#but I have so many thoughts and feelings and devoted years of my early life to this show :/

[zablife]

Joel Takes You on a Road Trip

Joel Miller x gf reader

A/N: Fall road trip, requested by @huntingingoodwill. Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge. Patsy Cline Song is "Leavin' on Your Mind."

Warnings: mention of the infected, sedation Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution!

"Ain't falling asleep on me, are ya?" Joel asked, brushing your cheek lightly.

You glanced over at him with a lazy smile as you denied the gentle rocking was indeed lulling you into a comfortable slumber. "Course not," you mumbled over the quiet static of the car radio.

"And here I thought we were gonna have a nice chat," he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the steering wheel.

You might have noticed the nervous gesture if you hadn't been thoroughly exhausted, a yawn rippling through you as you tried to respond. "Wh-what do you want to...talk about?" you finally managed to ask.

The lines near his temples crinkled slightly in amusement at the sight of your drooping eyelids, prompting him to gently urge, "Go on and close your eyes, darlin'." After the months you'd spent together, he was well aware you couldn't keep them open more than five minutes during long drives. However, the certainty of it gave him pause, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut thinking of the trust you'd placed in him.

Failing to notice his sullen expression, you snuggled down into the passenger's seat with Joel's jacket. Fingers clutching the worn edges of the soft fabric, you gently pulled the weighted material over yourself for warmth, careful to cover the unsightly bite mark on your shoulder. It was a gruesome reminder of the ordeal you'd faced just before meeting the man you now considered your guardian angel.

While others were unwilling to believe your fantastic claim of being bitten without infection, Joel had accepted you into his circle of protection instantly. He offered gentle words of comfort to get you through the early nights when you couldn't sleep out of fear and worry. With steadfast devotion, he promised you'd survive.

When you asked how he could be certain, he swore he'd seen a similar case once before in a young girl named Ellie. Though he was reluctant to speak of her, you learned she'd been like a daughter to him. The heartache in his voice kept you from asking questions about her fate, but the nagging curiosity rarely ceased. Only one thing could distract you from it and that was the sound of Joel's soft, Texas twang.

"Tell me again," you begged, head resting on the rattling window frame and he knew exactly what you meant.

As your eyelids fluttered, the passing shades of orange and red lightly dusted your vision and you began to imagine the kaleidoscope of color around Joel's lakeside cabin this time of year. He'd described it to you many times to satiate your curiosity, yet you still begged for more. You loved the way he spoke about this idyllic place, reciting the details from his memory like a bedtime story.

With a bit of reluctance, his husky voice rumbled to life beside you. "We're gonna follow the main road until it forks. Then 'bout three miles south there's a dirt path that twists and turns so far into the woods you'd think you were goin' back in time."

You exhaled deeply in satisfaction at his familiar tale, relishing the way he embellished the narrative like all good storytellers do.

"After you pass a rickety, old barn, you know you're gettin' close," his voice faded out momentarily as a radio station came into range. Patsy Cline's crisp, clear voice ringing out.

If you got leavin' on your mind Tell me now, get it over

His breathing hitched, eyes staring at the road intently as though deep in thought and you took the opportunity to remind him of the rest.

"The one with the peeling red paint that your uncle helped build," you added, so softy he almost didn't hear you.

"That's right," he agreed with a small nod of his chin. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued in the low, deep voice that soothed your soul. "You pass that barn and Grandaddy's cabin sits back there on the far side of the lake. On a calm day the water looks just like glass."

He ventured a wistful glance in your direction, eyes squinting against the sunshine as he tried and failed to picture the two of you standing on the dock. He'd wanted to take you fishing many times and introduce you to the splendid wonder of the surroundings. If not for recent circumstances, you might have lived happily on that forgotten parcel of land as man and wife. Shaking his head to dislodge the notion, he tried to bite back his own anxiety with honeyed promises so sweet he nearly succumbed to them himself.

"We'll fish and skip rocks across the lake," he hummed quietly, caught up in his own daydream. "If you get cold, I'll start a fire in the old wood stove to keep us warm..."

The serene thought made you curl your limbs in tighter, imagining his strong arms cradling you beneath a large quilt. You soon felt your body grow heavy with sleep, the soft rumbling of the engine melding with the strain of a piano and a forlorn voice.

Hurt me now, get it over I may learn to love again

A sudden jerk jolted you from slumber as the golden sunshine glistening before you sharpened into a ray of bright, white. You moaned, but when it escaped your lips there was a distinct note of pain present.

"Try not to move," a strange voice persisted as the pressure on your shoulder intensified.

"Joel?" you cried out, as you felt yourself being rolled down a long, sterile corridor. Arms and legs flailing in a frenzied panic, you began to reach out for him without success.

