#I’m feeling so much better and calmer about it and us now

[linguenuvolose]

I love him and he loves me and we love each other and it’s all so beautiful!!

[choerypetal]

Worthy / Logan Howlett

summary: Logan had insisted that you wear a dress for another of Wade’s parties over the weekend. Even though the request triggered insecurities, bringing back memories of feeling like a 'worthless' creature during your time at the Void, Logan saw you differently. In his eyes, you were more than worthy—a goddess to be worshipped.

ps; english isn't my first language so i apologize for any grammatical errors. but hope you enjoy! xo'

Logan cherished these rare moments of peace. Wade's incessant chatter had long since become a burden, and with you joining the troupe, it only intensified his irritation. He often cursed himself for not keeping more liquor on hand to dull the noise. Yet, it wasn’t the endless talking that truly got under his skin—it was the way your beauty distracted him, even when you were fiercely defending yourself. He hated how his eyes were drawn to you, how you had a way of making him feel vulnerable, a feeling he loathed to admit.

It had only been moments ago when Wade graciously invited you to the dinner party, an invitation you accepted without hesitation. After all, you had helped them back in the Void, and Wade had made it clear he was forever in your debt for not showing more appreciation. Over time, this had blossomed into a friendship. But someone had other plans. The dinner invitation was merely the first move in a much larger scheme.

“They would look so cute together,” Vanessa remarked as she prepared dinner, Wade at her side. Fortunately, neither you nor Logan were anywhere near the apartment at that moment. You had called him about some dress issue, but his soft laughter on the other end suggested he wasn’t concerned. Wade knew that even if you were stressing, Logan would love whatever you chose to wear. “Y/N,” Wade’s voice came through the phone as you examined yourself in front your own mirror, turning and swirling to get a better view. A gift that didn’t go amiss when you arrived from work. Logan made sure of it. “He’ll love it. I know Logan’s not great with emotions, heck even choosing the dress he wanted you to wear, but trust me, he couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was that you’re coming tonight.” His words weren’t entirely wrong, and the thought made your cheeks blush a light shade of pink. “Also, please don’t tell him. But the dress was supposed to be a secret.” 

A smile tugged at your lips—typical Wade with his loud, boisterous manner. You heard another chuckle from him, followed by, “So do me a favor. If you two need the bed tonight, just ask.” The implication made your cheeks flush with warmth. “Wade!” you exclaimed in protest, your voice rising in defense. That was enough to catch the attention of the person in question—Logan. His voice came through, faint but unmistakably clear. “Is that Y/N?” he asked, the sound of a door closing in the background hinting that he’d arrived earlier than expected. Wade’s exaggerated scoff was audible on the other end. “No, not now,” he grumbled, clearly annoyed about Logan’s deed of wanting to talk to you. Urging to give him the phone. And you guessed it right— as moments before Wade could continue his perpetual complaints, Logan’s voice replaced his, calmer and oddly pleased to hear you.

“Hey, doll,” Logan greeted you with the nickname he’d first given you back in the Void, one he thought was a perfect fit. And apparently, it was, since he couldn’t seem to stop using it, despite your strict orders for him not to. Especially after you returned, yet he insisted. ‘He’s such a lover boy,’ Wade would often grumble to you. ‘For a Wolverine, I’m surprised he’s such a wuss for not making a move sooner. Shame,’ he’d continue, his complaints ringing in your ears. Then, with a softer tone, Logan asked, “Coming to tonight’s party?”

The hint of his voice carried all the signs of a man hopelessly in love but too afraid to admit it. You nod in response, even though he couldn’t see it, but the smallest "mhm" was enough to please him. You could almost feel his smile creeping in, as subtle as he tried to make it with Deadpool in the same room. “Good. Did you get the dress I ordered for you?” His voice was hoarse but reassuring. You let out another hum as you recalled your current state. The dress hugged your curves perfectly, the beautiful red hue complementing your skin tone. Nothing to complain about, but what if he didn’t like it? What if, despite buying it for you, the makeup was too much, or your hair… “Doll?” His voice pulled you back. With a soft chuckle, you regained your focus. “Yes?” you replied quickly, just in time for him to repeat the question, his chuckle echoing through the phone. “You’re coming to tonight’s party?”

“Oh! Yes, yes!” you stammered, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice. Logan’s brow furrowed in thought, and you knew that as soon as you set foot in Wade’s apartment, he’d likely start questioning you. No excuse or attempt at avoiding embarrassment would be enough to satisfy him. “8pm?” you tried to steer the conversation back to the party, not yourself. But Logan wasn’t satisfied. Still, he confirmed your plans. “Yes, doll. Are you sure you’re okay? I can always tell Wade that you and I would rather stay home. Or… maybe I could spoil my favorite doll.” His voice dropped to a deeper, more alluring tone, tempting you through the phone. You liked the idea, of course. Why hide the relationship when you could just be together? But something inside you still wanted to go. “No, I’ll be fine. 8pm? I’ll be knocking on Wade’s door.”

Poor thing. He pouted, pleading silently for your arrival. First Peter and the others had shown up, but 8pm came and went, and still, he waited, his patience fraying. Even his own pacing, usually steady, betrayed his growing impatience—something even Wade couldn’t help but notice. “You know,” Wade said, catching Wolverine’s attention, “if you keep pacing like that, she’s not going to get here any faster.” Logan knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But as the clock struck 8:30, his worry only deepened, sharpening his senses. “I don’t like that she hasn’t answered my call. She said she’d text before leaving, and she did. But now…” Wade’s annoying chuckle cut through the tension, earning him a sharp glare. “What’s so funny? She could be in danger.” Ah, typical Logan, Wade thought to himself.

"And if you’re so confident, why don’t you tell me where she is, huh? Clever one." Oh, he wanted to tell him. But Wade savored every second of Logan's unease. Watching the man who once met you at the Void, now as helpless as a lost puppy, was too satisfying. Even with his head held high and his arrogance intact, Logan was soft around you, and that gave Wade a glimmer of hope—for you, at least. Then the door finally opened, revealing you—but without the dress Logan had asked you to wear for tonight’s dinner. “Y/N…” Logan’s voice faltered the moment he saw you, a smile creeping onto your face as you met his gaze. “Logan.”

His gaze lingered over your silhouette, scrutinizing every detail. He had to blink twice as he moved closer, resisting the urge to let his hands find their way around your waist, hoping not to get caught. Fortunately for him, Wade, a man of his word, recognized that look all too well. The bedroom was the only option for the both of you.

Logan didn’t hesitate for a second to lead you there. He wanted to talk with you first, even as everyone greeted you with kisses along the way. But it was Logan’s intense gaze that unsettled you, something deeper lurking beneath the surface. He sensed something was off, catching the scent in every inch of your body. It was a temptation he was ready to taste, to explore if he had to.

As the two of you approached the bedroom and opened the door, you sat down, blinking in innocent oblivion. The way you looked at him almost drove him to madness. “Don’t give me that look,” he said firmly, as his thumb gently caressed your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. “Doll,” he murmured, his lips forming a disappointed pout. You knew the conversation wouldn’t end without addressing the missing dress. “Where’s the dress?” he asked, a hint of offense in his voice.

The truth is, you hated how you felt in that dress. Logan would tell you otherwise, of course—he always does. He worships you. But the constant pressure weighed heavily on you, leaving you feeling sorrowful. The days back at the Void had drained you, making you feel like you couldn’t resist his charm anymore. Not now that he was happy, free. “It didn’t fit…” you murmured.

A lie—one he knew all too well. After all, you couldn’t hide anything from him. No lie could escape his notice. “No,” he said, his gaze darkening as his jaw clenched, mind racing to the worst possibilities. Was she cheating? Deceiving me? Why am I feeling all of this at once? But he held back, letting you speak as he noticed your eyes beginning to water. You fought to hold back the tears, determined to prove your strength, to show you were still worthy of something.

“Doll…” His voice softened as he knelt down to your level, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. Your eyelids grew heavy at his touch, the tenderness you had longed for, not just since your time at the Void, but always. He felt it too. “Let it all out if you need to... I’m here.”

His words, like a gentle melody, were enough to make you break down. A soft sob began, soon giving way to a full breakdown. At first, Logan thought it might just be what you often referred to as ‘ladies’ problems,’ but his keen sense told him otherwise. He sensed something deeper, something more sentimental within you. His fingers gently cupped your face, and you managed to open your eyes slightly. “When you’re ready,” he said, pausing briefly as you gently wiped away the dried tears on your cheek.

“Was the dress too much? Did I do something—” you managed to let out a soft chuckle, which warmed Logan’s heart. Poor thing, he felt genuinely remorseful, and you couldn’t blame him, especially given your emotional state. You took a deep breath and exhaled, just as your mother had taught you. “I just…” you paused briefly. Logan’s brows furrowed in concern. Even though he didn’t say the words aloud, you understood his unspoken question. “I didn’t feel pretty… or worthy enough. For you.”

He couldn’t believe the words. You, not feeling pretty? How could you say that? To everyone, especially to Logan, you were like an angel sent from above. If it hadn’t been for Remy accidentally swinging his cards at you or you saving Wade’s skin just in time, he’d consider himself incredibly fortunate to have met you—and to have your scent near him. This was more than just a soulmate connection. “Hey…” His voice was warm and gentle as butter. As your eyes met his, he wiped away the last of the tears streaming down your cheek. “Don’t ever say that. You are my angel from the forgotten lands. Just the thought of not having you in my arms every night is unbearable. I know our relationship was meant to stay hidden until you were ready, but if this means embracing each other fully, I will. Just as you have done for me.”

Those words were enough to make you melt into his embrace, wrapping your arms around the crook of his neck and inhaling his familiar scent. Oh, how you had missed it, just as he had missed yours. “You know,” his voice carried a playful note that made you arch an eyebrow as you pulled away from the hug. “Since Wade suggested…” His voice was tinged with desire, a longing for more, for you to be more than just his. Logan wanted you to be his soulmate. “While everyone else is probably too drunk to notice, though I doubt that, we could have our little game.” His breath grew heavier as his forehead rested against yours, his fingers gently caressing your arm, your lips almost brushing against his. The temptation was too strong to resist.

“But what if I get too… you know… loud?” A blush crept onto your cheeks as he chuckled. “I’ll try to be careful—” Just then, the door swung open with a loud creak, startling you. It was surprising how, in that moment, Logan’s focus seemed to narrow entirely on one thing: your scent. No one else’s. The sudden interruption came with Wade’s small gasp of joy, which made both of you exhale in relief. You gave Wade a soft smile. “Wade,” Logan said, his tone a bit arrogant as he closed his eyes and sighed, resisting the urge to give him a playful jab. “What is it?”

“Is it finally happening?!” Wade’s voice was loud enough to grab the attention of every guest in the room. Realizing his outburst, he quickly stifled himself and paused, glancing back at you. “The bed’s free, by the way. Have fun,” he purred, his tone making Logan mutter a few curses and toss a pillow in his direction.

“Now…” his focus returned to you. Despite his earlier annoyance, the Wolverine was determined to make you his and no one else’s. “Where were we, doll…” he murmured, leading you toward the bed, his lips finding yours. “Mine and mine alone.”

[nottswitch]

yellow hearts

summary: the times you put yellow hearts around his name, and the times he put them around yours.

pairing: sirius black x reader

warning: sappy fluff

wc: 1.6k

a/n: yellow hearts by ant saunders. a cute little thing I made upon hearing this song after many many years. finally able to write something short!

“Girl, what is this?!”

You whine, slamming your diary shut. Your cheeks suddenly feel hot and you try your hardest to avoid Lily’s prying gaze. She tries to look over your shoulder again, letting out a disappointed groan at the sight of a shiny cover.

