RR.

Possible scenes:

• A cult shows up in Gotham, of course, and the Bats are doing their investigation and find what they think is the home base and Tim's tracker is there. And he's not answering his comms. He's supposed to be resting, he's sick. All hands on deck panic. The Bats roll up ready for a fight just in time to see Tim, covered in blood and a little glass eyed, walking out of the building. Inside is a bloodbath. They are think Tim is traumatized from the obvious demon summoning that went really really badly. Tim is just so fucking tired from using magic and wants to sleep for a week, but sure, the cover story works, so he leans into it. Really annoying how Dick won't stop hugging him though.

• Constantine, trying to avoid his job trapped in Hell, again, sends his apprentice to meet with the Justice League. To bad he didn't give the apprentice a heads up because suddenly Tim is summoned/portaled into the Watchtower. And ho-shit guess that cat is out of the bag now! Not that he's willing to explain anything.

[runninriot]

Santa's Secret

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 23

prompt: hot chocolate | rated G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve Harrington

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 (+bonus epilogue)

Eddie can’t wait to get out of the suit that’s been suffocating him for the past three hours. He’s still sweaty and his hair is a mess after wearing the wig and fake beard combo for so long but he feels better once he’s changed back into his regular clothes.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Eddie stops for a moment. He looked so different dressed as Santa, could’ve been fooled by his own reflection wearing that costume. There’s no way Steve actually realised it’s him. Maybe what Eddie thought he saw in Steve’s eyes wasn’t recognition, but confusion.

They haven’t seen each other in years and apart from that, it’s not like they’ve ever been… close. Sure, Steve probably knew of him – they’ve both been somewhat popular in high school, although for very different reasons. But still. It was silly of Eddie to think the smile he gave him was one of familiarity. More realistically, it was just a silent thanks for how he handled the little girl’s nervousness, brought a smile to her face by playing into her childlike wonder.

And that’s okay.

In the end, Eddie did have a great time pretending to be Santa for a while. He’ll never tell Wayne, though, unless he wants to hear his old man tell him ‘I told you so‘.

With his shift done, Eddie strolls around the still brimming main hall of the community centre, looking at a stand with wooden figurines where a beautifully carved dragon caught his eyes.

He’s so fascinated by it, that he doesn’t notice the person coming up to him, until a hand taps his shoulder lightly.

When he spins around, he finds Steve standing next to him.

   “So, what brings you back to this shithole?“ he asks through a laugh, casual, like it’s normal for the former King and King of Freaks to have a conversation.

   “I, uh,“ Eddie stammers, staring at Steve a little star struck and maybe a little more in love because there’s that smile again and it’s blinding like the fucking sun and this time, he doesn’t have the Santa suit to blame for the fucking heat spreading in his face.

    God, grow up Munson. You’re an adult. Behave like one.

   “I’m visiting my uncle.“

   “How is Wayne? I was a bit worried when I realised that-“ Steve leans closer to whisper in his ear and Eddie’s heart stops for a moment. “-Santa sent someone else to cover for him.“

There are a million thoughts running through Eddie’s mind – since when are Steve and Wayne on first name basis? So Steve did recognise him? And why’s it so fucking hot in here?

   “You were great, by the way. I’d have lost it at some of the parents. They can be worse than their spoiled little brats sometimes.“

Eddie chuckles nervously, shrugs his shoulders and waves a hand at Steve who moves back slowly but stays close, so close Eddie catches a hint of his cologne, mingling with the Christmassy smell of oranges, and cinnamon, and apple tea, and it makes him dizzy but not in a bad way.

“Robbie wouldn’t shut up about Santa,“ Steve winks at him, “said he’s the coolest, even cooler than the tooth fairy. And let me tell you, that’s a real compliment.“

They both laugh and it feels so light and freeing; Steve makes it seem so easy to fall into conversation with him.

   “She’s a sweet kid and she loves you a lot, I can tell.“

    Loves you so much she’s wasting her Christmas wish on your happiness, Eddie thinks fondly, biting his tongue not to accidentally spill their little secret.

   “Yeah, well. She doesn’t have much choice. She’s stuck with me, since her mother decided to-“

   “Dad!“ a voice calls from somewhere behind them and when they turn, they see Robbie running up at them.

   “Speaking of the Devil,“ Steve sighs amused before opening his arms to catch her.

   “Who’s your friend?“

   “This is Eddie. We’ve been to school together. He’s grandpa Wayne’s nephew.“

    Grandpa W-hat?

Eddie must be having a stroke. Or maybe something’s wrong with his hearing because… WHAT?

Steve must realise something when he notices Eddie’s confusion, because he suddenly blushes a deep shade of red and smiles awkwardly at him.

   “S-sorry, I thought you knew that, uh-“ Steve takes a deep breath before he continues, “Your uncle has been helping me out a lot when I moved back to Hawkins a few months ago. You know, uh, setting up the house and watching Robbie when I had to go to interviews and couldn’t find a babysitter. He, uh, he’s been a real help. Robbie’s obsessed with him. Aren’t you, baby?“

   “He’s awesome! And he makes the best hot chocolate in the world! With little marshmallows and sprinkles on top!“

Eddie feels like he’s been hit by a truck, feels betrayed by the man he’s been looking up to his whole life.

   Wayne Munson, you son of a potato farmer, are living a secret life where Steve’s daughter calls you grandpa?

    Oh, Eddie’s going to have a field day confronting him with that.

   “Right?! The best hot chocolate ever! I always have mine with whipped cream on top,“ Eddie answers equally enthusiastic, doesn’t even have to pretend despite his inner turmoil because that little girl’s smile is infectious.

While listening to Robbie’s happy babbling, Eddie watches Steve from the corner of his eyes. He still looks a bit like a kid caught stealing cookies, but slowly relaxes, and that’s good, but-

Wayne definitely has some explaining to do. His uncle has always been a fucking saint, can’t not offer his help when he feels like someone’s in need of it. But it being Steve of all people, really messes with Eddie in a weird way he can’t really explain.

He needs to know more.

   “How about we all go to Wayne’s together? I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you. What do you say?“

[scripts4dreamers]

Me and my one (1) friend who has also had their brain corrupted by the blight (dragon age) have been fighting about this for two days but I’m so sure I’m right, so I humbly present my thesis to you lovely people.

1. After the events of the Veilguard, if Rook and Neve ended up together, Neve tries to leave you.

LET ME EXPLAIN! (Spoilers for the Veilguard ending)

I love Neve. She’s my favorite romance from Veilguard, she’s an incredible character and she does not deserve all the hate she gets. Having said that, she does 1000% try and leave Rook.

The one thing we know about Neve, almost from the moment we meet her, is that she is not a believer. She doesn’t believe Solas is a god, at first, she doesn’t believe anyone will have her back, she doesn’t believe Minrathous will improve and she doesn’t believe she’s going to survive this job. But still she fights on, not out of a genuine belief that she can win, but because she has a soft spot for lost causes.

Neve has devoted her life to being the champion of lost causes. She tells Rook that, even if this job doesn’t get her, one of them will. She risks her life, day in and day out, in service of a city that has done nothing but hurt her. Neve believes she’s a dead woman walking, and all she wants to do is go down protecting the people of Dock Town because someone has to. Someone has to.

And then she meets Rook and Harding and now gods are real, and they’re destroying the world and oh well everything was always going to go down in flames, so why not help out? She’s always been a magnet for bad news, for bad luck, for the worst of humanity, so why not spend her last days fighting for what little good is left?

She tries to fight falling for Rook, but they’re everything she wishes the world could be. They’re the lifeline she’s been waiting for since before the world forced her to stop believing. They’re good and kind and full of life and how can she do anything but love them for that? But she’s already dead, they’re both already dead and she can’t survive another loss.

She throws herself into loving them only after she lost them to the Fade. Only after Harding/Davrin died. After her world already ended, because that’s when she really realizes how quickly it can all end and how much time she wasted pushing people away. The goddamn WORLD IS ENDING and the person you love is THERE and they’re REAL and they WANT YOU, so why not? What is there to lose? It’s easy to love someone when the world is ending. It’s easy to love someone when you’re both already doomed.

But then the world doesn’t end. The sun rises on a blighted Minrathous and they’re both still alive, and now she’s faced with rebuilding. There’s so much work to be done, she’s a bloody, scarred mess and the job she was brought in for is over, isn’t it? She’s not a cool noir detective who died saving the world anymore, she’s someone’s partner, someone’s friend and lover and those aren’t jobs she had ever prepared herself to take.

Suddenly, without the haze of panic and the urgency of stopping the gods, things look different. She needs a new apartment. Minrathous needs a detective. Life goes back to normal and Neve still isn’t a believer.

Of course, everyone says they’ll stay in touch. Bonds formed that can never be broken and all that, but Neve knows better. You don’t hang around once the party is over. You don’t give the world more ways to hurt you, more people to take. You don’t give people a chance to leave you.

So she leaves first.

She regrets it. She hates herself for it. She cries herself to sleep wondering how she could be such a coward, but she leaves. She packs a bag, writes a goodbye letter and leaves before morning.

Now, do I think her and Rook get back together? Absolutely I do. I just think that, with all the events of Veilguard happening in such a short time, there’s going to be some major questions for all the companions once the dust settles, and leaving before you can be left is Neve Gallus’ answer to those questions.

[apomaro-mellow]

Steddie Bingo Prompt: Switching

@spectrum-spectre asked for this one

Steve's brow furrowed as he focused on his task. He couldn't believe he got to do this. Couldn't believe that he got to see Eddie like this. Strung out and moaning as his cock. He’d been wanting it all night. From the moment Eddie stepped foot through the door and started to pass his wares around. The boys loved him once they got used to how weird he was. He was like a beloved dog to the brothers of Steve’s frat. 

And after they were done giving him pets (in the form of high-fives), Eddie went upstairs with him to get his bone.

Eddie clawed at the sheets of the bed. One that had seen many a sorority girl in this house’s history. Steve groaned as he watched his cock sink in and pull out. The way Eddie took it, arching his back. Moaning for the whole house to hear if they weren’t blasting music. Sometimes he wondered if Eddie would be just as loud if they fucked in front of everyone. When he blew his load into him, Eddie cried into the pillow by his face.