"We're going to need more sedation," a second voice announced behind you.

The radio was still playing in the distant recesses of your mind even as you blinked against the harsh light overhead and you struggled to comprehend where you were.

Don't leave me here, in a world Filled with dreams that might have been

"We'll take it from here," the voice near you soothed someone in the distance confidently, but it only worsened the spike of panic coursing through you.

Using all your willpower, you fought to sit up and crane your neck to see around the gurney. You found Joel's grief stricken face staring back at you from the doorway, a young brunette gathered in his arms. As a firm hand pressed you back into the bed, your strangled cry burst forth. "Don't leave me! Joel, please!"

His big brown eyes widened at your plea, helplessly looking between you and her. Just then the girl buried her head to his chest, groaning in agony. "Stay with me, Ellie," he urged as he strode away from you without looking back.

Your brain raced to piece everything together as you felt the sharp sting of a needle going into your arm.

"Shouldn't we alert security?" the nurse by your side hissed at her colleague.

"A life for a life. That was the agreement," you thought the other woman replied as your head grew fuzzy.

The rest of their conversation became a gentle buzzing at your ear as you sunk back against the pillows, the sedatives plunging you into a shadowy world of fantasy.

The tiny cabin stood before you, just as Joel had described, a path of bright orange leaves beckoning you to follow. The only sound was the distinct crunching beneath your boots, keeping count of every step. But when you came to rest, you found yourself alone, abandoned at the edge of a still, dark lake.

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[sufyonstevens]

Anyone also returning to superhell after many years sober and want to do a complete rewatch together (maybe as a lead up to a s16 revival shhh)? I need the emotional support for this and my therapist can only hear so much :((

[roosterforme]

Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception. 

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning. 

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

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

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched. 

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

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

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

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

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights. 

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

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

After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged. 

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door. 

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

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

He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[jjenthusee]

Handshakes And Trash Cans

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

a/n: simply, i wrote a lot and i didn’t wanna release it in parts, so i squeezed the entire fic here. I’ve been having fun writing small excerpts and then they turn into full fics. Jason deserves all the love, so i focused on a neighbors to lovers? No mention of vigilante stuff, but tons of domesticity. With some mentions of big brother Dick (i’m a firm believer that he’s the number one supporter of Jason and just wants the best for him), a bit of steaminess if u squint, and a very devoted Jason. leave me any comments if your comfortable sharing because i wanna know what u guys think XD and if you were crying screaming sliding down the wall like i was (also despite me still being in my repenting era, i wanted to release this as an early apology cause i wanna write another angsty drabble so maybe…maybe not look forward to that) ENJOY (link to the work before this one here)

word count: 7.1k

tags: pining, tons of fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, heartfelt confessions, big brother dick shenanigans

When you got your first two-bedroom apartment, you always thought the dream would only be possible with a roommate. You didn’t have much money during college and transitioning into a full-time job didn’t allow you to freely spend outside of necessities and rent.

But you did it. You got two bedrooms and you didn’t initially know what to do with the extra room. A hobby space, a library, a guest room, or an office? There were too many possibilities.

This was your space, so you combined it all. A basket to keep all of your current craft obsessions next to a bean bag, two full shelves of books from your childhood to your university years, and a desk in the corner to write. It was everything you hoped for. A spot to leave work out of, to decompress and remember the things that made you happy.

You were proud you did it on your own. You could enjoy solitude, your hard work and give time to prioritize yourself.

But an unexpected accomplishment came with an unexpected visitor. A handsome visitor no less. Maybe being an adult wasn’t so bad all the time.

…

But meeting new people was bad. Or you were bad at it.

When you were up at two in the morning, doing normal two a.m. activities like trying to turn your entire life around, you believed that dragging yourself to one of the community events at the apartment complex would help you get to know your neighbors. Then you could scope the scene to see if you wanted to hide forever or maybe have a friendly acquaintance you acknowledged in the hallway.

Now you wanted neither as you sat, alone, at a bar stool in the well decorated community balcony. Although you were distancing yourself from the main party, you couldn’t help admiring the string lights they hung up, the pristine décor, and new furniture. They clearly went through a grand renovation before you moved in.

Despite your need to socially decompress from all the small talk, you did feel mellow in the warm lighting, listening to the slow music you quietly hummed to.

The view was great from your table, you got to see from the edge of the balcony into the city view. Gotham City did have its moments and lots of outsiders tend to see all the bad that overruns it, but when the city is calm, it has its own virtue.

As you watched the sky line, a man also decided to join in, admiring the city lights. He stood farther from where you sat, leaning against the glass and steel railing. He was probably distancing himself from the party like you were. You could only see half of his face from your current angle and distance, but he was…charming. Broody and charming.