“Just… Zip it,” you sigh, still flustered and really embarrassed. “You didn’t see anything!”

“No, no, I definitely just saw it!” Lily shouts and you have to hush her, noticing a few people at the table giving you weird glances. “Was it “Sirius” with hearts around?” she asks, her voice a bit calmer but still conveying the same emotions.

“No…”

You stutter, giving yourself completely and irrevocably away. Your eyes make an automatic roll and you scoot over to make space for your friend. Lily plops down next to you, her eager hands already reaching for your little navy-blue diary. Before you have time to hide it, she snatches the book from you and starts flicking through the pages, ignoring whatever is written on them. Finally, she finds the right page and bends the spine of the diary to have a better look.

Here it is, in all its glory. A “Sirius” with shiny yellow hearts drawn all around.

“Eww!!!”

Lily wrinkles her whole face, looking at you and then at your scribbles again.

“Don’t tell me it’s that prat Black from our year! Is it?!”

You sigh, taking the diary from her and putting it safely in your bag.

“Who else has the name, Lily? Think.”

You stare down at your breakfast, hoping that as long as you don’t look at your friend, she will miraculously forget about your existence.

“But he hangs out with Potter and they’re a bunch of tossers!” Lily’s voice is loud again, earning you a few more concerned looks.

You sigh again, biting on a slice of bacon.

“Maybe,” you mumble with your mouth full.

Lily rolls her eyes. Her plate remains untouched as she turns to you, fully intending to push for more information.

“And since when?” she demands, raising her eyebrow. You start to feel like a criminal being questioned in court.

“Last year,” you answer reluctantly, knowing that she won’t let you be if you don’t pour your whole heart out right here and now.

Lily scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief.

“This is so messed up! What’re you gonna do?”

You don’t reply. You don’t know yet. You don’t plan to ever know. But you don’t stop your sappy scribbles – you just make sure Lily never sees them again.

The second time someone sees the yellow hearts is much, much worse.

It’s your fifth year. You lost the diary a couple of days ago and you go absolutely mental trying to remember all the places you could have left it at. Your heartbeat briefly stops every time you think of a possibility of someone finding it, reading it and knowing it all.

“Oi, come on! It’s not like fancying Black is just a you thing!”

Lily tries to calm you down as best as she can. She has been lightly teasing you about your crush on Sirius for the previous two years, but she sees your worry and, being a good friend she is, hugs you and helps you on a secret mission to search every single classroom for any signs of the diary. Unfortunately, no luck.

“Lily, shut up! I have a wand and I’m not afraid to use it.”

You nibble on your nails for the hundredth time today – a nasty habit you have developed ever since losing the only way to let out your growing feelings towards a certain someone.

“What? The whole school is mad about him and his pack of tossers! No one’d blink an eye.”

“But what if he finds it?!”

“He finds what?”

You freeze at the sound of a voice, and not just a voice, his voice. A young fellow appears from behind the bench you’re sitting on, followed by three other guys, all snickering and whispering something to each other.

“Hello there, ladies,” Sirius murmurs, making a funny little bow.

“Black, shut it!” Lily immediately retorts, noticing your hopeless gaze. “Keep walking, and you might just live.”

“Well, I would, but I may have something you’re looking for.”

No. No, no, no, no.

A small navy-blue book appears in his hand and you suddenly feel like the bottom of the lake wouldn’t be such a horrible spot to be in. Lily’s eyes are wide and you think that if she had an ability to cast spells with just her eyes, she would use it right at this moment.

“Where the hell-” she starts, but you cut her off, not willing to prolong the already tense and miserable moment.

“Sirius, please, give it back.”

Your voice trembles treacherously and you mentally curse yourself for such a poor attempt at hiding your emotions. A thought of trading your face for a brick wall doesn’t seem that unappealing.

To your surprise, Sirius hands you the book without any of his usual shenanigans that you would normally expect. Your fingers brush his as you snatch the diary from him and you hold in a gasp; you would not mind becoming a delicious meal for the mermaids to munch on.

Sirius turns on his heels to leave, but then stops abruptly, as if he forgot something. A moment later, he’s at your ear, his breath warming up your already flaming hot cheek.

“I like yellow,” he whispers as his lips graze against your stray baby hairs; they suddenly feel like а bouquet of exposed nerves.

He leaves, shameless about the fact that his actions made your heart perform acrobatics within the bounds of your ribcage.

“What did he say?!” Lily repeats over and over, but you can barely hear her voice. You flip through the pages erratically and the right one catches your eye at last. A glaring “Sirius” with yellow hearts around it. You notice another name at the bottom of the page. A name of your own, staring right at you. And around it, the same yellow hearts.

The third time someone sees the yellow hearts you aren’t anxious anymore.

It’s your seventh year. Exams are approaching, but seeing as your boyfriend is Sirius Black, it’s hard to get any actual studying done. You have been dating for quite a while now, but it still feels… new.

You’re in Transfiguration together. He sits several rows behind you – a rule McGonagall made just a week prior, “For your own good”, as she said, because together you weren’t making much progress. But he still finds ways to remind you of his presence – he makes paper birds, charming them to fly right to you. Sometimes they’re just pretty birds, sometimes they’re notes with some silly poem he wrote for you, just to make you laugh and earn a warning from Minerva – for both of you, because the source of your distraction is really obvious.

Another bird lands on the desk in front of you. You quickly glance at McGonagall and, much to your contentment, notice that she’s preoccupied with her textbook.

“Hey,” you hear a whisper from behind. Of course, you recognize Sirius. He grins at you and gestures to unfold the origami. Even before you can do it, you see a sheer golden glow emanating from within. Your smile grows wider as you open the poor bird and see the letters scribbled down on a piece of parchment.

Your name. And yellow hearts around it.

McGonagall clears her throat somewhere above you. Her menacing glare tries to burn a hole in your head, but you don’t really care. You give her a sorry nonetheless.

“Shall I teach special classes, so that you attend in the morning and Mr. Black – in the evening?” the professor demands, but you see glimmers of amusement in her eyes. She briefly glances at the note she took from you and gives you and Sirius one of her raised-eyebrow looks, but you see the corners of her mouth lift up ever so slightly. You hear Sirius chuckle, close your eyes and smile. You don’t need anyone else.

The fourth time yellow hearts frame not one name, but two.

You and Sirius have just returned from your honeymoon. You have a whole stack of polaroids from your trip and you want to pick just one to put on the fridge in your shared home. The job proves to be rather difficult. You almost have a fight, which is so stupid and insignificant, but so you.

“Babe, this one is obviously superior! You see how stunning I am in this jacket?!”

“Yeah, and I’m blinking like an idiot because the sun is right up in my face. Sirius, babe, not everything has to be about you.”

You finally choose the one. It’s the last polaroid in your stack and you just can’t take your eyes off of it. In the picture, you’re waving at the camera and laughing, with an ice cream cone in your hand. Sirius pulls you in for a kiss and when he leans away, his nose is adorned with a spot of white ice cream.

You can’t help giggling, show the polaroid to Sirius and he does the same.

“This is it,” you say simultaneously and cackle at your apparently developed skill in Legilimency.

“Just a moment.”

Sirius stops you from taking the picture, takes out a sharpie and writes something on a white area at the bottom of it. He takes out his wand, silently waves it in front of the picture and only then goes up to the fridge and puts it up with many others. He steps back to have a better look at his creation.

You’re flustered, but a joyful smile doesn’t leave your lips. Sirius understands and places a gentle kiss on your temple. You look at the words written on the polaroid once more.

A “Sirius” and then your name below it. Around it, shiny yellow hearts shimmering in the sun and casting an array of rainbow specks all over the kitchen.

my masterlist

[feyascorner]

7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind. 

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’ 

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat. 

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.” 

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings. 

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter. 

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid. 

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry. 

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles. 

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

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[run-clever-boy]

I’m here - Severus Snape

Severus Snape x Professor!Reader

Warnings: Crying, all fluff!

Word Count: 657

Summary: You are a young professor in love with Severus Snape. When everything gets to be too much, you break down and he comes to your aid.

It was dark in the library. You used to come here as a student to escape from the other students, you never felt like you really belonged in your house. Now as a teacher, you have made a few allies among your peers. 

One professor, despite how wrong you felt about it, held a special place in your heart. 

Severus was not as he appeared. He was caring and gentle, helped you when you needed it. He seemed to know exactly how to help you when you needed him most. With this past reputation of his, you knew that he would probably show up at any minute at your aid as you fled the great hall for the library in a hurry after dinner. 

You loved him, try as you might to ignore it you loved him more than the initial platonic feeling you had. He would show up in your dreams, daydreams, you couldn't get him out of your head. When he was around you tried to clear your mind, but to no avail. You were decent at occlumency, but he brought down your barriers.

The more you thought the more somber you became, and the less control over your emotion you had. You needed to get yourself together.

A single tear

Then another

And then another

Soon your emotions overcame you and you hid among the bookshelves sobbing into your robes. You weren't loud by any means, but your thoughts echoed in your head until you heard a voice in the void of blackness.

"Y/n? are you alright?" Severus' baritone voice shook you out of your sobbing state as you tried to straighten up and pretend like everything was fine. As your vision corrected out of its blurry setting you saw the professor kneeled down by your side with a deep look of concern.

"Yes, I- I'm alright" you said in a shaky voice. 

"No, you're not, what's the matter?" he said, it was calmer than his normal authoritative tone.

"I just got in my own head is all, I'll be alright" you said

"What about?" he questioned. You knew if you told him the real reason he would reject you, tell you that you were too young and that this was all stupid. Or would he? 

He placed a hand on your shoulder and shivers when up your spine. Every touch sent electricity through your body, every brush of a hand, every glance, every slight smile you could coerce out of him made you feel better.

"Severus I- I can't-"

"Yes, you can."

 He tilted your head up with a finger as his eyes looked deep into yours. Pleading you to tell him what was wrong. You had never seen him like this, he seemed so, delicate and careful. Like you were a vase he didn't want to break. 

"I-"

You paused.

"I what?" he said with growing concern.

"I love you, severus."

The words hung in the air, and you clung on them with everything you had. He looked at you with a calm sort of shock.

"I'm sorry" you mumbled under your breath as you stood up and tried to flee the library, but before you had the chance he stood up and grabbed your hand and spun you around and held you close to him, his finger lifting your chin to make your eyes meet once more. 

He hesitated, he wanted something, but you couldn't tell what. His eyes glanced from your lips to meet your gaze again. He looked behind him at the library door then pulled your face closer to his, his lips smashing against yours and in a crazed fit of passion. 

He held you there for what felt like so long then finally allowed breath between the two of you. He pulled you close to his chest and held you there, just enjoying the silence.

"I love you too, I always have" he whispered gently.

"Always"

[dearharriet]

hello! Congratulations on reaching 150 followers milestone! Really deserved, girly!

Can I get a🍸with Remus Lupin + Lovers Rock? Thank you so much!

hi!! i’m so sorry this took me so long my love, i’ve had the busiest weekend 😭 thank you sm for the request, i hope you like it! <3 (wc: 859) (cw: implied/attempted use of a roofie/date-rape drug)

If you were less drunk, you’d be abashed about flirting so openly in front of Remus, but you’re not. He’s watching you lean into the man’s advances from the bar booth you’re both sitting in, a mean look brewing behind his eyes. You’re praying to god it’s jealousy. At least then he’d feel something for you.

“Real pretty get-up you’ve got on, babe,” the guy is saying, and you’re just sober enough to know he’s staring at your chest as he says it.