Better than any fucking fleshlight he’d ever had.

“Does it really feel that good?”, Steve asked as they were coming down together, passing a joint back and forth.

“Feels like fucking heaven, dude”, Eddie said, laying on his front. He took a long, slow drag.

Steve’s eyes were glued to him. To every part of him. His long fingers, his pink lips, his hair spilling across the pillow and the line of his back. He realized he’d been staring for too long when his eyes met Eddie’s and he saw that knowing smirk on his face.

“I can see the cogs turning in that head of yours. Care to share with the class?”

Steve shrugged, then looked up at the ceiling. “Does it really feel that good?”, he asked again.

When he looked back at Eddie, he saw that familiar grin on his face. When it was turned on him, it usually came before wild ideas like hot sauce chugging, barrel races, and them fucking for the first time.

“You wanna try it out?”

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

Steve was on his back, his hole having already been lubed up and stretched by Eddie’s fingers and against all odds, he was hard again. Eddie wasn’t grinning at him anymore, no he was smiling. Something warm and this felt different from their usual fucking. Eddie held his legs apart as he sunk in, carefully and slowly. Steve’s chest rose and fell and Eddie’s hands were drawn to his pecs.

“Feel good, man?”

“Feels good, holy shit”, Steve’s eyes screwed shut.

Eddie’s grin returned then, one that felt almost devilish. “Good. Get ready, baby.”

A couple of guys walked by the bedroom, carrying a keg together. This far from the music, they could hear the bed moving and someone’s breathy whimpers along with what was obviously the sound of ball-slapping good sex. They both beamed at each other.

“Dude, Harrington’s getting his back blown out!”

“Dude! Finally!”

They high fived each other before continuing on their way to share the good news.

@steddiebingo

Bingo card:

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT doing your makeup

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘i love all your svt reactions!! could i request a fun one where svt gets asked to put makeup on their partner? who do you think would take it seriously and do extremely well? who wouldnt even know what half of the items are? i think the members would also find it fun to do hahahah’

Cannot help but do badly - Seungcheol, Jun, Woozi, Vernon

He really does his best when you ask, but he would prefer not to wear much for himself, so he’s not particularly skilled. You can tell that he’s not happy with anything that he does because he’s grimacing, particularly when he gets to the eye makeup, where the finer details matter. But he’d never turn down the opportunity to do something with you, even if he’s totally deflated when he’s done. He’ll sigh deeply and apologize while handing you the mirror. It’s… not great. But it’s cute that he tried. He can’t wait to help you clean it off, though, ready with the makeup remover and face wash. 

Purposefully makes you look like a clown - Jeonghan, DK, Chan

You feel like things are going well until he spends way too much time on the blush. Then you get a glimpse of the colors that he uses on your eyes, and you kind of wonder why you even have them because they don’t compliment you in the least. He’ll slyly grin when he announces that he’s done, presenting you with a mirror. Will absolutely snap a picture before you can stop him, giving you a big smooch on your lips that are painted in a color that does not work for you. When you glare and tell him you regret asking for this, he’ll relent, helping you clean it all off. I’m so sorry; he’ll never delete that picture. He has backups of it. 

Really tries and does decently - Hoshi, Wonwoo, Seungkwan

The epitome of focus. Picture them being inches from your face for the little details, tongue poking out in concentration. Then, he’ll pull back to look at his work and go back to perfect it. He gets the concept of all of the products and figures out how to use them relatively quickly. Does a little bit at a time to not overdo it. He agreed to this because he likes being close to you and spending time with you. But if you look pleasantly surprised by how great he did, he’ll scoff and say that he can’t believe you doubted him. 

Better at it than you could ever be - Joshua, Mingyu, Minghao

Are you kidding? You don’t do your own makeup half the time, anyway. If you grumble about doing it when you guys are getting ready to go out, he’ll sit you on the counter and do it for you from start to finish. If your eye makeup isn’t blending just right or your eyeliner is uneven, he simply takes the brush or the pen from you to help you with it. He does it with such a quick and careful precision that puts your own skills to shame. And throughout the day, if he notices something is smudged, he’ll delicately fix it for you. (As someone who loves the look of makeup but hates putting it on, this would be a dream.)

[knavesflames]

Arlecchino’s Christmas Gift

Hello omg sorry for not posting I’ve been crashing out in terms of physical health (yes yes, I’m sick again, yay me!!)

Anyway, a little Christmas present for you all. Apologies if the standard is not Normal, but it will be soon.

Word count: 1497

Contents: soft Arlecchino, bottom!Arlecchino, fingering

Nsft utc<3

Christmas is a busy time for the House of the Hearth. With God knows how many children, Arlecchino works hard to make sure they all have a lovely day. Barbecues are out of the question, the snowflakes sticking to the ground a definite rejection of yet another barbecue. Instead, she opts for cooking a huge feast (or rather, you cook, she tells you to stop adding seasoning).

Watching the children eat and open the gifts she’s spent too much mora on, you can see that her eyes have softened significantly, even if her smile is small and barely there. “I don’t want gifts,” she’ll mutter when you ask her what she wants, she does it every year. “Gifts are unnecessary and superficial. The children receive them because they are children.”

You think she says this because she doesn’t know how to receive gifts. The House of the Hearth before was.. unkind, to say the least. The poor woman has been so busy, she’s barely had time to think about herself (you wonder if that’s the point), you know very well that the children are her priority, always. You, too. She’s made it abundantly clear multiple times to multiple times that it’s you and the children who come first.

When you see her sigh and wipe her forehead in slight frustration, you start to get an idea of what you can give her. Something she wouldn’t deem superficial, something she looks like she needs. And of course, when you excuse yourself early with the claim that you’re ’so tired’ and ‘the day has been exhausting’, she lets you leave with a soft kiss on your forehead and a murmur of affection. You don’t go to sleep, though, no. You wait until you hear the children leave the main dining hall and shuffle to their rooms to sleep before you start putting your plan in motion. You know she won’t go to bed for a little bit, she never does.

You waste no time in making yourself her gift. Putting on the lingerie you know she adores, dimming the lights and putting the small box of.. objects, by the bed, you position yourself comfortably. With clumsy movements, you manage to tie the ribbon around your wrists the way she’s done to you so many times. You admit it’s difficult, doing it with one working hand, but you get it done well enough. Then, what else is there to do but wait? The whole idea is for her to feel better and have whatever relief she desires, but you can’t help but feel excitement bubbling inside of you with every second that passes. She doesn’t feel good unless you feel good. That became obvious when she couldn’t cum until you were just as desperate as she was.

You let out a small breath when you finally hear her soft footsteps, and you’re trying to picture her reaction in your head. For some reason, you suddenly become nervous— what if she just wants to go to bed, or what if she just hates the idea? The ideas run through your head until—

“My dear?”

Your thoughts are cut short when your eyes snap to her. She looks a little shocked, her lips parted slightly, and her eyes scanning you, but she doesn’t seem repulsed or uninterested.

“Merry Christmas. You dislike gifts because they’re superficial, but I’m not, am I?”

Arlecchino swallows, her throat suddenly dry. You’ve always been the thing that gets her to react the most, both of you know that. Her words falter for a second before she manages to murmur.

“No, no you are not,” taking a step forward, then another, her hand reaching out to graze your skin gently. “Archons, look at you. You’re beautiful. All wrapped up, too.”

You smile sweetly at her, all worries dissipating at the look on her face. For someone as ruthless as her, she certainly softens up when you’re around, her touch gentle and her words quiet.

“How long did that take you? Wrapping oneself with one hand is a difficult task, no?”

“It took a while. Worth it to see your face. You can undo it if you want, or you can keep them like this.”

“Stay like that.”

“Okay.” Your own words are a whisper, and you continue to smile softly up at her. Her hands are delicate when they move over your skin, nails gently scratching in the places she knows makes you shiver.

“You wore my favourite.”

“For you.”

“You’re too good to me.” A breath, barely a whisper, but it’s heard nonetheless. It was only for you to hear anyway. She leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips until you return the kiss, letting her tongue meet yours with a soft sigh. You go to wrap your arms around her, before remembering that you have, in fact, tied yourself up. You think you feel her smile slightly into the kiss before her hand wraps firmly around your binded wrists.

Her kisses move downwards, sucking gently at the pulse point of your neck to feel you shiver. She seems to enjoy doing that, working you up only to make you wait. But, as promised, it’s her turn tonight, so you don’t complain. When she’s satisfied that your hands will stay in place and won’t struggle to get out of the ribbon restraints, her hand moves, fingers ghosting the hem of your underwear before slowly pulling it down. You help her, lifting your hips and stretching your legs so they’ll come off as quickly as possible. When they do come off, landing on the floor with a quiet noise, she leans on the bed, knee parting your legs.

Arlecchino grumbles when she realises she’s still fully clothed, and you think you see her hands trembling as she quickly fumbles to unbutton every single button she has and shed the fabric. She returns to her place soon after, her bare skin warmer than flames against yours. Her knee resumes its actions, pushing your legs apart until it meets your core, already aching. You gasp, and she relishes in the sound. She does the movement again before stopping. Digits move swiftly in finally unwrapping the ribbon around your wrists, tossing it to the side.

“I need you,” Arlecchino mutters, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I need you. Please.”

“How?” Although you enjoy occasionally being dominant, you can’t bring yourself to tonight. The poor woman has been so stressed, and this is her gift, after all.

“You know how.”

“Fingers or tongue, Peruere?”

She gasps at the usage of her actual name, her movements of her hands caressing each part of your body she can reach before she manages to speak.

“Fingers. Please.”

So, you waste no time in letting your own hand slip between her legs, moving until you find her clit. You give it a few experimental rubs, finding a rhythm she seems to enjoy before letting your lips land on her neck. You’d tease her for the quiet gasps she lets out, or for the way your fingers slide so easily into her, but you don’t think you have it in you, especially not when her hips start rocking into your hand with a rhythm so messy it’s almost pathetic, in an affectionate way. But she’s getting impatient and frustrated, and she can’t chase what she wants so badly with the rhythm she has.

You let her try for a bit longer, but the small whine that escapes her usually quiet mouth almost makes you feel bad. So, your free hand moves to her hip, gently stopping her before guiding her into a rhythm that causes all sounds to cease— only out of pure pleasure, her mouth hanging open and her eyes, usually so piercing, squeezed shut.