Gotham did have the best views, but staring was bad. A little bit of hope crept into your mind at the thought of a handsome neighbor living in the same apartment building.

Another pretty man joined him. Wow, you never realized that Gotham had a lot of great views. Maybe you needed to get out more, enjoy the scenery a bit.

The two beautiful men seemed to know each other. One more talkative than the other, but they seemed close. It was amusing watching the way they contrasted one another, a man clearly dragged to be here tonight and the other fueling himself with the night vibe.

As much as you wanted to continue to be nosy, maybe it was time to call it a night, it was late and you got enough of your pretty boy fill for the evening. Which would have been the plan if you didn’t make eye contact with the second model that blessed your eyes.

You nervously observed the charismatic man walking toward you with a bright friendly smile.

“Hello, I just wanted to ask if my brother—the tall very alone one standing over there—could be tall and very alone over here, in this seat.” He dragged the stool out from underneath the glass table you were resting your arms on.

You looked at the empty seat across from you, then glanced at his presumed brother you were staring at earlier. He clearly didn’t agree to this sudden turn of events as he watched the two of you talk and he looked more mortified than you were. It was…cute. It brought a smile to your face.

“Well, your tall and very alone brother looks scared of me.” You glanced back to the man still holding the chair out.

Your comment must have been hysterical at the way the man was almost leaning forward from laughing. His dimples fully visible and his hair falling forward. Everything he did looked stunning.

“I promise he’s friendlier than he looks.” He breathlessly held his stomach still amused at your first impression of his broody brother. “He’s tall, alone, and friendly if it helps.”

You thought for a moment, debating on your options: leave or sit with a handsome man in possibly awkward silence.

“I don’t mind being alone together.” You smiled more, giving into the curiosity of the man leaning against the railing.

You were a simple human and apparently the man in front of you was too when he ushered his brother over. A man much too large for the bar stool, but you got a good look at his full face.

The curls, defined dark eyebrows, a white streak. His face had definition, a particular beauty that differed from his brother. Not less beautiful, but you were more drawn to the rougher look.

You definitely made the right choice.

Before you had any time to say anything, the conspirator left to go mingle with another bunch of attendees. You watched him hop from one conversation to another, you didn’t know whether he knew them or he just met them like you had five seconds ago.

“I think social anxiety is scared of him.” You laughed in disbelief to your new companion.

“Trust me, you have no idea. I’ve seen him wear some of the most horrendous outfits in public, willingly. What’s worse is—I hate to admit it—but he can pull it off, in a horrifying way.” The stranger shook his head, no mortification in his voice, and you almost unconsciously lulled to the sound. “But he means well, uh, sorry he dragged you into whatever he’s planning. I could leave you alone, he tends to unintentionally be pushy.”

Oh? Broody, charming and thoughtful. Was the bar low or were you easily impressed? Maybe the husky voice is blurring the distinction.

“No, it’s okay, he seemed worried about both us being ‘very alone’ as he put it.” You spoke, glancing into the eyes of the man in front of you. Greenish blue. A wave of amusement washed over you and with the most serious expression you could muster, you decided to test the waters. “From one alone person to another, let’s be alone together.” You reached out your hand to introduce yourself.

He coyly smiled at your formal gesture, leaning in to mimic your movement. You were both leaning onto the glass table, close enough to see the slight scaring on his face. Faint enough to see them only if you were close enough, wanting to drag your thumb across them.

His warm hand engulfed yours. Calloused. A firm handshake.

“Jason, alone man, and been alone for twenty-one years.” Jason gave you the most breathtaking smile, never letting go of your hand. “I’m looking forward to this opportunity…alone, of course.”

You laughed, almost giggled from how charming this man was.

“It’s been twenty-three alone years and still counting.” You mischievously smirked, glad he joined in on your antics. “I’m glad to let you join the team. I expect great things from you.”

“And I hope to learn a lot from my superiors, I’ll be in your care.” Jason’s voice was so low at the end of his statement. It caught you off guard that you almost missed the way he held onto your hand just a tiny bit longer than you anticipated. So short that you felt like you imagined it.

The warmth still lingered on your hands after you let go.

You were so engrossed in Jason’s company and Jason only had the eyes to look at you, that neither of you could see the man, who schemed your interaction, was beaming from watching the connection spark.

…

That single handshake and nonchalant agreement that you shared with an unknown neighbor actually kept it’s promise. That evening, you found out that Jason lived on the same floor as you did, that his brother visited him a lot, and he took out the trash on Wednesdays.

He didn’t tell you the last one, but you found out the last bit of information by accident when you bumped into him on your way back from the trash room. You thought the evening you met Jason would be the first and last time you would see him, but your laziness prevented you from taking out the garbage on your designated day and you were graced with seeing his lopsided smile as you passed him in the hallway.