“Looks even better on the floor,” you tell him. It’s a cheap response, but he perks up anyway. Remus spins his beer on the sticky booth table, sighing irritably.

The stranger has a silky smooth voice, one that seems to smooth over other, less admirable traits in your mind. He says, “I can make that happen,” and you hear a promise, not a boast. You also don’t notice in his towering over you that he’s tampering with your drink.

Remus isn’t nearly as entranced. He’s on his feet in a second, whipping the man away from you by the collar of his button-up shirt.

“Hey—?”

Cutting him off with a vicious shove, Remus bites, “fuck off out of here. I know what you want.”

You stand then on wobbly legs, approaching the growing scene. Remus was clearly jealous, but you never assumed he was the violent type. He looks ready to crack teeth at this point, and the man still hasn’t left.

“Remus, what—?”

He turns to you with wild eyes, holding up a hand to keep you at bay.

“You stay there,” he says, and the anger he held for the man has ebbed away. He points to your cocktail on the table. “Don’t drink that, okay?”

Blinking, you frown at him. Something about his behavior makes you uneasy, but he’s your friend. You’d trust him over any stranger.

“Hey,” he snaps, demanding your hazy attention. “Did you hear me? Don’t—”

“Don’t drink it.” You nod.

From there all you can do is watch him shred the poor guy apart until Sirius and James finally notice something is wrong from their place at the bar. By then you have a pretty good idea what happened, and you feel sick to your stomach thinking about it.

James keeps you company while Sirius and Remus get the guy thrown out on his ass, and then they both reconvene at your shared booth. Most of the girls have come to see what happened, too, but Remus shooes most everyone away.

“Fucking pig,” Marlene mumbles, petting your hair gently before leaving a small kiss there. She looks to one of the boys, though you’re too busy picking at your nails to know which one. “I can make sure she gets home?”

“I’ve got her,” he replies, and you’d know Remus’ voice anywhere.

Marlene and the other two boys seem to accept this fact easily, though Sirius stops Remus before leaving.

“Go easy, yeah?” he says. “It wasn’t her fault.”

Remus doesn’t reply, but when he takes James’ place beside you his eyes are much calmer than before.

“Hi, dovey.” His hand comes up to rub your back. “You ready to go home?”

Sniffing, you nod slowly, still quite drunk and lethargic. Remus helps you out of the booth, carting you to the door with careful touches.

“It’s okay, Remus,” you assert, feeling more embarrassed by everyone’s worrying than anything now. “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m fine.”

Remus looks down at you with conflict coating his features.

“That was really close, Y/N. I almost didn’t see him do it.”

“But you did,” you correct. “And thank you, by the way.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not for that.”

Pushing the bar door open, he ushers you out into the mild night. It’s not cold, but his arm slung protectively over your shoulders is a relief anyways. Outside the safety of the bar, the man might be lurking somewhere. The thought makes you curl further into Remus, shivering.

“Remus?”

You can tell he’s in the same line of thought as you, because his head is on a swivel, checking behind you periodically. He hums in response to your question.

“If we’re going to my place, would you stay with me? In case he’s following us.”

You’d like to tell yourself the man wouldn’t, but you’re not sure you can put anything past him. Again, Remus appears to think the same.

“‘Course. I'll probably sleep better that way, anyways.”

In your drunken mood, you can’t help the way your heart squeezes at Remus’ doting. It’s a fiery feeling, to be cared for as if you’re an extension of himself, to have witnessed the sharpness of his affection in real time. It’s the barest human decency, but you suspect it was rooted in a much more complex emotion. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking.

“Okay,” is what you finally say, flagging your thoughts for a later date, when less pressing matters than your safety are on the table. For tonight, it’s enough to let Remus walk you home, and to fall asleep under the warm blanket of his protection.

+

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

join the celebration!

[uhhlifeig]

Moon - October 13 - word count: 733 - @wolfstarmicrofic

PT 1

The party had stretched into the late hours. 

Remus found himself outside on the back patio, where it was quieter. The cool October air was a welcome relief from the stuffy warmth inside. 

He looked up at the moon, taking a moment to breathe. Parties weren’t exactly his scene, but being around his friends always made things better.

The door behind him creaked open.

“You ran away,” Sirius said, his voice teasing as he approached. “I should’ve known.”

“I didn’t run,” Remus replied, though he could feel the familiar flutter in his chest that always came when Sirius was near. “I just… needed some air.”

The older boy came to stand next to him, leaning his elbows on the railing. “Yeah, I get that.”

For a moment, they just stood in comfortable silence, the sound of the distant music muffled by the walls behind them. 

Sirius’s presence was warm beside him, and Remus found himself feeling calmer just being near him.

“So,” the noiret said, “you’ve been a bit quiet tonight.”

The dirty blonde shrugged. “Just... not really in the mood for a party.”

“Liar.” Sirius shot him a sidelong glance, his smirk playful. “You just hate dancing, admit it.”

Remus huffed. “Fine. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” the gray-eyed boy said. “The way you moved when you dragged Reggie onto the dance floor...”

The younger of the two rolled his eyes. “That was to annoy James, and you know it.”

Sirius grinned. “Maybe. But you didn’t look like you hated it. You know, you could’ve asked me to dance.”

Remus’s heart skipped a beat. As nonchalantly as he could, he muttered, “Right, because dancing with you wouldn’t be awkward at all.”

“Why would it be awkward?”

“I just…” the amber-eyed boy swallowed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

Sirius frowned slightly, turning to face him fully now. “Weird? Nothing could make things weird between us.”

The taller boy felt a knot form in his stomach. This was the moment, wasn’t it? 

The moment where everything could change- where he could say something, or he could keep it inside and pretend he wasn’t feeling everything that had been bubbling up for months- years, even.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” Remus said quietly, his eyes dropping to the ground. “I don’t want to ruin… us.”

Sirius was silent for a long beat, and the other boy’s heart sank. Maybe he’d said too much. Maybe he’d- 

“Remus,” Sirius interrupted his thoughts. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Remus raised his eyes.

“You could never ruin us,” Sirius said softly, and then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he reached out and took Remus’s hand. 

His fingers were warm, smooth from his constant care, and they fit so perfectly around the dirty blonde’s that it almost hurt.

Remus’s chest tightened. He hadn’t expected this. Not at all.

Sirius smiled. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Remus blinked, feeling his pulse race. “Of course I do.”

“Then trust me when I say this isn’t going to ruin anything,” Sirius whispered, stepping closer, their fingers still entwined. “Because if I’m being honest, I’ve been waiting for you to say something for a long time.”

“You- what?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been feeling this way, Moony.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for the first time all night, Remus allowed himself to believe. 

“You’re an idiot,” Remus muttered, his hand tightening around Sirius’s.

“Yeah, but you like me,” Sirius teased, his voice warm with affection.

“I do.”