“It’s good?” You hum, struggling to contain the small giggle at the sight of her as needy as she is now.

“Quite.” Comes the only strained reply before her head buries back into your neck. She’s close, you can tell that much by the way she clenches around your curling fingers again and again.

“Are you going to cum for me, Peruere?”

“Yes, for you, yes.” She rasps out. It’s a struggle for her to get out any words at all by this point, and anything she does get out is less than coherent. Then her body tenses, she lets out a sound you know all too well— a mix of a grunt, groan and a whimper all in one, before she collapses onto you, her legs shaking.

You mumble sweet praises into her ear, stroking her now tousled hair until she regains her breath and stops trembling.

“Merry Christmas.” You chuckle, kissing her shoulder.

“That.. may have been the best gift I have ever had. My birthday is in August, if you’re curious.”

She’s being silly, you know that much, but you have one too many ideas to let them fizzle out now.

[childrenofcain-if]

The relationship between MC and Elias has my entire effing heart 😭 idk how you made the dynamic so sweet and made me care for him when I've only known him for two chapters??

Since he's so gentle with us, I wonder how would it go if MC came home one day from like elementary school crying because they were bullied? How would Elias handle it?

the door slammed behind you with a loud, echoing sound that seemed to punctuate the misery weighing you down. your black, polished shoes scuffed against the marble floor as you trudged into the vast, empty foyer, tears streaming down your cheeks.

it was all too much—the laughter, the jeers, the malice-filled words of those kids at school that stabbed and twisted in ways you didn’t understand but hurt all the same.

elias had always been good at spotting storms on the horizon—first the trembling lip, then the stutter in your words, and finally, the cascade of tears that seemed far too heavy for someone so small.

when you came through the door just now, your face blotchy, streaked with heartbreak, he felt the summons of your sorrow like a riptide dragging him under. he had been in the middle of something—work, life, whatever inconsequential thing adults tangled themselves up in—but it evaporated the moment he saw you.

“oh, little apple,” he murmured as his eyes took in your tear-streaked face, the slump of your shoulders, the hiccupping breaths you couldn’t quite catch.

he dropped everything, his folders and papers scattering to the floor like leaves in a gust of wind. his long stride brought him to you in seconds, and then he was crouching, lowering himself to meet you on your level.

you were shaking, your fists tight as if holding onto the last frayed threads of your composure. he reached out, hesitant, the way you would approach a wounded animal, not wanting to startle you.

you couldn’t speak at first. the sobs came in waves, each one ripping through you, and the effort to shape words was too much. instead, you let go.

you collapsed against him, your small arms wrapping around his neck as if he were a lifeboat and you were caught in the middle of a stormy sea. he smelled like lavender, cedar and ink and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candy he always kept in his pockets.

his arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, the world felt a little less like it was spinning out of control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, though his heart was pounding. he could feel the dampness of your tears soaking into his shirt, the slight tremor in your body. “whatever it is, we’ll fix it. i promise.”

when your tears finally slowed with time, elias gently pulled back to look at you, his brow furrowed in concern. his thumbs brushed away the lingering wetness on your cheeks.

“want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his tone patient in the way only he could manage.

you hiccupped, clutching at his shirt. “they—” you sniffled, the words coming out shaky and uneven. “they took scooby-doo.”

he blinked, confused for a moment, before realization dawned on his face. “the keychain?”

you nodded, fresh tears spilling over. “the one mama gave me for christmas.”

a flicker of fury crossed his face, but he buried it quickly, his expression softening as he focused on you. “and who is ‘they’?”

you told him about the kids at school, their cruel laughter echoing in your ears even as you recounted the story. how they called you names for being smarter than them, for being the kid whose mom didn’t love them enough to live with them. how they’d grabbed your backpack and yanked the keychain off, holding it high above your head and tossing it to each other while you tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch it back.

elias didn’t interrupt. he let you talk, his jaw tightening with every word, though his hands stayed gentle on your shoulders.

as soon as you were done, he scooped you up with the same ease as when you were smaller, holding you close to his chest as he stood.

“shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “i’ve got you. those kids are never going to hurt you again. not ever.”

you nodded, your chest still heavy but a little lighter than before. elias always made you feel like the world wasn’t as big or scary as it seemed.

elias’s lips pressed into a firm line, a resolve hardening in his expression. “i’m going to talk to your school,” he promised. “the principal, the school board—whoever i need to. they won’t be getting away with this. but for now...” he softened again, his hand resting against your cheek comfortingly. “for now, let’s focus on making you feel better, okay?”

you sniffled against his shoulder, rubbing the remaining tears from your eyes. “how?”

“first,” he said, carrying you into the living room, “we’re going to get you something to eat. you can’t face the world on an empty stomach.” he set you down gently on the couch, brushing a strand of hair from your damp cheek. “what sounds good? mac and cheese? pancakes? ice cream for dinner?”

the corner of your mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile. “mac and cheese?”

“as my little apple wishes,” he said, bowing dramatically which made you giggle.

he sent the servants away, muttering something about needing the house to feel smaller and cozier. he then moved around the kitchen while narrating his every step of making mac and cheese as though he was starring in a cooking show. “breadcrumbs on top, obviously. otherwise, it’s just noodles pretending to be a meal. and a little extra cheese, because that’s how my little apple likes it, hm?”

when he set the plate in front of you, it looked a little lopsided, but it tasted like comfort and love. while you still preferred your mom’s version, your dad wasn’t a bad cook either.

you ate together on the couch, and elias told you stories about his own childhood, about the time he’d fallen off his bike trying to impress a girl or the disastrous school play where he’d forgotten all his lines. he made you laugh, the sort of laugh that bubbled up unexpectedly and left you breathless.

after you’d finished your plate, he pulled out a tub of your favorite ice cream, letting you eat it straight from the carton as he turned on the TV.

“now,” he said, flipping through the channels, “i seem to recall a certain detective dog who’s pretty good at cheering you up. what do you think?”

you nodded, curling up next to him on the couch. he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, and together you watched episode after episode of scooby-doo.

at one point, he even joined in on the theme song, his deep baritone blending awkwardly with the high-pitched melody. you giggled so hard you nearly fell off the couch, and the sound of your laughter seemed to melt something in him.

by the time bedtime rolled around, the weight of the day had eased, replaced by the kind of tiredness that settled in your bones after too much crying and too much laughing.

elias took your big yawn as a hint and carried you upstairs to your bedroom. he tucked you into bed like he always did—tucking the corners of the blanket just right, the way you liked it.

when he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you grabbed his wrist, your voice small. “will you stay, dada?”

his expression was gentle as he nodded. “of course.”

he sat on the edge of your bed, his large hand resting gently on your hair, stroking it in slow, soothing motions. you closed your eyes, the world finally quiet and safe.

and then he started to sing.

“close your eyes, have no fear. the monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here.”

his voice wasn’t perfect, but it was tender and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket he’d tucked in so carefully. each word he sang wrapped around you like a lullaby spun from safety and love.

“beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful child…”

by the time he reached the bridge, you were asleep, your breathing even and peaceful. but elias stayed, his hand still resting against your hair, his gaze lingering on your face.

“goodnight, little apple,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “dada loves you so very much.”

and as the night deepened and the house fell completely silent, elias sat there, guarding your dreams with the quiet, unshakable strength of a father’s love.

[woozinhos]

Mean Dom! Mingi and Yunho pls 🙏👹

I went for a cowboy theme here I don’t know why it’s probably because I love cowboys hehe enjoyy!

Mingi pressed you up against the wall, his hands on your hips as he bent you over. He ran his hand up your back, tracing the curve of your spine before coming to rest on the nape of your neck.

"Stay still," he growled, his voice low and commanding.

Mingi's other hand moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh possessively. He leaned forward, his body pressing against yours as he whispered in your ear.

"You're mine, understand?"

Yunho stood a few feet away, watching the scene unfold with a smirk on his face.

"Look at you," he said, his eyes roaming over your body. "Bent over and ready to be used."

Yunho chuckled darkly, stepping closer to you.

"I wonder what your daddy would think if he could see you now," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Taking it from two cowboys like a little slut."

Mingi chuckled, his grip on your hip tightening as he pulled you back against him.

"He'd be ashamed," he said, his breath hot against your ear. "Seeing his precious little girl being used like this."

Yunho reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"But we don't care about your daddy," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "All we care about is using you, over and over again."

Mingi's thrusts became harder and faster, each one pushing you further into Yunho's grasp. You let out a whimper, the feeling of being completely dominated by both of them overwhelming your senses. Yunho chuckled at your whimper, his fingers digging into your jaw as he held your face in place.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his eyes locked on yours. "Being used like a toy by us."

Mingi's pace was relentless, his hips snapping against yours with a bruising force. You could feel your body responding to the treatment, your muscles tensing and coiling with pleasure as he hit all the right spots. Yunho leaned in and captured your lips in a rough, possessive kiss.

He dominated the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and exploring every inch as if he owned it. As he kissed you, Mingi's hands roamed over your body, groping and squeezing every inch of skin he could reach. He whispered filthy words in your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

"Such a good girl, taking us both like this."

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with need as Mingi continued to pound into you from behind. Yunho pulled away from the kiss, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he watched your reactions.

"Looks like someone's about to come," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Mingi suddenly stopped, pulling out of you and leaving you empty and aching. You let out a needy whine, your body clenching around nothing as you tried to process the sudden lack of stimulation. Yunho chuckled, watching you squirm in frustration.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and smooth. "We're not done with you yet."

He moved behind you, his body pressing against yours as he pinned you between him and Mingi. Yunho's hands roamed over your body, his touch almost teasingly light as he ran his fingers over your sensitive skin. Mingi stood in front of you, watching the two of you with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Look at her," he said to Yunho. "She's so desperate for us."

Yunho positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he slowly pushed inside. He let out a low groan as he entered you, the feeling of your body surrounding him almost too much to bear.

Despite the intense pleasure coursing through him, Yunho kept his dominant and mean demeanor. He didn't waste any time, immediately starting to thrust into you with a punishing pace. Mingi smirked, reaching out and tilting your chin up to look at him.