You were so giddy from the surprise and seeing Jason’s captivating smile, you tested your luck and took the trash out on the same day and time the following week.

You listened out in the hallway, trying to hear a door open, it was honestly crazy behavior, but you continued your slow pace, but with no tall alone man in sight and a defeated sigh, you walked to the trash room with no Jason by your side and swung the door open.

Like a beam of light cascading over you, the man in question was standing in front of you, opening the trash shoot. You never thought a man in a trash room would be sexy, but with his shirt tightly straining on his body, a flushed face, and his muscles eye level with you, anything was possible.

May whoever told this gorgeous man to live at this apartment complex eat delicious meals, have working phone chargers, and a lifetime of happiness.

Somewhere off in the far distance, Dick sneezed.

You almost forgot the reason you were in the trash room after you set your eyes on Jason’s post-workout state. He kept the shoot open for you and with unsteady steps you threw your trash bag to disappear to the unknown. You were trying to not trip up with Jason’s defined arm holding the handle open and the close proximity of his chest to your face.

Maybe you need to go on a run. Why were you acting like this right now?

“Hey, neighbor.” Jason casually spoke to you. His voice felt airy, probably winding down from the exercise. “You come around here often?”

You cleared your mind from any thoughts, the trash room was not the place to start flirting, but what were you supposed to do when Jason started it? Or what you assumed to be flirtatious conversation.

“Nah, I’m new to town.” You glanced over to him, leaning your neck back to grasp his full height. Jason hadn’t missed the movement, combing your collarbone with his gaze. “But, I might stay a while.” You melodically spoke.

Before your stare and voice settled in the air, you stepped to the side to add a little distance between the two of you. Pulling away from the tension.

“Just so I can continue my alone things.” You explained trying to smoothen the mood with a playful tone.

Jason stayed quiet like he was contemplating something in his mind. Then he let the trash shoot close and with small steps the both of you walked out into the hallway.

“What alone things do you have planned tomorrow?” Jason nonchalantly asked, so casually you almost thought you heard wrong.

“Uh, work in the morning, but nothing planned for the evening, I wanted to try out a new cookie recipe.”

“Do you wanna come over to my place—I wanted to cook something for dinner, but it just hasn’t worked out yet. Maybe you can bring those cookies?” Jason didn’t look at you, suddenly interested in the pure white walls of the hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

You were stunned. How was such a beautiful man asking you to come over to his place with the promise of him cooking you dinner and all you had to do was bring your shitty cookies?

“I want to warn you that my cookies aren’t award worthy. I just follow the recipe, they’re nothing special.” You wanted to ensure that Jason was really inviting you over.

“Then I can’t wait to try your ‘nothing special’ cookies.” He reassured.

…

You spent the entire afternoon making sure your measurements were precise, not a lump of flour above the rim of the measuring utensils you haven’t brought out in a while. Usually you winged the ingredients, not really worried about the quality too much since it was just you.

But now you wanted to cry.

How did you properly fold ingredients, were you whisking right, maybe you should’ve got the too expensive butter from the store?

It took three full hours to prep, bake, and try your hand at cutely packaging the cookies. It took four attempts to arrange the cookies in a way that didn’t make you want to cancel the dinner.

But after a few pep talks in the mirror and reassuring yourself that this was a hang out and not a date, then you were able to walk over to his unit number.

You hesitantly knocked on the door, five minutes after seven because you would torture yourself thinking about arriving right on the dot before you fell asleep tonight and every night after.

Your worries left your mind when you saw Jason open the door in an apron.

“You’re just in time, I’m ready to plate everything.” He beamed.

Your heart might not be able to survive tonight. But it was just dinner.

You awkwardly handed Jason your tin of homemade cookies. You tried to limit your snooping around his apartment when he told you to wait for him to get the drinks, but curiosity was coursing through you once you realized that you were being invited into a part of Jason’s life and home.

You were no longer going to be strangers. You didn’t know if this qualified to make you friends, but you knew you were two people about to eat dinner together. A dinner he made and cookies you made as thanks.

Once you were ready to eat, you stared at your plate filled with spices, fresh veggies, a meticulously cooked entrée and a…homemade lemonade? You stared up at Jason, watching you look at his food.

“I feel like bringing you cookies isn’t enough.” Although you felt guilty, you took a bite because you didn’t want to look at one more second of Jason’s shining eyes.

You could only sigh, which made Jason worry.

“I think I’m going to name my children after you.”

Jason chuckled at your exaggeration.

“I’d be honored.”

The rest of the meal was relaxing. You didn’t have to force yourself around Jason. Your conversation flowed easily and you were interested in learning about the man you met on the balcony.