And then, before he could overthink it, Remus leaned in. Sirius met him halfway, and the kiss was soft, tentative at first, but filled with all the things they hadn’t said. 

~~~~~

Back inside, James caught sight of them through the window and nudged Regulus, who was perched on the arm of the couch, reading something on his phone.

“Looks like they finally got their act together,” the older boy said, nodding toward the patio. “It’s about time they did.”

The boy dressed as a vampire glanced up, following James’s gaze, and smirked when he saw Remus and Sirius. “About time.”

James snorted. “Didn’t I say that first?”

“I say everything better.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Regulus just smirked, leaning in for a kiss. “You like me.”

“Yeah, I do, Reg.”

@star-gurll here ya go! :D

[five-hxrgreeves]

Two Positives Equal a Negative (Or Something Like That)

PAIRING: adam warlock & fem! quill’s sister!reader

WC: 2.8k (again, a long one. I just can’t seem to write anything short!) 

SUMMARY: you’ve always had trouble sleeping thanks your numerous (unfortunate) life experiences. While he hasn’t lived as long as you have, Adam has a similar problem. Fortunately, a Terran phrase that your brother taught you might have the solution that you seek.

WARNINGS: slight gotg three spoilers, fluff, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay, so I accidentally lied and I realized that my last one-shot wasn’t my first official one; I wrote a Natasha x reader several years ago. I just don’t post on here that often so I forgot about it, lol. Anyway, Adam Warlock currently has a chokehold on me so here’s another one-shot for him- the sequel that I mentioned on the last one. I’m tempted to write a Gally one/two-shot, but I’m not familiar with the TMR universe so I’m worried that I’d mess it up.

Also, I know that the phrase is actually ‘two negatives equal a positive,’ but I was drawing on the fact that non-Terrans wouldn’t really remember/understand Peter’s references, and since ‘you’ had only been to Earth during Endgame, you it mixed up.

Part 0 , Part 1

You’d always had trouble sleeping, especially on your father’s planet. There had just been a sense of. . . wrongness that you didn’t need Mantis’ empath powers to feel. It had made you on edge most of the time, alert for the unseen danger that you felt. While this might’ve just been your role as Ego’s protector speaking, you knew that your sister felt similarly. Mantis had once offered to put you to sleep using her powers, which you’d agreed to. Although it had worked, you hadn’t liked the feeling of your emotions being messed with, or the vulnerability that came with sleep. Even though you trusted that your sister wouldn’t hurt you, Ego was a different story entirely.

So, that meant that you were up most of the time with only catnaps and snatches of sleep when absolutely necessary. (Luckily your enhanced stamina helped in this case so it wasn’t terribly detrimental to your wellbeing.) It was hard to hide your unusual sleep patterns on the Milano with your new friends since there wasn’t space to walk around like there had been on Ego’s planet. But the Guardians all had various traumas of their own, so they understood the difficulty of getting peaceful rest. Some nights had even been better than others as Peter would teach you how to play Terran card games, which would then include the rest of the Guardians once you’d learned.

You also liked to sit in the pilot’s chair late at night and watch the darkness of space light up around you. It was funny, really; everyone expected space to be a dark, black vacuum of nothing when it was actually just the opposite. Sure, there was no physical form of life, but space was alive in its own way. As the Milano sailed aimlessly through the stars, you’d pass the orange-red clouds of dust and gas— nebulas. Or the brilliant white-blue of a dying star, or the different hues of blue-black that surrounded you. Space was truly beautiful, which was something that you never tried to take for granted.

But now you were stuck on Knowhere. There were no brilliant colors of space to distract you or friends to play card games with. Mantis was gone— your only source of comfort on those long nights when you’d served your father. You were alone, with nothing but a Zune to distract you as you sat, bored, in the kitchen late into the night. You’d decided on some calmer tunes and were currently listening to the Frank Sinatra playlist you’d curated. A warm mug of tea— which Peter had also introduced you to— sat between your hands as your eyes glazed over, getting lost in your music.

--

As it turned out, Adam wasn’t that great of a sleeper, either. It always felt like there was too much energy running through him to be properly restful— not to mention that, whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his mother waiting for him as he flew desperately towards her. And then the explosion would come, jolting him out of sleep as a reminder of his failure.

With a sigh, he pushed back his covers and stood. Since he was already dressed (his mother had always told him to be ready for anything), he made his way to the kitchen where he’d baked cookies with you. It hadn’t been that long ago, but he already missed the comfortable, homey feeling he’d gotten as he formed the batter into spheres with you standing at his side. You had yet to talk to Rocket about how his comments made you feel, but he knew it was because you respected your teammate and didn’t like making a big deal out of things. Thinking about you now, he sort of hoped that he would see you in the kitchen when he got there— but that was a crazy thought; it was the middle of the night! Any normal person would be in a deep sleep by now.

So, it was definitely a pleasant surprise when he came upon you, sitting at the head of the table. Your earbuds were in your ears, as usual, and you seemed to be deep in thought as you absentmindedly traced the rim of your mug with your finger. He was comfortable enough with you to approach you without hesitation, so he took the chair next to yours and nudged you gently to get your attention.

You jumped, startled by the unexpected presence of someone else in the room. At first you had a wild thought that it might be Peter, who came to keep you company as he often had. You were only mildly disappointed to see that it was Adam instead (and this was just because you missed your brother; you were actually quite happy to see the golden boy.) You took out your earbuds and paused your music. “You’re up late. Or early.”

His golden eyes met yours— something you noticed that he did often; it seemed that eye contact was his way of showing that he was listening to you, which always made your stomach flutter pleasantly. “So are you,” he replied. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah,” you said with a shrug. “You?”

“Me either,” he agreed.

You sat in a comfortable silence together, one so long that you were almost tempted to  put your earbuds back in. Maybe this was a one-off thing; you’d never seen him before on your sleepless nights. Maybe he wasn’t used to being up at this hour and just wasn’t as talkative as he normally was with you. But you were also curious; what could a supposedly perfect being be troubled with at night? So, you sighed, and against your better judgement (as you hated to talk about your feelings), you asked, “wanna talk about it?”

But Adam also knew how you were, and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind just sitting here.” He got to enjoy your company, after all, so he considered tonight to be better than most.

You let out another sigh. As much as you hated getting touchy-feely, the night was already very boring; sitting and not talking would only make it worse. “I don’t mind, actually. I’m used to being around other people when I’m up like this. Talking would make the time pass faster.” You studied his expression for a moment, which was unusually unreadable; it always seemed like he had a kind smile or glance to send your way. “We can start off easy, if you want. Are you up like this every night?”

His expression softened at your willingness to go outside your comfort zone, so he answered honestly. (He had nothing that he wanted to hide from you, anyway.) “Most nights, yeah. What about you?”

“Same,” you agreed. You played with the rubber protective tip on your earbud. “Can’t get to sleep or bad dreams?”

“Both,” Adam admitted. “Although it’s usually the first one.”

You nodded. “Same, again, but for me it’s mostly the latter. You remember when I said that you weren’t the first person to try and kill me?” At his confirmation (because how could he have forgotten that?), you continued, “yeah. It’s mostly that. My father was a great parent,” you finished sarcastically.

When you’d first become friends, you’d shared stories about the Guardians’ adventures— even the ones that had happened before you’d joined the team— although they’d mostly been lighthearted in tone. You’d acted like they hadn’t really affected you and had laughed at the fact that your father’s planet had tried to swallow you whole. Adam sort of wished that your father was still alive so he could fight him for you. While his mother had had her moments of parenting issues, he’d never doubted that she did love him; it was clear that this wasn’t the case with your father.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not really sure what else he could say. Despite everything that had happened to you, you were still a good person; you hadn’t fought the Guardians on your first meeting like he had, which already made you better than him. He wished that there was something he could do (such as getting revenge for you) to help ease whatever burden you were feeling as you often had for him, but there didn’t seem like there was anything that he could do.

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied in a blasé tone, already moving on from your heavy things. “Want to talk about your stuff?”

He shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable to admit his failure to you. He wanted to prove that he was just as capable as you were, and this was one of his worst moments. “I. . . keep thinking about my mother.” His gaze dropped to where his hands were folded on the table, unable to watch your reaction in case you thought worse of him. “How I. . . wasn’t able to save her. I was so close, too. If only I’d been faster—”

You reached out a hand to put it on top of both of his, cutting him off. Yours was much smaller in comparison, barely covering even one of his hands. He looked up at you with surprise, feeling his face heat up at the contact. Your usually jovial expression was uncharacteristically serious as you chided him gently, “stop. Thinking like that never helps, you know. You’ll drive yourself mad if you keep wondering ‘what if.’ I should know.”

While he was relieved that his fears about your reaction were unfounded, he frowned at your last words. “What do you mean?”

You pretended not to notice that your hands were still holding his as you answered, “remember what I told you about the Snap?” At his nod, you continued, “Peter and I were the only ones who weren’t trying to subdue Thanos. My powers are mostly defensive, so they would only anger him, which was the opposite of what we were trying to do. Peter got— understandably— distraught at the news of Gamora’s death and he was practically solely responsible for the Snap.” You sighed heavily, dropping your gaze from him. “As the only other person not doing anything on that planet, I could’ve stopped him, but he was my brother; I couldn’t hurt him. But if I had. . . everything could’ve been so much different. In a way, I was responsible for the Snap, too.”

While he understood your reasoning, he didn’t completely agree with it. You’d filled him in with great detail about the Infinity War, which you’d only learned the missing parts after you’d been brought back. So, he insisted quietly, “Thor could’ve also gone for Thanos’ head, but he didn’t.”

“But Thanos wouldn’t have even gotten to the Terran planet if we’d stopped him on Titan. You see what I mean? These what-ifs really messed with my head— still do. You eventually just have to accept the fact that the situation can’t be changed and learn from your mistakes.” In a lighter tone you added, “I promised myself that the next time I needed to sock it to Peter, I wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe a good hit to the head would knock some common sense back into him.”

Adam chuckled at this, his serious expression lifting. Sensing that you didn’t want to talk about such emotional topics anymore, he changed the subject slightly. “So you’re up every night because of these thoughts? Don’t you need sleep?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got enhanced stamina, so not as much as a regular person,” you said, relieved that he picked up on your hint. “What about you? You’re practically a god yourself.”

He felt his face flush with (pleased) embarrassment at your indirect compliment, even if it was truthful. “That’s part of the problem, I think,” he explained. “All this power. . . it gives me too much energy and. . . I can’t sleep.”

You frowned thoughtfully at your similar predicaments, an idea (admittedly, a stupid enough one that Peter could’ve come up with it) forming in your mind. “Y’know,” you began slowly, “Peter taught me a Terran phrase awhile back. I can’t exactly remember how it goes— it’s like two positives equal a negative, or something like that— and it means that when there’s two good things, it cancels out the bad one. We could try and apply it here.”

He gave you a curious look. “Really? How?”

“Well, since we both can’t sleep— that’s the negative— maybe. . . maybe if we slept. . .” You felt your face burning at your suggestion. “If we slept. . . tog— well, not together-together, I mean— with each— does that sound worse? I—” you struggled to find the right wording that wouldn’t come off as suggestive. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you added hastily, misunderstanding his bemused expression.

“Little Quill,” he teased you lightly, “you haven’t even gotten the question out.”

Oh. You only felt even more embarrassed. “Do you want to sleep in my room?” you finally managed to blurt out, burying your face in your hands, unable to look at the boy across from you.

Instead of taking offense or making fun of you as you’d expected, Adam seemed to actually consider your offer. “Do you think it would work?”

At his question, you dropped your hands to your lap and shrugged, though your face was still very red. He seemed remarkably unflustered, not that you could tell if he was (damn his beautiful golden skin— wait, what?) “I don’t know,” you mumbled, still refusing to look at him. “I can only sleep if I feel safe, and there’s only one person I ever felt that way with— Mantis. But. . . now I think that includes you, too.”