"You heard me, princess," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you to play with me while Yunho has his fun."

Mingi let out a low moan as you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice strained. "Just like that."

You continued to stroke him, your movements shaky and uncoordinated due to Yunho's rough thrusts. Mingi watched you intently, his eyes fixed on your face as he savored the sight of you being pleasured from both ends. Yunho leaned forward, his chest pressed against your back as he continued to pound into you.

"You look so beautiful like this," he growled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Taking us both so well."

Yunho chuckled, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pushed you forward.

"Go on, princess," he said, his voice laced with command. "Take Mingi in your mouth."

You obeyed, bending forward and taking Mingi's length into your mouth. He let out a low groan, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided your head up and down. The force of Yunho's thrusts pushed you forward, causing you to choke around Mingi's cock.

Mingi let out a deep moan, his grip on your hair tightening as he felt the vibrations of your gagging around him. Yunho smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on both you and Mingi. He continued to thrust hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass as he drove you further down on Mingi's cock.

You struggled to keep up with both of them, your body being pushed to its limits as they used you for their pleasure. Mingi's eyes were glazed over with lust, his breath coming out in ragged pants as he watched you struggle to take him in your mouth. Mingi's grip on your hair tightened, his breathing becoming more and more labored as he approached his release.

"Fuck, I'm close," he growled, his hips bucking forward slightly.

You could feel Mingi's cock throbbing in your mouth, a sign that he was on the edge of orgasm. Yunho's pace grew even more relentless, his own climax rapidly approaching as he chased his release. Mingi's hips began to stutter, his body tensing as he tried to hold back his orgasm.

"I'm going to cum," he gasped, his eyes screwed shut in concentration.

Yunho's grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his peak.

"Cum for us, princess," he growled, his voice low and rough. "We want to see you fall apart."

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the intense sensations coursing through your body driving you closer and closer to your own release. Mingi let out a strangled moan, his body shuddering as he reached his climax. He spilled into your mouth, his cum hot and salty as it hit the back of your throat.

You struggled to swallow it all, some of it spilling out of the corners of your mouth as you continued to suck him through his orgasm. Yunho watched the scene with a feral gleam in his eyes, his thrusts becoming more and more desperate as he chased his own release. With a final, rough thrust, Yunho buried himself deep inside you and came, his body shuddering as he spilled his load into you.

He let out a low groan, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as he rode out his orgasm. Yunho panted heavily, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his release. He pulled out of you slowly, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Yunho and Mingi both quickly straightened up, putting their cowboy hats back on and adjusting their clothing. They looked every bit the part of rugged, handsome cowboys, the remnants of their earlier activities only barely visible beneath their composed exteriors. Yunho stepped closer to you, his eyes still burning with desire despite having just had his release.

"You were so good for us, princess," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Mingi chuckled, his eyes roaming over your body as he spoke.

"Yeah, I hope he doesn't notice the marks we left all over you," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Yunho smirked, running a finger along a particularly dark mark on your neck.

"We've marked you as ours," he said, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "No one else will ever be able to deny that you belong to us."

[darlingsfandom]

His Girl, His office!

anon: hello! how are you? i was wondering if you could do something like neil lewis having an inexperienced younger gf, she wants to have sex with him and he teaches her everything she should know (even if we all know the only experience neil has is from porn lol)

Pairing: Older Neil Lewis x younger fem reader!

TW: loss of virginity, semi-public sex, fingering, swearing!

“Would you look at her ?” Jason leaned into Johnathan as they watched you browse the classic comedy section.

“Like you’d have a chance with her.” Johnathan rolled his eyes at his friend.

You were busy looking over the shelves of movies when a tap on the shoulder caught your attention. You turned a little to see the man who had been eyeing you since you walked in standing there with something like a smile on his face.

“You know that’s a good movie you got there!” He pointed to the dvd in your hand and you raised an eyebrow.

“It’s my boyfriend’s favorite!” The word boyfriend stung him like a bee as you turned back around to go look at the horror section.

“Told you so.” Jason hit his friend on the arm just as Neil walked out of his office whistling.

“What’s got you in such a good mood today?” Jason asked Neil who was carrying a box full of new dvds to display. Before Neil could speak he seen you standing there holding the Wolf-man in your hands. He set the box down on the counter by the cash register, double checked his hair and made his way over to you.

“Do you need any help pretty girl?”

“Listen you creep…” you turned quickly with a balled fists before you realized it was Neil. Your jaw dropped a little before you tilted your head with a pout on your lips. “I’m sorry baby, I thought you were the guy who just tried to hit on me!” Neil furrowed his eyebrows before looking in the direction of his friends who quickly turned back to the movie on the tv.

You grabbed his arm making him look back at you. You leaned in forward and pressed your lips into his and Neil wrapped his arms around your waist before sneaking his hands down to your ass to give it a squeeze. A giggle left your mouth which allowed Neil to slip his tongue into your mouth. Both of you swirled your tongues around slowly tasting each other until the sound of someone cleaning their throat brought the reality of the situation back to life.

“Now which one of those boneheads hit on you?” Neil tossed a look at his friends.

“Don’t worry about it, why don’t you remind them and everyone who I belong too.” Your fingers trailed up Neil’s arm making him blush deep red because even though Neil was an older man he still had a crush on you. A sweet innocent thing like you head over heels for him? He still would pinch himself. The feeling of your nails scratched the base of his neck brought him back to the matter at hand.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Neil grabbed your hand, pulled you down the hall and into his office before pushing you up against the wall. His eyes scanned yours and he got lost in how they shined. Your hands ran down his back while the two of you shared a messy kiss full of tongue and teeth hitting each other. The sound of your heart pounding filled your ears as Neil’s hands grabbed at your waist squeezing them hard before he pulled away to smother your neck with wet kisses.

“Neil… please…” you whimpered out.

“Please what baby?”

“Fuck me.”

Neil stopped dead in his tracks as he tilted his head. He couldn’t believe his ears. You actually asked him to fuck you! The two of you had been together for almost a year and the most you two have ever done is mutual masturbation and he had fingered you a few times but you wanted to wait to see if he actually loved you or if it was just for sex.

“Are you sure? You know I won’t do it unless you really want it .” Neil pressed his forehead against yours, cupped your chin and made you look into his eyes. His thumb ran across your bottom lip to which you took your chance and wrapped your lips around it making him groan. Neil watched you suck softly on his thumb which made his cock twitch because he’s always wanted you on your knees for him, sucking him dry but this wasn’t about him it was about you. Your eyes looked so innocent while sucking his thumb but Neil couldn’t take it anymore not unless he wanted to cum in his pants right there.

Neil took back his thumb which made you pout a little before he sat you on his desk. His hands cupped your face again before kissing you hard. Neil could never get enough of your kisses.

Your fingers tangled up in hair as you pulled him closer to you closing any space that was left between your bodies. Neil licked your bottom lip before properly kissing you. His lips moved down your jaw, across your neck and stopped at your cleavage before helping you take off your shirt and bra.

“You’re so pretty.” His hands grabbed your breasts and squeezed them softly before lowering his head so he could wrap his warm mouth around your perky nipple while his fingers rolled around the other. Neil has had his fair share of playing with boobs but that was his expertise area. Now just because Neil was fifteen years older didn’t mean he knew what he was doing since he’s only had two girlfriends and many nights alone with his hand.

Neil kissed down your stomach until he was between your legs. He had seen your cunt many times but it was still his favorite thing to look at when he had the chance. His index finger slowly ran up and down your lips before he licked his finger and slid it inside of you.

“Neil!” You gasped.

“I got you baby.” His face disappeared between your legs as he fingered you slowly. He looked up at you while his tongue lapped over your pussy making you squirm on his desk.

“Fuck ! Neil!” Your fingers gripped onto the edge of his desk. Neil licked faster at your wet cunt while his nose bumped against your clit. He was busy enjoying your scent and taste to notice the fact that he never shut the door to his office all the way but you had and yet you didn’t care, it added to the excitement. While Neil was busy eating you out, his free hand had found its way into his pants and slowly Neil jerked himself off to make sure he was ready to go.

Neil gave a soft kiss to your clit before he stood up, dropped his pants and licked his lips. Your eyes felt heavy as you watched him spit onto his hand and wrap it around his cock. Neil leaned closer into you before planting a big kiss on your lips that made you giggle.

“It’s probably going to sting a little bit, but I got you okay?” His voice was filled with reassurance. His fingers stroked your cheek soothingly before he held his cock, lined the head up to your folds and slowly pushed in.

“Neil!”

“Shh baby, it’s okay! It’s okay.” He pushed the head all the way in making you whine as you squeezed your eyes shut, gripped his arms and took a deep breath. Neil didn’t move, he waited until you were ready. He brushed some hair out of your face until you opened your eyes and nodded. Neil pushed his cock in you inch by inch until he was all the way in making you feel full. He waited again until you were comfortable. You opened your eyes to see a soft smile on his lips as he stayed perfectly inside of you, letting you just take in the moment.

“I’m ready Neil.” You reached up weakly to touch his face before he kissed your hand and slowly started to thrust into you. His thrusts hurt at first but soon enough became enjoyable. Neil held onto your hips and grunted as he picked up the pace. “Fuck! Neil! That’s .. fuck yes.” You moaned as he squeezed your hips. Neil couldn’t believe he was actually fucking you!

“You’re so much better than porn.” He blurted out making you laugh.

“I’d sure hope so!” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that ended with the two of you mixing your tongues together as he pulled you up to sit you up straight as he thrusted faster . As much as Neil wanted to go harder, he didn’t want to hurt you. He was gentle with you while he covered you in messy kisses. His teeth sank into your neck like a vampire to make sure everyone would see who you belonged too. The sounds of your wetness echoed as he looked down to watch his cock slide in and out of you while you locked your legs around his waist.

Neil as in heaven. You were an angel! Such a filthy angel who was taking his cock so well. The way you were moaning and whimpering, squeezing his cock with you tight, wet, warms walls, the way you’d gasp when the head of his cock hit that soft spot inside you he wasn’t going to last. He sucked on your nipples again making you cry out his name. Your nails dug into his pale arms as he adjusted your hips so he could go deeper. There were a few times where his cock slipped out and he had to put it back in. He didn’t care though, he loved fucking you.