…

After many trips to the other side of the apartment building and a couple of deep cleanings of your apartment, you got accustomed to having Jason walk around your kitchen, rummaging the cabinets and organizing your spices the way he likes it.

One shared meal after another. Sometimes several times a week or spaced out further when work got busy. It was nice to look forward to a meal with Jason.

Now you had text messages from him on your phone, a designated mug for him, and a couple of his snacks that he wanted you to try.

You traded recipes. Jason gave you his favorites and you mainly just gave him ones you were curious about, not very fond of your kitchen.

After several failed attempts at convincing him that it was your kitchen that was the problem and not your ability to cook, he came over more to prove you wrong.

Now you sat at your kitchen island to watch him concentrate on mixing an assortment of spices and herbs while you memorized as much of his face and hands as possible. The TV was on, but you had no interest in whatever movie played.

“I have a confession to make.” You sadly looked at Jason.

He glanced over from the pan on the stove to your face. Confusion in his eyes from your sudden change in tone.

“I actually don’t really like cookies.” You threw your hands up in a guilty pose. “Now it’s eating me inside that I had to give those to you when I first came over to your place.”

Jason hummed and tilted his head with one of his eyebrows raised in a teasing manner.

“So, the guilt finally got to you, huh?” He grinned moving his attention back to the food cooking in front of him. His nonchalant voice resonating around you.

“I can’t sleep at night anymore.” You exaggerated, walking a little closer to his side. “Well, once you became my personal chef I realized I had to make it up to you.” You could smell the food better now that you were standing next to Jason.

“I can see the guilt in your eyes.” He flatly said watching you eyeing the food.

“We always eat when we hang out and I can make simple foods, but if I can follow a recipe I was going to suggest if I should cook something, but you are also here to prove me wrong that my kitchen isn’t cursed. Which it is by the way—”

“Your kitchen is not cursed.” He warmly scolded you. “I’ll come over everyday to prove it if I have to.”

You always had to reset your brain when he used that tone with you. It just felt too…sincere. Too intimate.

You wanted him to come over everyday. You took a breath.

“I make more money than when I was still in college, but I don’t think I can afford that many grocery bills.” You teased him. “Why do you think I go over to your place?”

You wanted to evade any serious topics and humor was the best at evading. You were good at avoidance.

“So, I’m a free pantry to you?” His eyebrows rose, questioning you. “I knew you were using me!” He faked a flabbergasted voice like he just heard his life-long partner declare they were cheating on him for months.

He turned off the stove, covering the pan with the lid and turning to face you.

“I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.” You gave him your best dejected look. “I promise I’ll pick up more shifts to help restock your fridge, but let me just taste your homemade ravioli one last time.” You begged as he moved closer to you, closing you in with the kitchen island behind your back.

His height and broad shoulders easily caved you in. You gulped watching his face lean down and inch closer.

“If I can’t trust you with my fridge, you don’t deserve my ravioli.” He lowered his voice, gazing down at you with a look that made you breathless. You couldn’t move with the counter behind you and Jason hovering dangerously close to you. “But, you can make it up to me.” He brought his thumb to your chin, barely a wisp of touch.

“How?” You stammered, wondering if the bit was still going.

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market tomorrow.” His hand moved from your face to the edge of the counter, close enough to touch your side and his voice returning to normal, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay, uh, I’m off tomorrow.” You stared, darting your eyes between Jason’s eyes. Trying to adjust to the tension that was radiating off of him.

“Good, foods ready.” Jason pulled away, moving to the cabinet to grab your glass plates. He was too familiar with the layout of your kitchen.

That night you quickly learned how easy Jason was able to turn the tables. Your racing heart and shallow breathing were the only evidence of it ever happening.

…

The heat beat down on you. Of all days for Gotham to finally clear it’s clouds, it chose today.

Although you weren’t fond of the warm air, you liked watching all the colorful tents, the food on display, and seeing the various local products. Everything looked intricately cared for and it brought a proud feeling to contribute to the locals.

“Bags?” Jason asked, going through his mental checklist.

“Check.” You raised the reusable grocery bags in your hands.

“Hats?”

“Check.” You nudged the baseball cap on your head.

“Money?” Jason smirked.

You grabbed onto Jason’s bicep. Giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Check.” You grinned up at Jason looking at the placement of your hand. “Now let’s go!” You gleefully led him to the first tent with your hand still on him.

You had no idea how you ended up carrying all the bags, but you were trying to ease your mind that this could be considered a date. Jason didn’t call it that and you never asked to clarify, but you couldn’t help it itching at your brain.

You didn’t want to label anything, out of respect for Jason and what he wanted, but you noticed he had started to touch you more and the contact makes you giddy that you had to put all of your focus on making sure you don’t drop his produce.