Adam couldn’t help the bright smile that formed on his face at your words, the thought that you felt safe with him (especially after everything that he’d done to you and your friends) meant more than he could say. The thought that you would willingly be vulnerable in his presence made his stomach feel enjoyably— and inexplicably— nauseous. “I feel safe around you too,” he replied without hesitation. “And. . . I wouldn’t mind trying it.”

--

Not long after, the two of you returned to the room you were renting in the dorm-style building. Since neither you nor Adam had family to speak of (and were also short on funds), you’d both found rooms in a tenant building that had lots of other people, many of whom had lost their homes during the Guardians’ most recent adventures. Luckily you’d gotten a room to yourself, though you had to share basic facilities with everyone else.

“You can sleep in the bed since this was my idea,” you offered. You were still in what you considered your pajamas, so you just had to gather some spare blankets and pillows.

Adam shook his head, against the thought of you making accommodations for him. “I can sleep on the floor. You shouldn’t have to give up your bed.”

“It’s not like I use it much anyway,” you joke, pulling the covers back. “But if you’re seriously against me sleeping on the floor, I guess we could. . . share?”

He seemed not to mind your proposal as he agreed readily, and after taking off his shoes, he made to get in when you spoke again with a confused look on your face. “You. . . sleep in your clothes? No wonder why you can’t get comfortable!”

Adam seemed to not understand your comment. “You sleep in your clothes.”

You laughed a little at his observation. “These are sleep clothes, not everyday clothes. At least take off your jacket,” you reasoned.

But as he did so, you realized why he hadn’t gotten more comfortable: there was nothing except chiseled chest under his clothes. You blushed and tried (but failed) not to stare as he got into bed next to you, admiring the way his muscles flexed with his movement. Luckily he seemed to not notice your attention as he settled next to you. There was a sizeable gap between you two despite the bed not being very big, one that you wished you had the guts to close. (Wait— again, what?)

You wondered how you’d ever get to sleep with all that muscle right behind you (okay, this one you could admit freely), but somehow, in the quiet stillness of your dark room, the safe, peaceful feeling lulled you into the first restful slumber that you’d had since your siblings had left months ago.

--

And if you woke up the next morning, curled up against Adam’s chest with his arm wrapped around you protectively, neither of you bothered to say anything about it.

[fleurriee]

FLEURR CAN YOU DO

“you make me want to be better. you make me want to be good.” - grumpy

“i knew there was a big softie under all that tough exterior” - sunshine

with neteyam? i live for ur work

i didn’t know whether you wanted neteyam to be grumpy or sunshine, so i’ve gone with grumpy bc sometimes he just looks like a grumpy cat 😩 tysm for the request, im glad you’re enjoying my work anonie!!! 2k drabbles!

pairing ; neteyam x fem!reader

synopsis ; you were all sunshine and rainbows, and neteyam couldn’t help but feel like he was a thunderstorm threatening your happiness.

themes ; fluff, slight angst, grumpy!neteyam x sunshine!reader

Neteyam was a hardened warrior - the entire clan knew that. He’d grown up with the tough training of his father, day in and day out doing drills and archery and gun work until it bled him dry. At first, he remembered thinking that it truly was going to be the death of him, but as the time went by, and he went through more sessions, going up higher in the ranks until he finally became respected by his elders, he grew to somewhat enjoy it.

And, whilst that should be considered a good thing - because their clan would always be needing more warriors like their prince - it slowly started to change him. His true personality never changed, but whenever he was in public, surrounded by others, he kept up this tough exterior that allowed others to realise that they shouldn’t mess with him. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d decided on doing it in the first place, maybe it was just something that happened naturally - but all the same, he couldn’t stop doing it now.

There were times where his tough exterior came in handy, too. People never bothered him nearly as much as they used to, too scared to try and spark up a conversation just in case he’d bite back and send them off to do intense, exhausting training; whenever Lo’ak got in trouble and ended up starting fights with others, all he really had to do was show up and glare them down, and they’d go scurrying off.

He basked in that kind of attention, but not when it came to you.

You and Neteyam weren’t mates, but you weren’t far off - Neteyam would make sure of it. The two of you had been seeing one another for a little while now, after having met through his youngest sister, Tuk, after he’d picked her up from one of your lessons. As soon as his eyes lay upon you, he’d fallen, completely smitten and head over heels for you. Right then and there, he knew there was no one else even in the line up for him.

At first, it was hard for him to truly get across how he’d felt about you. You were all sunshine and rainbows, smiling giddily and greeting everyone you came across, whereas he felt like a black cloud, destined to ruin your mood.

But, somehow, you’d managed to fall for him, too, and he never ended up thundering down on you - instead, he only seemed to make you shine more.

Not many people knew of your relationship - his family knew, instantly noticing a subtle crack in that harsh exterior of his, more so whenever you were nearby, and your family, too. Neither of the lot had any objections, thankfully, and they let you be yourselves in your own time.

More often than not, the two of you would find yourselves running off, away from the growing crowd and into an expanse of the forest that was so much more calmer, much more serene. It gave peace to his mind, able to block all the other raging thoughts within his head and just focus solely on you.

That was all he ever wanted to do.

Now, as the the moons started to show, shining down upon your resting figures, and the wind cascaded against everything around you, kissing a gentle breeze across your skin therapeutically, you lay your head comfortably against Neteyam’s legs. His hand was coursing softly through your hair, massaging your head every now and again until you felt like you were just moments away from sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke up for the first time in a while. His voice was just a mere, quiet whisper, barely audible if you hadn’t been listening to your surroundings.

Opening your eyes, you noticed how he seemed to be struggling to look at you, focusing on anything else that he could. His eyes were halfway closed, soft and saddened. It broke your heart to see him like that.

“What for?” you questioned, your own voice now slightly broken.

A deep sigh racked from the back of his throat, seemingly contemplating his next words, licking his lips before he spoke. Still, he wouldn’t look at you. “For not being able to give you everything you deserve.”

In an instant, you’re sitting up, moving your body around until you’re facing him. Your tail curls subconsciously around his leg, almost as though to comfort him without words. “What are you talking about?” you ask him, a breathy, unbelieving laugh falling from your lips. “You already give me enough, ‘teyam.”

Your soft words ring through his mind, echoing from one corner to the other until that’s all he can hear - because that’s all he needs to hear. To him, you’re absolutely everything, his everything. You deserve the entire world and more, but, sometimes, he can’t help but feel as though he isn’t giving you enough. So, hearing you say it started to bring him back to his senses - if he wasn’t, surely you would’ve left him by now, right?

A small smile starts to make its way onto his lips, the edges curving up just the tiniest fraction, something you wouldn’t have spotted if you weren’t intently admiring him. Shaking his head to himself, he sighs breathily. “It’s just…” he tries, struggling for the truth in the words he wants to scream out loud. He was never good at this, but he’d try for you. “You make me want to be better. You make me want to be good.”

With a sympathetic smile upon your lips, tilting your head to the side admiringly, you tut at him. “‘Teyam, you are good. You’re the best you can be - I love you just the way you are.”

Surprise courses across all his features, all his senses, until he’s sure there’s never been anything else he’s ever focused on in his entire life. His eyes widen, ears standing high and tail flicking wildly behind him, like it has a mind of its own.

I love you just the way you are.

For a moment, you don’t even realise what you’d just said to him, too caught up in the moment of reassuring him to fully comprehend anything else. But, after a few seconds past and he doesn’t say anything, just continues on staring, you repeat your own words in your head.

I love you just the way you are.

I love you.

You and Neteyam had never said those three words before - and you definitely hadn’t said I see you - because you were still in the fairly early stages of your relationship. However, that didn’t mean to say that you didn’t still love him - you just thought it was too early to actually say them out loud.

For the longest time, you knew for certain you’d felt this way. How could you not - he was Neteyam Sully, the mighty warrior and future Olo’eyktan. You knew you’d always love him, no matter what, but you hadn’t exactly planned for him to find out in such a way.

Mouth open agape, reading for some form of explanation to come his way, you never got to fumble for an excuse. No - Neteyam wouldn’t let you. Instead, he’d eventually come out of his shocked reverie, placing his hands delicately on the sides of your face and pressing one of the most gentle kisses upon your lips, immediately swallowing your words.

Warmth tingled down your spine, accompanied by chills, basking in the affection he was radiating. Your eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his lips against your own, but it didn’t last long.

Too quickly, Neteyam pulled away, smile brighter and eyes shinier than you’d ever seen them. “I love you, too, sevin (pretty).”

Cheeks darkening at his same admittance, a giddy laugh escaped from your lips in pure bliss. This was Neteyam Sully - one of the scariest, most intimidating Na’vi within the Omatikaya clan - and, here he was, confessing his love for little, old you.

As you gazed at one another lovingly, neither of you quite being able to believe the situation you’d found yourselves in, you send him a teasing smirk. “I knew there was a big softie under all that tough exterior.”

He rolls his eyes at you, pushing away playfully as he listens to your beautiful laugh. There was nowhere else he’d rather be in this moment, he’d decided, and he slowly started to learn that he didn’t care if others saw him like this. If it made you happy, he’d do anything.

[zade1ost]

★ BLLK ONE-SHOTS

✶ “LET’S CAUSE A LITTLE TROUBLE !”

┊: Sypnosis : where he only wants your attention :( so what better way to get it than by annoying you?

┊: Chapter contents : fluff, language, male!reader

┊: Pairings : Charles Chevalier x m!reader

ONE CALM MORNING IN PXG turned into a complete headache for you.

You woke up fine, but there was a certain blonde who kept pestering you ever since your eyes opened. You did indulge him at first, but soon wanted to do your own thing.

Sadly, that wasn’t what was in his plan.

Charles was almost the complete opposite of you when it came to personality. You were a bit more mature at 15, and much more calmer..while Charles was..Charles.

You weren’t one to judge, obviously. But god was he good at catching people off-guard or just doing whatever the hell he can to see their wide eyed faces.

But he took too much of a liking to you. He was constantly trying to surprise you in whatever way he could, scare you, shock you, whatever! He just wanted to see your eyes go wide, and your jaw dropped. Just like when he first met you!

That was much more harder now, because you had grown used to his antics.

Yet, that didn’t stop him.

Which is why he’s trying to gain your attention now.

You had decided to practice, and wanted to focus on your shooting skills, so you went ahead and went by yourself.

..Or so you thought.

Because now you had Charles in the same field as you, the blonde boy kicking, and shooting balls at you. Most of the times you managed to react, and kick them in the net, the others..well..

They were kicked right to the back of your head.

You gritted your teeth whenever that happened, but also tried to not show any sign that you were shocked. You did also try hiding the fact you were close to storming towards him and throw him out.

He would’ve probably loved that though, because that just meant he got a reaction out of you.

“M/n, come onnnn..” His sudden voice echoed around the walls, making you turn to him and sigh. Then you realized another ball was kicked at you.

You had managed to stop it by trapping it, and pushing it down under your foot, glaring at Charles. That would’ve hit your stomach if you weren’t quick..

“I’m trying to practice here, what’s with you..!” You said through gritted teeth, kicking the ball back at him. He was much more quicker, and was able to throw it back at you.

He grinned when you kicked it back, excited now that your focus was finally on him.

“Can’t I have at least a bit of your attention? Come on, pretty pleaseee,” He begged, repeating the same motion and sending it back to you. “Your eyes are so pretty, so I want them focused on me!”

He tried making you flustered, but it didn’t work. You just huffed, moving away just in time as the ball flew by you. You couldn’t care less about what he wanted..

Charles pouted, looking around for another ball. There was one nearby, so he hurried to try and grab that to keep your attention solely on him.

You were already busy with your own thing though, making him groan and throw his head back.

Just what exactly would it take for you to keep your eyes on him? :(

Your head was pushed forward when another ball made contact from behind, an aching feeling hurting your poor skull. You turned back at Charles with an irked face, stomping towards him.

The blonde gasped, finally! He got a reaction out of you!..well, not exactly the one he had on mind, but still!

“Charles..” You sneered, gripping his shirt. He just kept grinning, more nervous now.

“Aha..your eyes are so pretty when mad too.” He tried again, making you drag him away. You let the doors slide open, and threw him out.

“STAY OUT!” Then the doors closed right in front of him. The others who were also training ir just walking by looked at him confused. Just what did he do now?

Well..at least he got your attention somehow.. He’ll definitely continue tomorrow, or even later at dinner.