“Neil, please! I’m going to cum.” You moaned loudly.

“Cum for me baby! Cry out my name!” Neil slowed down his thrust but went just a little harder.

Your hand snaked down to rub your clit but Neil smacked it away and rubbed circled on it with his thumb as he looked into your eyes. He could see the mixture of lust and innocence lurking in them making him groan.

“Neil! Just like that! Please fuck! I need to cum.”

“Go on baby ! Cum all over my cock. Be good for me and cum yeah!”

Your orgasm hit you more intensely than it had before. Your thighs and legs shook as you held onto Neil’s arms making your knuckles turn white while you cried out his name. Tears ran down your face, heart beating fast as you squeezed his cock hard as you creamed all over his cock getting some of it on his pubic hairs that were covering his balls.

“Fuck baby! You’re squeezing me so tight! Fuck!” Neil was on the edge and quickly pulled out before he pumped his cock with four quick strokes and came all over your bruised thighs. Your mouth hung open with little pants falling out while you watched him cum. Neil heavily panted before he gripped your arms and kissed you softly.

“For someone who’s use to porn, you sure had an idea…” you smiled up at him making him squish your cheeks together before planting another kiss.

“You have to learn somehow!” Neil pulled you up onto your wobbly feet and helped you get cleaned up. He got himself back together before he brushed your hair a little but it would be obvious what the two of you had just did in his office. As the two of you walked out everyone turned to look at the two of you with some looks of horror, some full of curiosity and some that just couldn’t believe it.

“Flirt with her again, I dare you.” Neil smacked his friend upside the head as you laid your head on his shoulder. “She’s my girl and only mine.”

[tenderleavesbob]

This turned out more bittersweet than originally planned. Still. Merry Christmas!

Warriors called Lana “sweet” and “a friend” and never said a bad word about it, but Legend couldn’t help but be leery of the blue-haired sorceress. Warriors spoke kindly of her, but Legend saw how he didn’t linger near her. He watched how Lana stared after Warriors and how General Impa glared at her every time.

There was also something familiar about her. Something terrifying. Like there was something vast hidden in her slender body. Legend didn’t like it.

He also didn’t like how Lana was watching Warriors now. Legend sat on the stone wall several feet away from her and observed his brothers. Time was stretched out on the grass, resting his weight on his palms with his long legs extended in front of him. Warriors was teasing Wind. He would ruffle his hair and dodge away when Wind tried to retaliate.

“The timeline was broken,” Lana said quietly, breaking the silence between them. She didn’t look away from Warriors. Despite the power Legend felt radiating from her, the longing in her eyes was all too human. “The war was awful, but we were able to use it to bind the timelines together into something whole. The Hero of the Wild comes from the united timeline.”

Legend hummed but said nothing. She waited, as if expecting a response. When none came, she continued.

“It made me think that maybe the Lady Hylia planned it,” Lana said. “Or one of the goddesses had. Maybe more. They don’t talk to me anymore.”

Anymore. Legend filed that away.

In front of them, Wind had successfully tackled Warriors into the grass. Warriors was yelling about his hair while Time sat up to clap. Wind crowed with victory. It made Legend’s heart ache, reminded him of simpler times.

“I think it was more than just that now,” Lana continued softly. She nodded at the trio. “Link… the other heroes from the other timelines helped him, but he could have won on his own. It would have been harder, but he could have done it. I thought for a long time that the other heroes were sent to help him, but now I wonder if it was so Link could help them.”

Legend looked sharply at her. She hunched her slender shoulders. She didn’t look back at him. She continued, her voice quieter than ever, “I think Link was given a different duty during the war. And now. The Hero of Time. The Hero of Wind. He taught them so much during the war. I didn’t see it then, but I see it in the Hero of Time now. I wonder how differently he would have been without Link’s love and guidance. He’s an adult now and will be the father of a great guideline. He was a great warrior as a child, but someone capable of that?” She smiled sadly. Her eyes followed Warriors like she couldn’t bear to look away. “The Hero of Wind is also destined for greatness. I have to wonder how much of that was aided by Link’s teachings and guidance?”

Legend bit the inside of his cheek and looked back at the trio. Warriors was sprawled in the grass, Wind still triumphantly on his torso. Legend knew and he knew Time knew that the only way Wind could have dropped Warriors was with his consent. Based on the pride shining from Wind’s face, he didn’t know, and no one was going to tell him. 

When Time listened to no one else, he listened to Warriors. When he grew tense and angry, Warriors calmed him like Twilight calmed Epona. 

Legend hadn’t thought about it before, but now he wondered.

“I think it was never about them helping him,” Lana said. “I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure. I don’t have the eyes to see anymore.”

“Maybe,” Legend said pointedly, “it’s because you keep staring in the wrong direction.”

Lana flinched and at last looked away from Warriors. Legend couldn’t feel guilty for it. Not when Warriors looked away from Wind and saw Lana there. Not when his brother’s smile faltered and his ears flattened. Wind poked his shoulder and Warriors turned to him with a bright smile, but it didn’t look so genuine anymore.

“Bad things happen when people lose sight of their responsibilities,” Legend said, voice hard with warning. Her power reminded him of the Oracles. He placed it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. It did nothing to soothe the new weight on his shoulders.

“Yes,” Lana said quietly. “They do. Have a good day, Hero of Legend.” She bowed her head at him and got up. Legend tensed when she looked back over her shoulder one more time at his brother, but Warriors didn’t look back. Without a word, Lana walked away.

Legend caught Time’s eye. Time nodded once at him. In silence, they turned back to watch their laughing brothers. There was a horrific story there between the four. Legend didn’t know, and with the memory of the shadows in Warriors’s eyes, he knew he wouldn’t ask.

He would pay more attention, though. It turned out that Warriors held more secrets than he ever could have thought.

[housederiva]

so now that veilguard is out and digested, what would you say the best place for a complete newcomer to get into dragon age is? does origins still hold up as a fun opening game fifteen years later?

Dear listener my advice is to play Veilguard before the first 3 installments. I genuinely believe that it would be enjoyed more if you don't know what has been lost/what has been taken from you cut beforehand. The only thing from the first 3 installments that matter in Veilguard is one possible choice your Inquisitor makes, romancing Solas (If you don't have a previous inquisitor I highly recommend making her a Lavellan who was/is in love with him in Veilguard's cc, they have a beautiful story)

While Veilguard is a good RPG, it is not a good Dragon Age game. If you know what shoulders it's standing on, the luster will wear off very quickly. I love it for what it is and I will mourn it for what it is not - and that's okay in a sad, almost bitter way. Inquisition was game of the year for a reason and subsequently Veilguard wasn't mentioned at all for another

On the flip side though (and please keep in mind I'm saying this as someone who played origins in 2009) Origins, Awakening, 2, Inquisition, and most of their DLC's are a branching, beautiful story that will leave a permanent mark on your heart And you can choose what those marks are because your actions in origins ripple out into Inquisition (some more so than others). It will echo out through any other media you love in the future and depending on how old you are it will rewire bits of your brain because let me tell you playing Inquisition at 15 did something to me. Yes, the combat mechanics aren't the greatest in Origins and 2 is a little annoying to play on PC but their stories are wonderful...

What is it like to be thrust into a position of importance and did it stem from choice or survival? Is conscription liberating or a chain of resentment? What is it like to lose your home only to slowly build another that you love and cherish just to watch it crumble away? To know that no matter what you do, it was for nothing? What does it mean when you are suddenly a beacon of hope for a people that possibly are not even your own? What does it feel like to be held in such a regard that you are seen as the voice of a god and no longer a person? Are you afraid that your name will be erased - your culture will be erased, and you will just remain your title just like the one that came before you?

If you have no prior experience with Dragon Age play Veilguard first. That way you won't be upset about what has happened to [redacted's] character or the fact that tranquility is never mentioned and several other things that I don't need to go into here. But without playing the others first, you won't understand the severity of the Blight, your tether Varric won't be as strong, the injustice done to the elves and dalish will go unnoticed. You won't know what it means to be a mage in southern Thedas. You won't know what it means to be castless or saarebas, you won't know what vallaslin is.

If Veilguard is the first experience you have with Dragon Age then you won't know the teeth the series used to have, you'll only have what they're passing off as a growl and you'll be satisfied with that

[sinsolstice]

★ 彡 AFTER DARK. ✧ MIGUEL O'HARA

oneshot ❥ be careful who you make your wishes and deals with.

❥  tropes devil au, human/devil relationship. el diablo miguel x reader. ❥  content warnings explicit sexual content (18+) blowjob, descriptive male sexual anatomy. minors do not interact. ❥ extras dividers by @/cafekitsune. this oneshot was part of a miguel o'hara zine called 'enrapture 2024'.

You didn’t think it would work when you summoned someone you shouldn’t have. 

You aren’t one to stir trouble, but you’re a curious person. Still, it hasn’t led you to situations where you can’t get yourself out. But perhaps this time, your curiosity has gotten the best of you, and now you’re faced with the unfathomable thought of inviting someone—a supernatural being—into your home. 

You don’t believe in the supernatural. So when you chanted El Diablo’s name three times in front of your mirror past midnight before bed, you thought of it as a harmless joke. You didn’t think he existed. But now, a strange man is standing right in front of you at an ungodly hour of the night. And with what you’ve done, you’re convinced that El Diablo is real, and he towers over right in front of you.

He is taller than any man you’ve come across. Heavily muscular with sharp features on the jawline and black horns that bend to the front and slightly fork up at the end. His complexion is dark, brown hair unkempt, and his piercingly red eyes glow red in the dimly lit room. 

“What do we have here?” His voice sounds distinctive, deep and imposing. He smirks at you in a taunting way that sends shivers down your back. “A toy that I can play with.” 

“Are you… the Devil?” 

The supernatural being laughs. “I go by many names. El Diablo is a famous title for what I am most known for. But you can call me Miguel.” He adds, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You summoned me. What is it that you desire?” 

You stare at him—at Miguel—as you process what he has just revealed. You want to believe that this is some sort of prank, but the aura he radiates in the room says otherwise. Maybe you’ve outdone yourself this time. “Desire?” You say with pretence. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“A mere human doesn’t conjure creatures of hell without intentions. Even if they do it on a whim or dare.” Miguel states, his expression solemn. “Everyone has one, pequeño. Whether it could be wanting fame, money, power or love. Anything their heart desires, they want to have it easily in the palm of their hand.” 