You stood by Jason, looking at various jars of loose leaf tea. He was smelling all the aromas, helping to move the jars to your nose, so you could smell them too. He insisted on helping you since you refused to give him a bag, but you also didn’t have a free hand to grab the jar.

After a couple more sniff tests, he settled on a jar of prickly pear tea, a lemon-ginger flavor, and he was contemplating on some earl grey cookies. You were watching him, entranced by his concentration. His brows lowered, a small line appearing between his brows. You could see more of his face with a cap on, no messy curls on his forehead and his side profile was really something.

You broke out of your trance when he offered you a piece of the earl-grey cookie, holding it in front of your mouth.

“They’re free samples, try it.” He looked at you, waiting patiently. “I know you don’t like cookies, but these are made with the tea sold here. I saw all the tea you keep in your pantry, so I think you would like it.”

In your lost state at this man in front of you, that could’ve sounded like a proposal to you at that point.

You inched forward, opening your mouth for the cookie. You hesitated at the intimacy, but how could you tell that face ‘no.’ Staring at the small piece of cookie, baked a quarter of the original size they sold, you also saw all the scars that littered Jason’s hands. Many healed over, but you could see the faded lines.

You dangerously wanted to kiss each one.

You grabbed the piece in your mouth, but you didn’t realize that you accidentally touched Jason’s finger with your lip.

You quickly glanced at Jason, but his eyes were glossed over. His attention focused on your mouth.

What a sight.

You chewed and hummed. They were good. Jason cleared his throat at your approval.

“I’ll get a bag and the tea. I’ll be back. You can put the bags down for a bit because there’s a small line.” He quickly turned around, a small tinge of redness left on his ears with his head turned away from you.

You watched his back walk away, then settled the bags down to give your arms a break.

“Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you that you two are adorable.” A honeyed voice spoke trying to grab your attention.

Your head whipped back to the table of teas. An older lady restocking the various collection had a mischievous look in her eye. You hadn’t noticed her there at all.

“The way your boyfriend looks at you, I haven’t seen a look like that since my husband passed many years ago.” The lady gushed.

“Wha, no, I—“ You stammered, trying to clear up the confusion, but your flustered face must’ve amused the woman.

“That made my day, so I wanted to give you this lemon bar we just started selling. Go on, take it and share it with him.” She pressured you to take the free treat. You were too speechless to try to refuse it and insist that you pay before she placed it in your hand herself and she walked off to help another customer wanting a sample.

Your face felt hot and you hoped it cleared before Jason came back, but before you could fan the redness away he appeared next to you with his purchase.

“Hey, you okay? Where’d you get that lemon—”

“Let’s get some lunch!” You grabbed the bags and nudged him to the food trucks lining the edge of the market, trying to hide your face with your hat and leaving the comments from the woman behind.

…

“Wow, this might be the best empanada I’ve ever had.” You chomped at your lunch.

Jason found a waffle place and settled on a berry topping. It was wrapped perfectly to fit in his hands.

You sat across from Jason at an outdoor table with an umbrella to shield you from the sun, sitting away from the rush of people lining up to also eat. The midday lunch rush got to you and you wanted to have a bit of privacy before you went back home.

“How long have you known about this place?” You asked Jason, a slight breeze grazing your face. Watching a kid nudging his dad for a piece of banana bread he found on one of the vendor’s tables.

“Last year? It was recent, but I’ve heard it’s been around for a while. Maybe over five years?” Jason took a bite of his waffle.

“I wish I had found this during my university years. This is a bit out of the way of my walk route, but it would’ve been awesome to browse with my friend.” You saw the boy you were watching earlier smiling wide as he held his dad’s hand and the banana loaf as big as his head. You smiled at the interaction.

“But I probably would’ve sent my friend into shock.” You continued, the boy and his dad disappearing into the crowd. “I wasn’t very social during my university years.” You glanced at Jason, his waffle gone and he was neatly folding the wrapper.

“My friend would joke that I would only meet someone if they magically met me at home. Like that was the only way I could score a date.” You pitifully joked at the old memory. “Sounds absurd doesn’t it, but she wasn’t wrong—“

You saw a shift in Jason’s eyes. He had an oddly serious look, it stopped you from talking and you sat up straighter, wondering what he was thinking about.

You waited, watching him internally fight with whatever he wanted to say.

“That’s not true.” He hesitated. “You’re funny, you’re able to connect with others, you’re a great listener, and you’re honest. You don’t have the heart to be mean to others and your facial expressions are adorable.” His voice rose the longer he defended you. His serious expression further amplified with his furrowed eyebrows. A part of his face obscured by his cap, but you felt the raw emotion emanating from him.

“Anyone would be enamored with you, even if they met you in the hallway or walking down the street.” He puffed, crushing the waffle paper on the table.