note — hello! thank you for the request, and I hope this was enough! I have yet to understand Charle’s personality, but I hope he wasn’t much ooc. And I also hope this was somewhat correct to what you asked! :3

[its-time-to-write]

this is 100% self indulgent. no one asked for this except me and I have zero excuse for how it turned out. i have no defense, no witty rebuttal, no nothing. i wrote this because i wanted to, and at the very least i hope this inspires someone to write their borderline-self-insert fic and post it publicly.

this fic is set after season 3. enjoy😂

(oh now might also be a good time to mention how much I love Man City. bc it’s a lot.)

can’t hear my thoughts (i cannot hear my thoughts)

Calling Lake Como beautiful is like saying space is big. It’s true for sure, but it feels like an understatement. It’s June and the weather is absolutely gorgeous, perfect for the wedding you’re attending. It’s for two good friends of yours, and it’s going to be a party full of football royalty. You’re mostly excited to see friends who are WAGs from other teams who you’ve connected with over the past year and a half.

Oh, and you suppose it will be a nice vacation with Jamie, too.

You’re staying at a beautiful hotel that’s been open since 1910, and you swear you’ll never stay somewhere as beautiful again.

“Getting ideas for the house?” Jamie teases, and it sends a thrill down your spine with the way he refers to his house as your collective home. 

You grin as he spins you around the Suite Greta. Everything is golden, from the drapes to the pillows to the sun catching on his face.

“No,” you reply, “but maybe for a vacation home?”

Jamie laughs as he catches you up in his arms. “I could see us here in the next off-season. Not sure we’d get out much,” he muses and you wrap your arms around him as tight as they can go.

You’re here for a full week but Isaac’s wedding is only one day. You and Jamie have plans to see everyone who’s in town, as well as have some time to yourself.

“Sasha wants to go out for dinner tonight,” you tell Jamie as he unpacks his suitcase.

“Girls only, or will Jack be there?”

“Let’s see,” you hum as you scan the group chat. “Isabel said she and Erling will be there, so looks like it’s a couple’s thing. That’ll be fun, right?” you ask with just a hint of anxiety. Jamie and Jack are friends, they’ve run in the same circles for years, but you’re not sure how he’s going to feel about being outnumbered two to one, City to Richmond, at dinner.

“As long as Rodri ain’t there, I’m fucking chuffed,” he says as he lays out his suit on the bed.

“Chuffed? Is that a thing you say now?” you ask, flat on your back on the bed.

“Yep,” he replies. “I’m posh now, babe. Sorry you Americans can’t do it as well as we Brits.”

“I have it on good authority that we do it very well,” you smirk. “But I don’t think that’s something you’ll get to experience tonight. I haven’t seen Sash or Isa in ages, so we’ll probably talk for a long time and then I’ll be tired when we get back to the room.”

Jamie groans. “You’re sadistic, woman. The shit you put me through.”

You smile and remind him, “You’re the one who picked me, remember?”

—

Jamie is technically the one who picked you. You had just moved from America to London, got a temp job at a Richmond FC, and the rest is history. You don’t work at Richmond anymore, haven’t for a while, as you’ve been able to start your own thing in between attending matches and events and whatever else Jamie’s invited to. Being Jamie’s girlfriend is a full-time job on its own, and he definitely spoils you beyond what you’re used to. He’s the one who bought your dress for the wedding and it freaked you out just a little bit until you called Sasha (an angel, by the way) who laughed and talked you off the ledge. 

“Comes with the territory, babe. They’re just boys with more money than they know what to do with. Jack’d buy me the moon if he could figure out how. Enjoy it. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen Tartt this happy.”

So you do. You had been living together for almost a year now so you’d think that a dress wouldn’t push you over the edge, but there you go. You’re trying to be calmer about it. It’s better ever since you met Sasha and Isabel. 

You had been stuck in a room while Jamie talked to his old manager, and they had noticed your deer-in-the-headlights expression. You’re right in the middle of the two, age-wise, and from similar enough backgrounds.

“Here’s my number. Come over to my flat tomorrow for brunch. We’ll get you settled, babes,” Sasha had said. You went and it had been amazing to finally make real friends, even if they were technically on the opposing team. 

You’re excited to see them, excited for Isaac to finally get married, and excited to spend a full seven days with Jamie by your side. It’s going to be the best.

—

You enter the venue arm-in-arm with Jamie, practically dancing across the grass. The sun’s shining and there are all sorts of people you know and love. It feels a little surreal to be here. 

Earlier, back in the room, you had slipped into your dress carefully to avoid getting makeup stains on the front. The skirt fell just at your knees and puffed out ever so slightly, with thick straps instead of regular sleeves so you could fully enjoy the warm weather. 

“Do a spin,” he had said, voice full of glee. You’d acquiesced, twirling around to let the blue tile print billow out before he caught you, kissing your shoulder so as not to ruin your makeup. 

Now, you’re holding onto him and trying not to wrinkle his linen suit when you hear someone shout your name. 

“Sasha!” you screech, running toward her as best you can with your shoes on the grass. You squeeze each other into a tight hug, uncaring about about the state of her hot pink dress. 

“Hey man,” Jack says to Jamie, who grins and shakes his hand. “You’d think they haven’t seen each other in fucking ages.”

“It’s been twelve hours,” you say. “And before that it’s been like two months. Anyway, don’t you two have some football to discuss or something? Or headbands? Or-”

“Really short socks,” Sasha helpfully supplies. 

Jamie shakes his head. “Fuck off, Attwood.”

“Fuck you, Tartt,” she replies. 

“Oi, you two wouldn’t even be friends if it weren’t for me. You could be a little nicer,” Jamie says. 

“Oh is that Hughes?” Jack asks before either Sasha or Jamie can escalate. Their entire friendship is based off sniping one another and neither you nor Jack are particularly in the mood for it today. 

Jamie turns to look. “Oh mint, looks like things are starting. You saved us seats?”

“Yeah, with Haaland and Isabel,” Sasha returns, linking her arm through yours. “C’mon, did you get yourself a parasol?”

—

It’s the most beautiful wedding you’ve ever been to. Stella looks stunning in her gown, Isaac stoically sobs his eyes out while Colin surreptitiously hands him a tissue. Even Roy seems to be having a good time, but then again Keeley once told you that he “really fucking loves weddings.” You hadn’t believed her, but his lips are in a straight line instead of a frown so maybe she was right. 

There’s a group of City and Richmond players together, and it’s a little strange to see how friendly they are off the pitch. Dani is explaining something with lots of hand gestures to Phil while the rest of the group jokes around. 

Sasha sneaked you and Isabel away to get drinks for yourselves and you were about to get away unnoticed when Erling caught Isabel’s arm and asked for a drink too, so now you’re ordering for your boyfriends as well as yourselves. 

You don’t really care, there’s a part of you that’s reveling in the sheer joy of being young and hot. Sue you. 

“Cosmo, please,” you say while the girls order drinks of their own. Sasha raises an eyebrow so you shrug and say, “Jamie likes what he likes.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs “Tartt,” but it’s with the affection of an older sister so you elbow her and ask, “What did Jack want?”

She makes a face. “Heineken. He also likes what he fuckin’ likes.” 

You wheeze out a laugh as Isabel comes to join you. She smiles as she sips from something lavender colored in a martini glass. She cuts an elegant figure in her yellow, billowy dress. You smooth your dress and open your mouth to say something when a voice calls your name. You look to see your ex walking up, hand-in-hand with his wife. You know, the one he left you for. 

“Jake,” you say in surprise. God, you need your brain to form coherent thoughts right now. “What are you doing here?”

He grins, far too wide and goofy to be real. Not like Jamie, you think. 

“Oh, you know, Emma’s loosely related to the bride on her dad’s side. She asked for an invite, so here we are. Who are you here for? Bride or groom?”

“Both, actually,” you reply automatically. Jake’s words are grating, not so much in content as they are in tone. He always had a way of saying things condescendingly, like everyone else was a stupid little kid. 

“Oh,” he says in what you think is supposed to be surprise, “that’s funny. I didn’t know you knew anyone out here. You’ve been living in England all alone, right?”

Emma just hovers by Jake’s shoulder. She’s not contributing anything to this conversation except a snooty little smirk. 

“No,” you say. ���I’m not alone. This is Isabel, by the way.” You look around for Sasha, but she’s disappeared. Smart girl. 

Isa doesn’t extend her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says and Jake takes her at her word. He puffs up his chest a little bit as he asks, “Where are you from? You don’t sound British.”

“We’re from Norway,” a voice behind her says. “I’m Erling.”

Sasha has reappeared with Jack, Erling, and Jamie in tow. You mentally congratulate her with a well done, Sash as you feel Jamie’s arm loop around your waist. 

He feels like a solid wall against your back, a glimmer in an otherwise garbage moment. 

Jake takes stock of the three men who are looking at him with less-than friendly stares. You’re not sure what Sasha told them, but you’re absolutely positive Jamie recognizes Jake. You can practically feel the hairs on his arm bristling. 

Jake finishes his assessment and deems it appropriate to talk. “So, how do you all know each other?”

Jamie scoffs and looks away, while Jack stares at Jake like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

You wonder what it is with your affinity for J-names. 

“We’re footballers,” Erling says before anyone can take more offense. 

“Premier League footballers,” Jamie adds, as if it means anything to Jake. 

Jake’s American, like you, and he’s never been much for sports anyway. He wouldn’t even recognize David Beckham if the man were standing under a poster of himself. 

Jake says, “Right. Hey, weren’t you on one of those trashy dating shows?” and Jamie stiffens. 

Sasha mutters, “Fuck’s sake,” under her breath as Erling and Isabel take pointed interest in something in the distance.  

“No,” Jamie replies shortly. “The fuck were you talking to my girl?”

Jake looks to you in surprise. “Oh! You two are together? That’s… well, that’s… I guess I just didn’t expect her to be whoring around like that. But hey, move to another country and all morals go out the window, right?”

That’s the thing about Jake. He never speaks as if he’s actually trying to be offensive. He just says what’s on his mind. And you’re a little concerned that what’s on his mind is going to land Jamie (and quite possible Jack) in jail. Neither of them are especially known for backing down from a squabble. “Cut from the same cloth,” Pep was rumored to say. 

“Fuck off, mate,” Jack interjects. “Just fuck off. Everyone here loves her, and you can’t talk about her like that.”

Your ex reevaluates the situation at hand and decides the best thing to do would be to take Emma’s hand and walk away. 

“Strange that his wife does not speak,” Erling remarks. 

You grimace. “You could’ve stopped at ‘strange.’ No idea what I ever saw in him.”

Jamie has a crushing grip on your waist so you wiggle a bit to get him to loosen up. 

“Prick,” he mutters. “How the fuck did he even get here, anyway? He’s in fucking America.”

“His wife’s loosely related to Stella. They asked for an invite,” Isabel volunteers. 

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Oi, if he tries to talk to you again, I’ll grab Roy and we’ll fucking kill him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause McAdoo’s never been above a little violence at a party,” Jack grins. 

You return his smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure his mother-in-law would kill you.”

Erling huffs out a laugh. “Never a dull moment in the Premier League, is there?”

Isabel grins and loops her arm through his. “I’m tired of all this,” she says.  “Let’s go dancing. There’s a band and we don’t have to think about anything other than celebrating, yes?”

“God yes,” says Sasha.

Jamie still looks murderous, but you squeeze his hand once and whisper, “I’m fine, babe. It’s fine.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but he lets you pull him along to the dance floor with the group.

— 

There are so many people that you don’t even catch a glimpse of Jake and Emma. You’re not sure what they’re up to, and fairly certain they don’t know anyone else here. You on the other hand, are living your best life as Jamie sings along to “Ain’t No Mountain.” He’s swinging your arms around as he sways in time to the music. You just let him lead you however he wants. The song ends and he presses his lips to your ear so you can hear him over the sheer volume of everyone talking. “D’you want a drink? I can go get you something.”

You nod and mouth my usual, please, so he salutes and begins weaving his way through the crowd. You watch him as long as you can before spinning back around with a smile.

A smile that quickly fades when you realize Emma is right in front of you.

She says, “Cute dress,” and for a moment, you believe she’s being sincere but then she follows it up with, “Did you borrow it from your grandma’s closet? I’ve seen people do that.” 

Right, because grandmas are known for wearing dresses like this. 

“What? No, Jamie got it for me,” you say. 

“Oh cute, is it from Walmart? I think I saw something like it there last week.”

Emma is trying to draw blood. You suppose she’s taking her shot now as opposed to back then because she thinks there’s no one around to call her out. No one who knows her. 

You say, “They don’t have Walmart here,” instead of “It’s Dolce & Gabbana,” because the second phrase would make you sound like a prick. There’s a part of you that wants to be a prick, though, wants to channel that part of Jamie that’s ruthless, vicious and cruel, messing with the opposition before he cuts them down. 

The first time you saw it, it was hard to believe the Jamie on the pitch was the same Jamie who played with your hair while you cooked, or put a sticky note on his fridge titled “Babe,” detailing everything you’d ever said you liked. 