You’re quiet when he explains and you can’t help but think of your desires. Everyone has something that they wish for—that they yearn for. You do too, and it now makes you wonder why you summoned him in your room in the quietest of the night. Was  curiosity really the reason you summoned Miguel? Why did you summon him in the first place when you don’t believe in the supernatural? Do they really know about a human’s desires? 

“But your deal comes with a price.” You look at him. “That’s how making deals with you works, right?” 

Miguel grins. “You’re the skeptical type. I like that.” 

You shrug your shoulders. Cultural media always portrays how deals are made with devils in fiction stories, and it’s not much different to making an agreement for something and signing a contract to officiate the deal. “You want my soul if I strike a deal with you?” 

The smile on Miguel’s face curves wider, eyes glinting in mirth. “That is quite the assumption, pequeño.” He chuckles. It feels a bit like a mockery. “A soul is a heavy price to pay. But in your case—” He stares at you up and down, red-coloured eyes gazing tentatively. “There’s something more valuable than your soul.” 

You stare at him back; his words strike a streak of wonder in you. The words come out of you before you can register them. “What is worth more than my soul?” 

Miguel raises a brow at you. The corner of his mouth curves up into a smirk. “I can’t tell you that. Not until you tell me what your heart desires.” 

When he moves closer, you move back instinctively. The weight of his words puts you off balance, and you question yourself if it’s wise to tell El Diablo about your desire. Something holds you back—a tiny voice—from speaking about your desire. It’s a wish that you try not to dwell on or feed thoughts into your head. What you wish for isn’t money or power or fame or forcing someone to be yours; it’s something that you can’t have overnight.

But with Miguel right in front of you—the way he stares down at you, the temptation to confess is great. It’s like a whisper in your ear, eliciting you to tell him. That he won’t judge you for your desire, no matter how imbecile it sounds. 

After all, it’s not like you’ll be making a proper deal with El Diablo, right? 

“I… I desire companionship.” You admit softly. 

Miguel goes quiet. His expression is solemn. But not long after, a smile widens on his face and his red eyes shine intriguingly. There’s something wicked about his smile. “That’s more like it,” he says. “Go on…” 

“I’m tired of being alone. I’m surrounded by people who have someone they can constantly talk to. To go home to.” You continue. “I just want to have that, too.” 

“And why can’t you?” Miguel says bluntly. “Let me make your desire come true, pajarito. You want someone to greet you when you come home? Do mundane things together? To love you? I can make all of that happen overnight.” 

His words sound like gospel, and another whisper tempts in your ears. He can make it happen, it says. It’ll stop you from feeling lonely. From trying to bury away what you’ve been feeling for a while. You’ve never asked for anything in life, but maybe just this once…you want your desire to come true. 

“If I make a deal with you, what’s the condition?” You ask. “You said that there’s something more valuable than my soul.” 

Miguel smirks at you. He leans forward and his voice gravels as he whispers into your ear. His words send shivers down your spine, and from the moment he reveals it, you realize you should have thought properly before giving in to the temptation of your desire. “...Your innocence.” 

“And trust me, you won’t regret making the deal with me.”

***** 

If only you’d known what you were truly getting yourself into. 

Just like that, overnight, Miguel granted your desire. In seventy-two hours, your social circle was somehow aware that you’re with someone, but you’d never mentioned to anyone that you’re taken. Why on Earth would you lie about something like that? But when El Diablo showed up—when Miguel, in his ordinary human form without the horns and piercing fangs—appeared at your workplace, gifting you a bouquet of flowers and your favourite food, you knew that this had to do with the deal you’d made with him the other night. And until now, you’ve fooled everyone you know for a couple of months now about your relationship with your ‘partner’, Miguel.

In exchange for getting your companionship, the price you pay is becoming Miguel’s personal toy. His beck and call for his sexual escapades. You’ve heard stories about how not only Devils are creatures of deceit, but they’re also sexual beings. During the day, Miguel plays the role of your boyfriend very well. But at night he goes back to being El Diablo, revealing his true self as the Devil who brought debauchery into your life.

"You know what time it is, pequeño," Miguel declares, appearing at your doorstep with a big smile. You know better than to disobey, and you comply with his request. Despite your reluctance to partake in such debauchery for companionship, it is necessary to honour your end of the bargain. 

As thoughts swirled in the back of your head, you couldn't help but wonder why Miguel didn't simply take your soul instead. However, his influence on you had grown so strong that you couldn't ignore the temptation anymore, and you secretly found yourself enjoying and eagerly anticipating the forbidden acts you engaged in every night.

Miguel leads you to a room in a secluded corner of your house. The room is enveloped in a dim, dark ambience, illuminated only by the eerie glow of red fluorescence lights. Standing together in the centre, you feel a powerful gaze from Miguel, instructing you to lower yourself onto your knees. As you comply, you can’t help but notice his commanding presence, towering above you with an air of dominance. Your body quivers with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

“You know what to do.” His baritone voice brings you back to reality. The sound of metal clicking—as he unbuckles his belt, you brace yourself for what’s about to come.The fabric of his pants ruffles, and your gaze is drawn to the prominent bulge in front of you, concealed behind a barrier of cloth. As his pants fall to the ground, you are confronted with his impressive manhood: a substantial shaft, with a thick girth, measuring ten inches in length. The pinkish-red head perfectly matches the rest of his dark complexion. It pulsates with desire, glistening with pre-cum, and its presence is almost overwhelming, as if it could be thrust upon your face. This is Miguel's, or rather El Diablo's, formidable member.

“Open your mouth.” Miguel’s voice is brusque in command. His cockhead brushes against your mouth, smearing a bit of semen against your tight lips. 

You’ve done this before, since the deal’s been made, and it never fails to make you tremble as your hands wrap around his shaft. Unclenching your jaw, you open your mouth and wrap your lips around his cockhead, circling the tip with the back of your tongue. Slowly, you open your mouth to accommodate taking a couple more inches of his cock, stuffing your mouth full. You use your hands to stroke the rest of his length that you can’t properly fit in your mouth. Your cheeks hollow as you suck his cock, careful to not make yourself gag. 

“That’s it, pequeño. Need to have you loosen that mouth of yours to take my cock deeper.” Miguel praise. His growls rumble in his chest, sending shivers down your back. One of his fangs peaks out as he bites the corner of his bottom lip. “So, I’m gonna have to do this to make it easier for the both of us.” 

His hand holds the back of your head, curling his fingers to grip your hair. By the time you realise what he plans to do to you next, his cock is shoved deeper into your mouth, and his cockhead hits the back of your throat. He pulls your head back before pushing you onto his cock again—two, three, a couple more times—until the dragging back and forth becomes steady and consistent. Miguel howls, nostrils flaring as he heavily pants. He stares  down at you, intensely primal and wicked, alternating between tugging your head and thrusting himself into your mouth for his cock to nestle deep in your wet warmth. 

The red fluorescence creates a shadow on the wall that reminds you of chiaroscuro art. You, on your knees in front of Miguel as he stands proudly, displaying the dominance and submissiveness in the air; the lustful, carnal debauchery. You swear from the corner of your eyes you could see a shadow of his devilish horns—showing his true self—in contrast to his reflection from the mirror, where his devil physique does not show. 

“Mine to use and mine to fuck.” Miguel grunts. He drives his hips faster and deeper inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat as his cock slides in and out. It pulses in your throat and your eyes widen as you stare at him, feeling it engorge and forcing yourself to loosen your jaw. A muffled whimper escapes out of your throat, nails gently clawing on the side of his thighs as you watch him fuck your throat with reckless abandon. Bracing yourself for what’s to come. 

A few more thrusts and Miguel’s cock quivers inside your mouth. He snarls and shoots his load down your throat, holding you in place as you’re forced to take him. His cock continues to pulsate as he breathes heavily from his orgasm. “It never gets old,” Miguel’s voice rasps. 

His fingers instinctively caress you gently, touching at the area where he gripped your hair too tightly as he came down from the high. You don’t pull off of him even when his cum spills down your lips, knowing that this arrangement has been set in stone the moment you called for El Diablo, the night you met him. 

thank you for reading!

all of my links.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Astarion stumbles upon a new skill and the legend of Two Hand 'Starion is born!

Tags: Humour, fluff, crack, violence, dirty jokes, slight Astarion x Reader.

This fic has been inspired by the amazing @radish-breath , whose late night BG3 conversations with me (on how re-spec of characters changes the whole party dynamic) have fuelled this madness. Merry Christmas, Radish! 🎄🎊

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Faerun was a land of contrasts, if your adventures were anything to go by. On the one hand, new and varied wonders unfolded before your eyes each day, while on the other, those same wonders sometimes sprouted a few too many teeth, claws (and in some cases, tentacles) for anyone's liking. 

Today was that kind of day; today the dice rolled against luck, and you and Astarion were its unfortunate victims.

Ogres, of all things.

After that rather daunting meeting with three of the aesthetically-impaired species in the Blighted Village, you'd fancied yourself a bit more careful going forward. One would think that after such a mistake, you might have recognised the signs.

And Gods, were the signs noticeable. Maybe if Astarion hadn't started an argument about Scratch slobbering all over his tunic while he slept, you wouldn't have been quite so distracted and may have picked up on the smell (like a latrine frequented by fifty oxen with the flux) or maybe the bones (femurs the size of your torso scored by the marks of large teeth) or perhaps the smell of roasted dwarf on a spit over a campfire (with its remarkably unique bouquet).

The hunter's stash that you'd found the co-ordinates for, and marked on your map, had yielded disappointing results. Someone had got to it first, evidently, only leaving behind some weaponry and a few alchemical ingredients.

Among them were two finely crafted hand crossbows which Astarion had regarded with barely concealed disdain. He'd been on the lookout for something that dealt more damage. Temperament soured, he'd started bemoaning the state of the camp with that 'flea-ridden bag of blood' prancing around.

And so it was that you'd strolled, rather nonchalantly, right into the middle of an ogre dinner. You'd stopped dead, all arguments for the healing powers of Scratch's saliva promptly forgotten. Beside you, Astarion opened his mouth to counter you, spotted the ogres and slowly cranked his jaw shut again.