You were surprised, glancing over at Jason, watching him get this frustrated. You realized you’ve never seen him this…emotional and he refused to look at you.

The sudden development and his clear thoughts about you stunned you. You joked with Jason how alone you both were, it even brought you together thanks to his brother, but you didn’t really know how alone he truly was. You don’t think he really understood how lonely you were too.

You enjoyed your shared meals, you craved his time and attention.

You got so used to his presence that the days you didn’t see him, you felt like you were dreaming. Waiting to wake up when you heard that familiar knock on your door.

Your heart raced and you hoped he cherished your time together like you did.

You didn’t want to assume his witty personality as being flirtatious, you didn’t want to misunderstand any of his intentions because he was funny, charming, and awkward in ways that you just wanted to grab his face and protect him.

You didn’t particularly need Jason as your person, that felt too selfish, but you also wanted to be somebody to him. Either next to him or from a distance.

A friend, a companion, a lover. The label didn’t really matter to you because you were open to any role. A lover wasn���t more significant than a friend would be. They both had the same foundation, to care for someone unconditionally.

You convinced yourself that you were happy alone, but not until recently you realized you weren’t living. You were asleep in the routine of life.

And when Jason entered your life, you felt like you woke up for the first time.

Like he was the only one who could wake you up.

All you knew was that you wanted to be there. Through his pain, his suffering, his happiest moments, his accomplishments, his anger. To be his person.

To also help him wake up.

Your silent contemplation made Jason panic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get worked up—“

“I think apartment community events count.” You softly whispered, indecisive of whether you wanted him to hear you or not.

“What—“

“And secret meetings in the trash room too.” Your voice meek.

You were shaking, too tense to look at his reaction to your words.

“Despite what she told me, I still managed to meet you. And I was able to have some of the best meals. I’ve never laughed as hard as I have when we joked. I’m able to try new things.” You raised your head, overwhelmed by your feelings, but you hoped to convey yourself properly to Jason. “I’ve never felt so comfortable and safe with anyone else.”

Jason looked at you wide eyed and speechless, his mouth slightly agape. You took the disbelief as a sign to continue.

“I’m able to be all those things that you said because I’m with you.” Your voice filled with more resolve the more concrete your feelings felt, the more sure you became. You squeezed your eyebrows together, complete sincerity in your gaze, your heart filled with so much emotion.

But your eyebrows relaxed once you saw Jason’s face turn red. His ears a crimson shade. Before you could engrave it in your memory, he tilted his head down, covering his face with the front of his baseball cap.

“Wait, wait, wait—I didn’t expect this.” Jason rubbed a hand down his face, but the redness contrasted the skin of his hand. “You were so shy every time I tried to push the boundaries between us, but now your directly confessing everything at once.”

He stopped rubbing his face and rested his hand on the table. Meeting your gaze, a tint of red still on his skin but not as deep as before.

“I’ve been trying to get closer to you. I’ve been hoping to run into you since we first talked on the balcony. When we met in the trash room, I purposely tried to meet you again. I’ve looked forward to every meal I’ve cooked for you and although I haven’t been clear about my feelings, I didn’t want to pressure or rush you.” Jason took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

When they opened again, his eyes were completely focused on you.

“I want us to be more than friends…I want to be able to come over when I miss you, fold laundry together, buy you things when they remind me of you, I want you to call me when you need car maintenance.” He kept his eyes trained on you, but his voice faltered. “I want to hold your hand and to kiss you. I want us to go on dates.”

You raised your hand to the table, placing your hand over Jason’s, but he quickly flipped your hands so he was holding yours a little more firmly.

“I want to know if you snore while you sleep, to have your things at my place, so I see you in every inch of my life. I want you to know how much I’ve fallen for you.”

“I want that too.” Your voice trembled. “I’ve been wanting to hold your hand while we walked today and I want you to come over more often.” You choked as Jason leaned in to caress your face with his hand. A sickening sweet touch that you never knew you would get to feel. You cupped your hand over his.

“I’m so happy. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” Jason whispered to you, his voice so honey sweet.

You looked up to him. A gentle gaze reflecting back.

“I probably look like a mess right now.” You shakily laughed.

“Of course not, you’re breathtaking, sweetheart.” Jason rubbed a thumb on your cheek, completely enamored by you.

“As much as I would love to hear you continue, I’m worried about the stuff you bought and this heat.” You tried to focus, but the smooth touch of Jason was difficult to ignore.

“Yeah, we probably need to make our way back.”

Despite his words, he didn’t move. He lingered on your face a while longer before he looked at all the bags he accumulated this morning.

“Will you let me help you carry some of the bags?” He asked. “I also want to hold your hand on the way back.”