Emma sees she’s not getting to you, so she changes tactics. “Must be hard being here without any friends,” she remarks. “All alone. And you’ve never been especially extraverted. Are those people the only ones here you know?”

God, Jamie, where are you?

You open your mouth to respond but are cut off by someone with a distinctly midwestern twang say, “I heard one of my favorite countrywomen was here.”

You turn to see Ted Lasso grinning at you in a black suit. It’s the same smile you remember, albeit his eyes are a little sharp. You’d bet anything he knows exactly what’s going on between you and Emma. 

“Ted!” you smile as a rush of relief floods your system. You step into his arms for a hug as he says, “Hey, sweetheart. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know,” you say. “Kind of great, actually. I wondered if you were going to be here! Have you seen Jamie yet?”

Ted shakes his head. “Y’know, I haven’t. Why don’t we find him together?” He offers you an arm and you take it gratefully, choosing not to spare Emma a glance.

“She seems like a real bucket of laughs,” Ted remarks.

“You have no idea. That’s my ex’s wife.”

Whatever Ted thought you were going to say, he certainly wasn’t prepared for that. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on a short, “Well I’ll be danged.”

You laugh and stand on tiptoes to try to see Jamie. You don’t see him, but you catch a glimpse of an especially tall, blond head.

“This way,” you tell Ted. You brush past Phil who smiles at you, past Colin and Michael, and past someone you’re pretty sure is a Beckham.

You make your way to Erling and Isabel as they dance to the music in their own corner.

You frown. “Have you seen Jamie?” you shout. 

Isabel shakes her head. “He was looking for you,” she calls back.

“Oh,” you say, “Ted, this is Isabel and-”

“Erling Haaland,” Ted says, hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, son. Big fan of the way you play the game.”

You miss Erling’s response, startled by a hand on your shoulder. You turn to see Sam standing behind you.

“Sam!” you exclaim with a grin, “You look so handsome!”

Sam returns your grin and strikes a pose. “I’ve been sent on a very important mission. I am to retrieve you and bring you to Jamie and I am under no circumstances allowed to let a small rat man named Jake speak to you.”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Jamie’s words, not mine,” Sam clarifies. “Although I must admit, I have seen this rat man. I do not like him very much.”

“You and me both,” you agree. You wave to Isabel and pat Ted on the arm before following Sam.

He leads you away from the crowd of people to a stone path illuminated by small lights. This can’t be right, you think but Sam points down the path and says, “This is where I leave you.”

He turns to leave then changes his mind and spins back around. “It was lovely seeing you today, albeit for a short amount of time. I hope I will be seeing more of you while we are here. It is not often I meet someone who makes Jamie more tolerable.”

He speaks with a touch of humor and it’s just enough to dispel any apprehensions about what’s waiting for you in the dark. 

You say, “Thanks Sam. Love ya,” which he returns before he disappears back to the main party.

You take a breath and head down the steps.

It’s dark, the light barely shining enough for each step, but as you get farther you see a shadowy figure sitting on a bench under a tree. You smile. You can tell exactly who it is by his silhouette.

Jamie stands as you get closer and pulls you into his arms.

“Thought we’d sneak away to make out a bit,” he says. “And maybe to you wouldn’t yell at me in front of all our friends.”

You groan. “What did you do? Please tell me it has nothing to do with Roy. Or Jack. Oh my god, did you two start convincing people you were separated at birth again? Because it’s really only funny one time.”

“Well…” Jamie hedges.

You pinch his back. It’s the only part of him you can reach at the moment. “Jamie Tartt, you’d better tell me what you did right now or so help me you are going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of our lives.”

“Oi, don’t fucking do that!”

He reaches back to grab your hands and holds them flat on his chest. “We- Roy, Grealish, and me, might have gotten your prick ex kicked out.”

“You what?” you gasp.

Jamie starts speaking in a rush before you can say anything else. “Look, y’know how protective Grealish gets, especially because Sasha fucking loves you, and then Roy heard that your prick ex was here (not the twat ex) and he said it’s easier for him to get in and out of fights on account of him being a fucking manager but then Grealish said that it’s pretty much expected that fights happen so might as well and anyway, no one’s gonna fuckin’ snitch on any of us because (hate to break it to you babe), but you’re, like, everyone’s kid sister. They’d fucking kill for you so it’s possible that we channeled that into threatening to break all of his bones if he ever ended up in the same country as you again.”

You’re processing all of the things Jamie said plus the incredible speed at which he said them, so all you can manage is a single “Okay,” before he’s talking again.

“Ehm, it’s also slightly-fucking-possible that someone did break his foot.”

“What?” you all but shout.

“Coordinated effort between Isa and Haaland,” Jamie says. “Lad’s a fucking wall, don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“Jesus, Jamie,” you groan. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or pinch you again.”

“You can do both,” he suggests.

You sigh. “I’m going to kiss you. Like, a lot. And I’m not going to worry about getting caught and after we’ve snogged like a pair of kids in high school- sorry, secondary school, then we’re going to eat a bunch more food and dance with our friends. And if you want to get sloshed, I promise I will only take funny videos for myself, and I will not send them to your mum this time.”

Jamie says, “Liar,” as he kisses the tip of your nose.

“Fine,” you concede, “I will most definitely send them to your mum. And Simon. We’re on a group chat.”

“Not even gonna fucking ask,” Jamie says as he threads a hand through your hair so he can get at a better angle to kiss you.

—

You wake up the next morning (ahem, afternoon) to Jamie’s foot in your face.

“Excuse me, sir,” you say.

He hiccups himself awake. “Yeah?” he rumbles. “What fucking time..?”

“Late, I assume,” you say.

He groans and flips himself around so your heads are on the same side of the bed. He wastes no time in tangling your limbs together.

“Oi, koala boy. Some of us have morning breath.”

“No y’don’t babe,” he mumbles.

You scratch his head and a shudder runs through his body. “I know,” you say, “my breath is perfect. I meant you. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Cruel woman,” he returns before lapsing into silence. The sun slips through the curtains, and you’re sure it’s going to be another gorgeous day

“Jamie,” you begin then stop.

He says, “Yeah, love?” while looking up at you with his gorgeous blue eyes and you take a moment to freeze this image in your head. 

Jamie Tartt, in bed, hair tousled from sleep. Pillowy white duvet, golden freckled skin, warm body pressed to yours.

He kisses your shoulder, rousing you from your thoughts. 

“Jamie,” you say again, “I wanted to say-”

“Don’t,” he interjects. “You’re not fucking allowed to say thank you for the bare fucking minimum.”

“But it’s not,” you reply, opting to skate over the fact that he apparently can read your mind. “Bare minimum is like, making sure I’m not alone with him, not getting your friends together to scare him off and break his foot.”

Jamie’s been kissing your skin wherever he can reach as you speak, so his words are interspersed with pecks. “Technically, the foot was an accident. Ask any one of our witnesses. And besides, they’re your friends too. You’re the one who got ‘em all to like ya despite the fact we’re mortal enemies on the pitch.”

“You’re the one who goes tanning with Jack,” you remind him.

“Lies told by the press,” Jamie grumbles. “This is my natural sexy glow.”

You say, “Okay little British boy,” as Jamie decides that his current position is not enough and he wants to lay on top of you.

He says something but his face is buried in the crook of your neck, so all you can feel is vibrations.

You ask, “Hm?” so he lifts his head.

“What if it were us next year?”

“Tanning or breaking feet?”

“Getting married.”

Jamie goes back to having his mouth on your neck as if the air weren’t just punched from your lungs.

You’re quiet long enough that he lifts his head again to ask, “Is that good quiet or bad quiet?”

“Good!” you hastily confirm. “Good, but, babe- you haven’t even asked me yet.”

He says, “I’m going to,” as if you should have known already. 

“Okay,” you breathe, “can you give me like a little heads up or something so my nails are done?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, “At the end of the week. Been planning it. Ring’s in my bag, even asked Stella if she’d be pissed that it’s the same week she took on the most un-sexy last name in history. She said she don’t give a shit as long as it’s not at her actual wedding. So.”

“I love you,” you tell him. “Not just because of yesterday or right now. I just think you’re great.”

“I am great, babe,” he says like it’s obvious. “Picked you, didn’t I?”

You crack a smile. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. Do you want to get out of bed or go back to sleep?”

“Sleep,” he replies immediately. 

“Thank God,” you groan, “I didn’t want to move. You’re like a weighted blanket.”

“It’s me sexy muscles,” Jamie says. You wiggle under him to get more comfortable.

“Uh huh,” you agree, but the words are hardly out of your mouth before you’re both back to sleep.

[bravo4iscool]

Okay but what if we had designer!reader and model!ghost?????? Love your writing ❤️

first of: THANK YOU SO MUCH!! and second of: HOW DO Y’ALL COME UP WITH THOSE COOL IDEAS???

but your wish is my command hehe…

i think model!ghost would be kinda hard to work with, y’know? always demanding perfection but barely speaking; his gaze hard and judging (🤭😨).

but—here comes the but—designer!reader meets exactly that!

seconds before he’s supposed to be on the runway they be like: “simon, no; come back! i need to change this!” and then they’ll stitch and maybe cut around on his outfit like a madman.

at first he’s confused and irritated; he’s never worked with someone that met his standard; so he’s very distant when they first meet but when he realizes he and reader are quite the same he starts to warm up.

“d’nt y’think we could change this up a bit?” he mumbles, looking down ag himself, frowning. “the sleeves look a bit-“ before he can finish reader is already standing in front of him, fumbling with the sleeves of his suit.

“yeah, you’re right. they look too loose.” they pause for a second before they hurry over to their desk to get the supplies. “gimme just a second and i’ll fix it,” they promise.

“y’stressin’ t’much,” he calmly retorts one day when reader once again fusses over him last minute.

“you demand perfection,” they only mumble a hurried reply, fixing a loose thread. “at least that’s what i’ve been told.” they’re so focused on their job that they don’t notice ghost’s eyes widen.

“y’perfection. why would i demand more?” he then asks, looking down at reader; just in moment to see them halt and blush. “y’stressin’ t’much,” he says again, this time much calmer.

he lifts his arms to carefully push reader away. “the fit’s good. y’did good work. why fussin’ all over me?” he tilts his head, slightly smiling.

reader just takes a deep breath and sighs. “i’ve been warned about you when i first started working with you…” they avoid his gaze. “they told me i wouldn’t last two days because you’re so…harsh on the designers you work with. that’s why i’m fussing over you the whole time. i don’t want to disappoint you, okay?”

ghost quietly nods along, his eyes searching for readers. “y’d’nt disappoint me,” he says, his voice deep and calm, almost soothing to readers heart. “y’perfect, i couldn’t ask f’r anyone better than you.”

“now, that’s a lie,” they laugh but ghost just cups their face and makes them look at him.

“would i ever lie t’you?” reader shakes their head, gulping. “that’s right. i mean what i say.” his eyes are piercing through reader and they feel like he’s staring straight into their soul…

“now y’ll sit down ‘nd relax while i run that silly show.” he guides then towards the little couch in his dressing room, gently pushing them down. “‘nh when i’m done we’ll get s’me food. understand?”

reader only nods again, completely at a loss of words. they’ve never been taken care of like right now…

they shouldn’t get used to it. but…maybe they want to…

(masterlist | part 2)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

[slayfics]

Explosive Tendencies a slow burn fanfic about the readers developing relationship with Katsuki Bakugo.

Chapter four: You study with Katsuki.

Chapter links

With the completion of the internships, the end-of-term tests were coming up. You sat at your desk studying but couldn't help but wonder how your classmates were doing.

Everyone had gone into a frenzy in class about meeting up to study and being prepared. Multiple students had planned to go over to Momo's since she was at the top of the class. But since you weren't explicitly invited, you didn't want to show up. You still hadn't really connected too much with your other classmates.

You also overheard Eijiro and Katsuki make plans to study at a diner today. Fuck it I'll show up there, you thought. Katsuki did kind of owe you for fixing his hair anyway. Worst case if they seemed super irritated by it you could play it off as if you were just going to that diner regardless. That seemed a lot easier than randomly showing up at Momo's house considering you hadn't even spoken to her much yet.

You made your way over to the diner and almost as soon as you entered you were greeted with an overly enthusiastic "Hey!" that made you jump.

Eijiro had spotted you right away and waved at you to come over. Katsuki turned around with his usual annoyed expression to see who Eijiro had so openly invited to their table.

"Oh it's you," Katsuki mumbled.

"Hey, how's the studying going?" You asked, making your way over to their table.

"Uh, not so good," Eijiro laughed. "Bakugo's trying his best but I think I'm hopeless. Sit down and join us!" He said, smiling at you.

You reluctantly sat down next to Eijiro feeling a bit anxious. Aside from the times Katuski had snuck into your room, this was the first time you had spent outside of the classroom with any of your classmates.

"I'm kind of surprised you're not at Yaoyorozu's with everyone else," Eijiro stated.

"I wasn't really invited, and I didn't want to just invite myself like everyone else," You replied.

"You had no problem inviting yourself here," Katsuki said, looking up at you from his book.

You felt frozen, guess you didn't pull off pretending to just accidentally come to the same diner.