Silence reigned in the clearing. One of the ogres wiped sheep fat off his lips politely, presumably waiting for you to introduce yourself. Collecting your wits, you stepped forward, far more boldly than you felt.

"Well met. We're just passing through."

The ogre grunted, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Nah."

"You see, I - "

"You lookin' tasty, little piggy."

Another ogre, with an alarming growth of fungus along the side of its face turned his full attention to you, picking gristle from between his teeth with a pike.

"I mean, that one looks tasty. The other un' be lookin' runty. No flavourin'".

Astarion raised an eyebrow.

"I assure you, good sirs, my flavour is just sublime."

"Oo you lyin' to, wormy?"

You cut in before any further damage could be done. It was time to bring out the charisma. And a flash of inspiration had struck you, that daredevil little spark that seemed to emerge whenever the odds were stacked against you.

"Oh, his flavour is nothing to be laughed at. Don't you know who he is?"

Beside you, Astarion tensed. His voice was a hiss, audible only to you.

"What do you think you're - "

But now you have the ogres' full attention, and you're not about to waste this window of opportunity. Stepping forward, you pulled off your hood, gesturing to Astarion with a flourish.

"Have you never heard of 'Two Hand 'Starion'?"

Fungus Face belched loudly, eyes sliding inwards to the bridge of his squashed-pudding nose as he gave this question the consideration it deserved.

"Nah?"

"Oo in the seven 'ells izzat?"

Your hands spread wide, inviting them into the weave of your tale.

"Oh, he's known by many different names across the realms. I've only been his travel companion for a fraction of his long journey. He also goes by Starblazer, or Boltazar, the fastest draw in Avernus."

Astarion's glare was now eating into the back of your head like an acid-spill, but you were in too deep to retreat. Skipping lightly forward, you mimed the action of drawing and firing two crossbows.

"He's unmatched in speed, graceful as a panther, his hands nothing more than a blur as he rains bolts of flame and ice down upon his foes."

You spun on your heel and the third ogre, who had been quietly occupied with stuffing his face, hoping that nobody else would notice the food disappearing down his gullet, dropped a dwarf leg in surprise.

"He stalks the astral realm, beyond where even a seasoned traveler like myself dares to roam, and braves the wrath of the fiercest githyanki warriors. Even they cannot pin him down, because his draw is faster still."

Fungus Face scowled.

"What if I eat one o' them arms? Then he'll just be One Hand 'Starion."

Sheep Fat seemed to be the smarter one among them, because he was beginning to look a trifle nervous. He made a shushing gesture at Fungus Face.

"This sounds awful f'miliar. What if she's telling the truth? About this Starblazer? Swear I 'eard the name before."

You're not sure which of the many embellished tales this ogre has heard and confused with your own hastily-spun fantasy, but that's hardly your concern. Clearing your throat, you take a few more steps towards safety, gesturing expansively at Astarion. He looks singularly unimpressed.

"But you must have heard the tales, or at least some form of them!"

You raise a hand, expression turning suddenly sombre.

"Please, in your best interests, friends. Don't impede our journey. I see you're all enjoying a good meal, around a roaring campfire. Don't let our intrusion cause an unnecessary skirmish. I only say this with your lives and safety in mind."

You jerked your head subtly at your companion. If this ruse was to work, it needed one final demonstration from him. Granted, you weren't expecting a lot, just enough to sell the story to a bunch of gormless (if rather terrifying) ogres who the two of you would definitely struggle to take in open combat.

What you weren't anticipating was the entirely separate persona that seemed to inhabit Astarion's body the moment your signal was given. As disgruntled as he'd seemed at your initial ploy, he was certainly playing along beautifully now.

Kicking lazily off the tree he'd been leaning against, he sauntered into the firelight, bringing with him the sure-footed elegance of a seasoned bounty hunter. The two crossbows you'd discovered in the stash earlier appeared in his hands as if by magic, a deft twirl of the wrist settling them in firing position. His eyes gleamed scarlet in the gloom, dangerous and calculating.

"Now, I don't see the point of revealing my identity unless truly necessary."

Even something about his accent had changed, the timbre of his voice lower, deeper, edged with malice.

"I do recognise, however, that you three are worthy of being called strong. I'd hate for your lives to end here. After all, when you've wandered as long as I have, strong opponents are hard to come by."

The ogres were now silent,  uncertain. Or at least, two of them were. Fungus Face was slowly reaching for his club. Before you had a chance to shout a warning, Astarion's hand came up, a soft 'zing' sounding through the clearing before the club spun from the ogre's grasp, flying a few feet away. Another bolt had been loaded and strung before anyone could react, the vampire's jaunty posture a direct challenge.

What in the - Had Astarion always been that good of a marksman?

You hastily adjust your expression. Whatever the outcome, you couldn't be goggling at him in the same manner as the ogres. You had a performance to complete. Astarion's drawl cut through the tension pervading the camp.

"Dont make me riddle you with holes, there's a dear."

Fungus Face, finally convinced, sat down heavily. You nodded, cautious.

"Let's ... be on our way then. No use in troubling these fine ogres any longer."

As soon as you were out of the ogres' perception, you broke into a sprint. Only when the clearing had been well and truly left in the dust, did you slow down, panting heavily, hands resting on your knees. You turned, one finger stabbing at the pale elf who jogged up beside you.

"What in the hell was that?"

He sneered.

"I should be asking you the same question. 'Two Hand 'Starion'? Was that the best you could do?"

You waved aside his naming concerns, struggling to catch your breath.

"No, not that. I mean ... when did you get so skilled with a crossbow?"

As much as you'd only been traveling together for a month, you knew enough about Astarion to pick up on his little tells. While he seemed to be trying to hide the fact, he was also somewhat confused by the convincing nature of his own charade.

Glancing down at the crossbows, he gave a graceful shrug. 

"Well, I've had many years to practice with missiles of all kinds. I suppose my skill with other bows must have carried over."

"So what you're saying is ... that you're actually a natural? And this is really your first time dabbling in this particular skill?"

He cleared his throat and your eyes narrowed. Were the tips of his ears turning ... pink? Since when had praise of any kind unsettled him? Astarion was quick to change the subject.

"Can we please get back to camp now? You've had me traipsing through this damn forest for hours and my fingernails are in an absolute state."

On the way back to your base, you eyed him surreptitiously. He seemed deep in thought, fingers occasionally drifting down to trace over the crossbows which now had place of honour on his belt.

"All right. Out with it. What's going on with him?"

It was Gale who posed the question while preparing dinner a few weeks later. You were helping him slice vegetables into the large cast-iron cook pot. On your left, Karlach, who'd been peeling potatoes, leaned in conspiratorially.

"Yeah, it's not like him at all. What happened, that day in the forest?"

Sighing, you vented your frustrations on a hapless carrot.

"Look, it's exactly what I told you. We ran into those ogres, he improvised with the crossbows and now he bloody well won't let them out of his sight."

Gale's brow was knitted in thought.

"He does favour them, yes. And then he keeps disappearing into the forest - "

Karlach gasped.

"Wait, you don't think he - "

You shook your head vehemently.

"He wouldn't. And besides, if he really was wandering into the forest to kill creatures left and right, we'd be seeing the bodies, yes?"

Karlach gave you both a blank stare.

"Oh. No, I was imagining more along the lines of him wanking off to them."

Gale choked on air and you almost sliced off a finger.

"Karlach - "

"Elaborate?"

She waved a hand, the potato within it dwarfed by the size of her palm.

"Dont ask me about the logistics, mate. Astarion is creative when it comes to those things, right?"

Gale massaged at the growing furrow between his brows.

"As skilled as I have no doubt he is, I think even Astarion would find it difficult to - "

"To what, my darlings?"

All three of you froze in position.

When had he arrived? Astarion had always been stealthy, but not like this.

Gale glanced up at him, eyeing the crossbows that had now been holstered in a special harness across the shoulders that Astarion had fashioned for himself.

"Ah. Astarion. We were just - "

"Talking - "

"About stuff and ... you ... and - "

"About ... you know... your crossbows and - "

"Wanking," concluded Karlach, solemnly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow before sashaying over to the campfire and draping himself over a nearby tree trunk.

"As much as I love the idea of all three of you tickling your little pearls in longing for me - "

Gale grimaced.

"Never happened, I assure you."

" - I've got a more ... immediate issue."

"Oh?"

You stare at him curiously. Since the ogre incident, Astarion has been particularly reticent, and him seeking out your help was an unusual, if welcome change.

Karlach, ever eager to assist, perks up immediately.

"Well, out with it then."

Astarion's eyes dropped to the ground and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked slightly bashful. He unsheathed his crossbows and placed them carefully within the circle of firelight, where you can all see them clearly.

"I - I need ... "

His words come out in a rush.

"I need some help naming them."

Gale promptly dropped the ladle he was holding.

"Naming?"

Astarion rose, looking slightly agitated, and began to pace before you.

"Look, I know how it sounds. I know how unlike me it is to become attached to something, even if an inanimate object. I know, all too well, the impermanence of the material, but ..."

He turned to you, and the earnest appeal in his eyes surprised you to no end.

"I like how the crossbows make me feel. It's the first time something has come this ... naturally to me. It's effortless. Not something I have to elaborately craft. Just - Just help me with this. Please."

Karlach made her way over and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You can rely on us, Astarion. We'll help with anything you request."

You felt a little misty-eyed yourself and even Gale cleared his throat and dabbed at his eye suspiciously. Karlach clapped her hands, taking charge of the situation.

"Right. So, good people, Astarion needs help finding names for his trusty weapons. I'm partial to a little naming myself. I had a Blood Drinker and a Kidney Shredder, once upon a time."

Gale waved his hands hurriedly, as Astarion's nose abruptly wrinkled.

"Lovely names, to be sure, but maybe Astarion is looking for something a tad less on the nose."

You hummed thoughtfully, taking in the strong, delicate lines of the crossbows.

"Hmm. How about, Sting and Strike?"

Your vampire companion moved closer into the firelight, eyes gleaming, stroking his chin.

"Direct, yes, but ... too pedestrian."

Gale stood, the cook pot forgotten.