"Ah don't be so mean Bakugo, maybe they can help me. I know you are at your wits end with me," Eijiro said, laughing.

"Yeah whatever," Katsuki grumbled.

"Now that I think about it, I guess I really haven't seen you hang out with the others much," Eijiro stated curiously.

You're face flushed at his words, was it really that obvious that you hadn't befriended anyone in your class? "I uh.. well..." You stuttered trying to figure out how to answer him.

"Hey dumb ass, are you going to chat their ear off all day or are we going to study?" Katsuki barked at him.

"Right! Let's get back to it then," Eijiro said, focusing back on his book.

The three of you studied for almost the whole day. It surprised you to see how intelligent Katsuki was, his delivery was always harsh though. He'd get frustrated easily when Eijiro couldn't pick up on something right away, but you were able to explain in a calmer manner and that seemed to help.

Although, it did still take Eijiro an extended amount of time to fully understand concepts. With the sun going down you three decided it was time to finish up.

"Wow, ok I feel prepared for the written test now! I'm just worried about the test exercises," Eijiro said.

"It'll be fine shitty hair, you worry too much. You'll both do fine, and I’ll finally be able to show everyone how worthless that nerd Deku is and how much better I am than that Icyhot bastard," Katsuki replied.

You sighed, “Bakugo I already told you- I’m pretty sure everyone knows you would have beat Todoroki regardless of him using both sides or not.”

“Hm?” Eijiro looked at you both curiously. “Told him before? You two have hung out before?” He asked.

Your face flushed at Eijiro’s correct assumption and you weren’t sure how to respond. It seemed a little suspicious to say the truth- that Katsuki had snuck into your room three times now.

“Don’t be so nosy dumb ass,” Katsuki grumbled at him.

“Oh right-! Sorry! Anyway… Maybe the test exercise will be a team exercise and we'll get paired together or something! After today I'd say the three of us make a good team," Eijiro said smiling.

You smiled back at him unsure of how to respond to so much positivity. Katsuki just rolled his eyes at Eijrio.

It was striking how night and day it was between Eijiro's cheery demeanor and Katsuki's quick temper.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @anon-mouse223

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

Vlad, Viago and Deacon as parents headcanons [pt.2]

[Part 1] [Part 3]

Author’s note: I love writing this shit to a very unhealthy degree. I might make a oneshots out of this later. Also does anyone know Deacon’s nationality? Some say Polish, others say German. I’m still not sure.

Also, if some of you want pt. 3, please let me know what scenarios would you want me to explore specifically, because I am running out of ideas a bit…

When you first appeared in the house, Viago found some old suitcase in the attic and proposed that you’ll sleep in it, until they get you an actual casket.

You tried it, but couldn’t really slumber because of the constant nightmares and it was too scary to open the lid, because of the sun.

So you started sharing a coffin with Viago, at least until you felt calmer.

It resulted in him sacrificing a bit of his sleep to your rather constant tossing and turning, but he quickly got used to it.

He sang you German lullabies to put you to sleep or whispered some calming affirmations (you didn’t understand a word, but it was sweet).

He found these moments so precious, that he actually got upset, when you obtained your own coffin and started sleeping separately in the attic.

Since the attic was now technically your room, Vlad, Viago and Deacon decided to help you decorate it to your liking, so you went on the town basically robbing thrift stores and supermarkets by hypnotising the cashiers.

They helped you assemble the random ikea furniture you got, even though neither of you could understand the instructions on the box.

In your free time, you’ll often find yourself hanging around in Vladislav’s room, posing for his portraits. He likes your expressiveness, it really gives his paintings the right look. And so you won’t get bored sitting there for hours, he asks you about your life before you became a vampire.

You also speak a lot of Romanian together, because Vlad wanted you to know another language, so he only communicated to you in Romanian for a while and you unwillingly started to understand it with time.

If you miss your family, he will take you to your childhood home. Of course, you can’t really interact with them anymore, but you can at least watch and it might make you feel a bit better to know they are still living a good life and that they miss you just as much.

At one point all three of them realise, that you would benefit from some friends within your age group. So they take you out to an arcade pretty early in the evening.

Unfortunately, living with ancient vampires kind of killed any chance for your social skills to develop properly, so you ended up scaring a bunch of kids and getting very upset.

To compensate for it, Deacon called you along to watch videos on the laptop, that Stu set up. You accidentally stumbled upon Bill Nye reuploads and binged them together, because you thought he’s the smartest person to ever roam the earth.

All of them have some kind of a default nickname for you. Viago calls you “Mäuschen” (little mouse), Vlad calls you very simply “Child” and to Deacon you are “Rodent”.

Stu and Nick are kind of like uncles/siblings to you. When the three have to leave somewhere, they usually leave them to babysit you. You have a lot of fun together! Since all three of you still remember what it’s like to actually be a living and breathing human, you get to talk more about recent news and events, rather than reminisce about the past.

You are also the only person in the group, who can’t really steal your clothes from victims, since neither of the vampires is very keen on killing children. Mostly, they ask their newfound werewolf friends to pick something up for you during the day or steal it themselves during the night.

Considering you can’t go to a normal school, they decided to teach you at home. Vlad teaches you literacy and art, Viago teaches you sciences and history and Deacon teaches you actually important shit like hypnotising tax collectors, draining the blood of your victims into mason jars and looking cool as fuck.

If you call Viago “dad”, he will be over the goddamn moon. It’s like he accomplished a goal he didn’t even know he set.

If you call Vladislav your dad, for a moment he would almost feel this long forgotten warmth in his chest. It’s like his heart started to beat again.

If you refer to Deacon as “dad”, he will be very startled and confused at first. It’s a weird feeling for him to have someone trust him and depend on him so much. He won’t admit it, but he really loved that emotion.

The more you are around, the more they get into being parental figures.

Tagging people who asked for part two: @italakthoughts and @rthounasty (this is a fire username btw)

[babydollmarauders]

airport blurb! maybe reader and jack getting their apartment ready for luke and going shopping for him, etc!

“what about this one?” my attention is caught by Jack, who stands in the middle of the aisle, holding up a blue bedspread. “do you think he’d like it?”

“Jacky, i’m sure Luke would’ve liked any of the six you’ve picked up.” he smiles, tossing the bed set into the cart, and i grin, closing the space between us and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“i just want it all to be perfect, ya know? he just lost the frozen four, i want him to have as much comfort as he needs.” he tells me, his hands settling on my hips.

“it will be perfect and he will have plenty of comfort. you know why?”

“why?” Jack sighs, gazing into my eyes.

“because he’ll have you. you’re gonna be here for him. he’ll have you to teach him the ropes and be there for him. he’ll have you to remind him that it does get better, no matter how much he struggles in his rookie season.”

“i love you.” Jack leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in a quick kiss. “now let’s hurry.”

i push the cart, trailing behind my boyfriend as he treks up and down the aisles of Home Goods, throwing things into the cart at random.

**

i can hear Jack’s muttered curses from the kitchen. he’s currently in the guest room, soon to be Luke’s room, setting it up for his brother.

“Babe, you okay in there?” my voice carries from my spot at the oven, and he groans in response.

“i can’t get this damn fitted sheet on the bed and Luke is supposed to be here in 15 minutes.” he steps into the kitchen, sheet in his hands and an exasperated expression, making me sigh.

i know my boyfriend is stressed. this is the day he’s been waiting for ever since Luke was drafted; which is why he’s under so much internal pressure to make sure Luke doesn’t regret leaving UMich after only two years. i just wish Jack would cut himself some slack.

Jack sidles up beside me, letting his head drop down to my shoulder. i press my cheek to his head for a moment before speaking.

“Jacky, baby, look at me, please.” i coo, attempting to pull back and look in his eyes. when he does lift his head, i immediately feel at peace when i see his blue eyes. i gently grab the fitted sheet from his hold, and set it on the counter before holding his face in my hands.

“everything is gonna be okay.” i reassure him, my tone soft and gentle. “i’m gonna make the bed, okay? why don’t you take the last batch cookies out for me when the oven beeps? think you can do that?”

he responds with a nod, raveling his arms around my waist and pulling me in tight. a soft smile spreads across my lips when i hear him let out an exhale, obviously feeling calmer in my arms.

“what would i do without you?” he whispers, his breath fanning across my ear and sending shivers down my spine.

“have an unmade bed for Luke and no cookies.” i joke, making him huff out a laugh. i untangle myself from his arms, leaning up to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose before i make my way to the guest bedroom.

i’ve just finished with making the bed when i hear a knock on the front door. peeking my head out of the bedroom, i spot Jack sporting a wide grin and he jogs to answer the door.

“c’mon y/n/n, c’mon!” i giggle at his giddy state and sprint to stand behind him as he opens the door.

Luke barely has a chance to say a single word before Jack pounces on him, hugging his brother tight and jumping up and down. a chuckle escapes past my lips while i watch them, an immense happiness filling me from the sight of them finally together again.

[compassionatereminders]

Hi! I wanted to answer the anon who was asking about what ADHD meds do & don’t help with as someone who was late-diagnosed and started meds this year. However, the effect of ADHD meds and even experience of ADHD itself varies heavily from person to person, so do keep that in mind!

DO:

- Actually hearing and retaining what people are saying. I was never able to fully experience a college lecture without panic because of only hearing bits and bobs of the lecture, going in one ear and out the other. I can truly focus and actually respond to what people are saying in a single line of thought without desperately trying to stimulate myself as much as possible to maybe get 1/2 of the detail to stick in my brain.

- Time blindness!! At first starting meds it felt like the day went for 500 years. I felt so much slower and mentally calmer, and I was able to complete “simple” tasks in under 15-20 minutes that could normally take me up to 3 hours due to distractions.

- Memory! Off my meds I have an enormously hard time remembering anything I’m trying to accomplish. I bounce from task to task without ever finishing it. On meds I’m able to think “I need to do laundry” and I just. Do the fucking laundry. It’s magical and I’ve cried more than once thinking about how much I’ve spent my life thinking I’m stupid or lazy for not being able to “just do the thing” like everyone else.

- Shutting down/fearful procrastination— I would be stuck doing nothing for days and days because I would want to do a task so badly but overly think about it and essentially paralyze myself in the decision making/getting started process. When I’m on my meds I can just do the fucking thing! Even if I don’t really feel like it! When before I practically had to have the exact perfect circumstance and could never create them, I can just plop myself somewhere and do the fucking thing. Just like I’ve been told all my life— “Even if you don’t want to, do it anyways” except now I have the actual ability to do that like everyone else. Before it was like everyone else was telling me to turn on a light, but I had no switch.

DON’T:

- Help with hyperfixation. Sometimes I can fixate even worse when I’m on my meds, just because my mind is so single stream that I’m able to do things for even more excessive periods. I burn myself out accidentally a lot quicker if I don’t provide myself with manual distractions to take breaks from daily/academic tasks.

- Immediately fix you. It was hard to start meds because I had to unlearn a lot of habits I had developed to cope with my undiagnosed ADHD— such as constantly moving, stimulating myself, having candy, etc. Just because the day became longer didn’t mean my time management became awesome either. I’m still working on tools that help ADHD with my meds!

- Not really a don’t but more so an unexpected side effect was becoming very intensely angry or upset when the medicine wears off. I struggle with emotional dysfunction already but the anger was so severe and I didn’t know that ADHD meds wearing off can cause that.

- Work 100% all of the time. Some days things like stress, poor sleep, poor diet, etc, can alter the way the same dose of meds works for you. Especially if you are nicotine dependent or a regular caffeine consumer, the way your meds work can change on a day by day basis. Some days I feel like the meds aren’t working at all, but more often than not there’s still a difference between myself being unmedicated and medicated.

- Instantly make you better at studying/task completion. Apparently having ADHD for years made me so extremely avoidant of many things that I just don’t have the skill set to do them well yet. Like studying, for example. I still struggle with extreme perfectionism that impedes me outside of ADHD paralysis.

- I’m gonna say it twice but they DONT FIX YOU ON THEIR OWN. Yes, they make your life fucking way better than before especially if you’re an adult with undiagnosed ADHD, but you have to learn how to use tools and learn skills to support yourself for the medication to help you to the max capability! I will definitely say that being on meds helped overhaul my mindset when I’m off meds and improved my perception of myself, but again, the meds can only get me so far!

I hope this helped anon!!!

Thank you for taking the time to share this! I hope anon sees it 💕