"Warp and Weft."

"More suitable for a wizard, I think."

Karlach slammed a fist into her palm.

"Growl and Thunder."

"My crossbows are not of the canine persuasion."

Slowly, the whole camp gets drawn into the naming exercise, their enthusiasm growing. Wyll, Shadowheart and Halsin were next in line to provide their suggestions.

"Valour and Honour."

"Wax and Wane."

"Briar and Nettle."

To his credit, Astarion gave each of their ideas due consideration before rejecting them. Nice of him, considering how outlandish some of the names brought forward were.

"Bulette and Shroom!"

"I'd rather not have memories of that place."

"Rough and Tumble."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Frank and Furter!"

"... what?"

You shrug.

"Sounded appropriate."

It is, surprisingly, Withers who steps in to save the day. Quite suddenly, he is among you, pale eyes calmly taking in the crossbows while the fire flickers along the gold tracery adorning his face. His voice, soft as it is, immediately silences the good-natured bickering around you.

"There are many instruments of death, some reliable, primitive. Others speak of ingenuity, the kind directed at dealing pain. Strange they are, the subjects that stimulate human creativity."

He turns to Astarion, expression distant, as always.

"For one whose name has already been recorded, pain must be your constant companion. You must be a disciple of chaos and mayhem. If these weapons must be yours, let them have fitting names. Be the death that comes swiftly, and leave sorrow in your wake."

So saying, Withers made his calm exit. Astarion was nodding to himself, eyes kindling with ... something you couldn't quite be certain of.

"Swift and Sorrow. Hmm. Yes. I think that'll do nicely."

Soon enough, you realise what Astarions's lengthy disappearances into the forest had been in aid of. He had been ... practicing.

You're not quite sure what kind of regimen he had put himself through, but the results were quite astounding.

The first time you saw it in action was during a raid on a bandit camp that your party has been planning for a while. You'd received intelligence of an medical text in a vault, stored deep within the mountain, that might give some insight into how your parasite might be removed.

The trouble began with the discovery that a group of bandits had settled right outside the entrance, completely unaware of the significance of the chambers beneath them. Their camp was well-fortified and guarded, almost impregnable by anyone's standards. The sheer cliffs surrounding it saw to that.

You had no choice but to approach from the lower ground, which gave you a distinct disadvantage, in both numbers and position. Nonetheless, the text within the vault was important. You had to get hold of it to give yourself every opportunity available.

On the morning of the raid, Astarion caused a bit of a stir when he emerged from his tent.

Gone was the light leather armour he favoured, the lace-edged collars and sleeves jutting rakishly out at neck and wrist. He was now dressed in Drow armour, lithe form encased fully in the dark leather. Some enchantment had been placed upon the ensemble, shadows gathering about him like a shroud.

By the time you'd reached the enemy encampment, it was late evening. The crudely drawn symbols on ragged red pennants flapped vigorously in the wind, a warning of what was to come should you venture further up the winding mountain pass.

Just as you were all moving into your respective positions, Astarion's hand came down lightly on your shoulder.

"Would you be so kind, my pretty dove, as to allow me to go in first this time?"

In the growing gloom, his form was even less distinct. The hood that came with the new armour had been pulled up, his glossy, pale curls completely concealed. You'd never noticed before quite how predatory his eyes seemed in the darkess, polished garnets lit from within with unholy fire.

Nodding slowly, you agreed.

"All right. We'll be right behind you. Be careful."

Slowly, cautiously, you ascended the rocky path, Shadowheart and Lae'zel in tow. The githyanki warrior was unusually quiet. Under regular circumstances, she'd have passed some biting quip on others' lack of strength or fighting ability, but tonight she looked ... almost anticipatory. Excited.

Soon, you're in a fairly favourable position, crouched in some bushes on the outskirts of the camp. You have a clear view of the sentries and the bandits milling about at the centre. However you looked at it, it would be a difficult battle, what with that palisade barrier and those -

"Oi. Where's Marcus got to?"

"Said he was brushing down the horses. Why?"

The blonde bandit who had asked the question shrugged, looking slightly puzzled.

"Well, that's where I saw him last. Can't find him now. Oh well."

You exchanged glances with Shadowheart, but held your position. Shortly afterward, another bandit, a halfling with a long dagger strapped to his back, wandered past, looking confused.

"Hey, did anyone see those powder satchels I left on the casket?"

"Be more careful, idiot! Look around. It'll turn up."

An aggravated shout came from across the camp.

"Marcus, you lout! I've been looking for you high and low, where have you - Wait. Wait. Marcus? What in the hells are you - "

"That's - that's not Marcus!"

"Run!"

Narrowing your eyes, you made out the figure of a man, presumably Marcus, shambling into the firelight. It was obvious that he was no longer among the living, but his limbs carried him with jerky, spasmodic movements towards the blaze. Strapped around his form were the missing powder satchels.

From beside you, Shadowheart gave an approving hum as the bandits swarmed in panic, diving out of the way as 'Marcus' made a beeline for the fire, leaping right into the midst of it. An explosion rent the air, a cloud of acrid smoke pouring from the centre of the camp, accompanied by a rain of what appeared to be the remnants of Marcus.

Floundering within the cloud of smoke, the bandits soon realised that their number was being cut even further. First one, then two, then four, each brought down with a gurgling yell, dark tendrils lacing their skin where the fine bolts pierced their flesh.

"Who is it? Where is it coming from?"

The leader of the bandits, a hefty man in plate armour, wielding an enormous axe, brandished his weapon, eyes streaming from the smoke.

"To me! To me!"

His rallying cry brought a stumbling group to his side, their weapons held at the ready.

"Show yourself, you stinking coward!"

A voice came coiling through the night, mocking, sultry, full of dark delight.

"My, my. We are fierce aren't we? Pity your ... large, stiff swords won't be of much use here."

Another bolt, shot with unerring precision, through the smoke, straight through the heart of one of the bandits.

"Behind the wagons! Now! Take cover!"

Lae'zel grunted, her nostrils flaring. The scent of blood was making her itch for battle, but you still didn't give the signal to break cover.

"There's the bastard!"

From behind the fire, a sleek shape stepped into visibility. One of the men crouching behind the wagon slung a smoking vial of acid his way. He sidestepped neatly, tutting like a school marm at a rowdy bunch of youngsters.

"Where are your manners? You haven't even allowed me to introduce myself."

"Who the fuck cares! Fire his way! Don't stop!"

Astarion dodged another arrow, then danced around a volley of bolts laden with an ice enchantment.

Was he -

Yes. Yes, he was giggling.

"Gentlemen, not all at once! Please. My sore little body can't take any more."

In spite of herself, Shadowheart's mouth was twitching. You groaned internally. If you used a spell to speak to the dead that littered the camp, you swore that they'd all sit upright screaming about sexual harassment.

The leader of the bandits seemed to be growing more and more enraged with every one of the insouciant vampire's taunts.

"Who in the fucking blazes are you?"

Astarion came to a dramatic halt, arms spread wide, eyes positively shining.

"Oh darling, I'm so glad you asked. They call me Two Hand 'Starion, and these lovely ladies are Swift and Sorrow."

The crossbows appeared like lightning in his hands, twirling, dropping, leveling. His voice lowered an octave, suddenly lethal.

"Now watch closely, or you'll miss the show entirely."

So saying, he vanished once again. And that was your cue.

"Now!"

Lae'zel leapt from the bushes with a roar that startled the bandits so badly that one of them promptly wet himself. Her sword carved a swathe through your hapless opponents, brushing off cuts and blows as if they were mere insect bites.

From the shadows, Astarion's gleeful shriek of laughter sounded.

"Mother, scold her! She isn't leaving any for me!"

Bolts carrying necrotic blasts and purple flame speared from every angle, miraculously bypassing your party to pierce the flesh of the bandits. One of them made a run for it, towards the entrance of the vault, only to have two explosive bolts fired directly into his buttocks.

"Naughty! No dine and dash allowed!"

Clutching at his backside, the unfortunate man screamed in agony as - well, imagination can fill in a fair few blanks.

The leader chose this moment to launch himself at Astarion, where he was now visible on a small incline above the camp.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

The greataxe came down on a shimmering illusion and Shadowheart smirked, waving away the remnants with a flat motion of her palm. The brawny man spun on his heel, eyes bulging, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, sweetcheeks."

The words were a venomous hiss, the blades punching upwards, through the leader's ribcage with the speed of a striking cobra. Astarion slid away across the scorched earth, and came to a halt at Lae'zel's side, watching with dark satisfaction as the drow poison with which he'd coated his swords went to work.

Axe clattering to the ground, the captain of the bandits fell. 

The stragglers who'd managed to survive this far either made a break for it, or surrendered in abject terror. You sheathed your blade. Honestly speaking, you'd barely had cause to use it.

Beside the fire, Lae'zel turned to Astarion with a sharp smile and slapped him rather hard across the shoulders.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Elf. I may just allow you to lick the sweat of battle from my skin after all."

"Oh, how delightful. I can hardly wait."

In spite of his grimace, you could see that Astarion was secretly pleased. He preened as Shadowheart complimented him on his crossbow skills and then his eyes turned hesitantly in your direction.

You cleared your throat.

"Well. Looks like Starblazer's made a name for himself."

"Oh Gods, you know I never agreed to be called that."

A smile curves your cheek, warm and genuine. Well, as much as it could be surrounded by present carnage.

"I think that we should leave the monikers up to the bards. After all, they'll be singing your story far and wide for years to come."

Astarion looked flustered, patting at his hair. The action seemed a little incongruous, considering that he'd almost single-handedly leveled an entire bandit base.

"You think so?"

"Yes. Now let's get back to camp. The vault can wait. We need to celebrate your ... considerable skills."

And thus the dark legend of Two Hand 'Starion, Master of Swift Death and Silent Sorrow, The Poison Tempest, Harbinger of the Sore Bottom, (and in some circles, Nasty Asty) was born.

Your own role in his much needed healing and self-discovery was not often spoken of, but that was something you didn't mind in the slightest. He remained at your side by his own choice, and that was all you really wanted.

The evolution of his skill was something you embraced fully. After all, change often comes like a bolt from the blue, or, in this case, with the roll of the dice in the hand of an unknown God.