You beamed at him. Reaching for his hand as you stood up.

…

Your walk back was refreshing.

You were exhausted from the intense flux of emotions you released, but Jason’s grip on your hand stabilized you.

You couldn’t stop smiling, the heat no longer bothering you. You swung your interlaced hands to the motion of your steps and Jason let you do what you wanted as long as you still held on.

When you got to the entrance of your apartment building, you were graced with the AC hitting you. Your hair would definitely be messed up from the sweat and your cap.

You waited in front of the elevator doors as it descended from the last person that used it. The lobby was empty, except from the usual leasing office workers inhabiting the space, but it was just you and Jason off to the side.

As you glanced around, making sure the employees were occupied, you used your grip on Jason’s hand to pull him down enough for you to kiss his cheek. A little awkward with your cap in the way, but you were able to surprise Jason.

He stayed hunched forward, shifting his face to look at you closely and digest what you did.

Ding. The elevator doors opened and you pulled Jason in the elevator.

You felt accomplished as you pushed the button to your floor. When you moved back to Jason’s side, you looked up to him, but he grabbed your face.

His hand pushed your cap up, so he could lean in and kiss you. His hat also moving up at the angle he was in.

You closed your eyes, disoriented at the feeling and because Jason completely blocked your view of the elevator, so you only heard the doors close.

Lost in the feeling and the movement of his lips, you dropped the bags in your hand to grab at Jason’s sleeve, wanting to grasp at something.

You’ve never felt so desperate to get Jason even closer and he must have understood or he craved it more because he pushed you back against the elevator wall. You felt the cold metal against your back and you gasped.

Jason devoured the sound, motivating him to hold your waist, but it wasn’t enough for him. He crouched a little lower to grasp you behind your legs to lift you fully off the ground, inching your body up, higher and more level with his face.

The angle changed and you easily wrapped your arms around his neck while simultaneously wrapping your legs around his waist. The moment intensifying as you pulled at his hair below his hat and you swallowed the low groan that left his mouth. You were drawn to the deep sound and the feeling of the hum you felt on your mouth.

You were practically flush against his body and you were down to your last few breaths, but you didn’t want to pull your face away from Jason.

You nipped at his lower lip and he lifted his hands to cup the sides of your face, digging his fingers into your sweaty hair and rubbing the back of your ears. You opened your mouth wanting to feel more of him when you heard someone loudly clear their throat.

You pulled away, shoving Jason by his shoulders as he whipped his head to see where the voice came from. You fell to your feet trying to lean against the wall with the sudden motion, hair a mess with your cap lopsided as you looked past Jason to see Dick standing there with a hand on his waist and the other holding the elevator door open. He didn’t look at the two of you directly, more like a lost look to the side.

You breathlessly adjusted your cap as you frantically smoothed out your shirt.

Jason pulled his cap down as he sighed then redirected his attention to you, gently reaching out to you to smooth out some of your hair and help you stand up straighter. Then he grabbed the bags you both dropped on the floor as he turned around to face his brother.

“I didn’t know you were coming over. You should’ve texted.” Jason walked past his brother, annoyance laced in his voice.

“I did.” Dick replied. He looked at you then followed after Jason. “But it seems you were a little occupied.” Amusement coating his voice and visible in the way he walked.

“I see you’re getting to know your neighbors very well.” Dick teased, a giant grin on his face. “I’m glad.”

What a way to meet Jason’s brother again after all this time. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you away from the lack of awareness you had to make out with Jason in public.

You couldn’t decide if it was worse that a stranger could’ve saw you or that Dick was the one who did.

“Yeah, yeah, come inside.” Jason unlocked the door to his apartment. You nervously followed after the two.

“No seriously, I’m glad you two continued to see each other.” A genuine comment from Dick. “I’ve never seen you so comfortable with someone, Jaybird.”

A small hum from Jason as he set the bags down onto the counter.

With no indication that he wanted to speak further, you decided to talk.

“I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. I promise I’m usually a better influence.” Hopefully your lighthearted tone would give off a better impression than the one on the elevator.

“Ha! I know you are because,” Dick moved in closer, lowering his voice. “This is the most behaved I’ve seen Jason in months.”

“Alright, enough, dickwa—Dick,” Jason cleared his throat. “But we just got back and I want to shower. It was too damn hot today.”

“Oh, I bet it was—“

“Thank you! Never come by again. See you. Good Night.” Jason raised his voice, shoving his brother out the door.

“No, please, I swear I’m done!” Dick pleaded as he was trying to hang onto the door frame, but Jason closed the door before he could start to beg.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” You questioned Jason.

He didn’t bother to answer your question as he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and letting his hands intertwine around your waist, falling onto your lower back.

Jason signed into your shirt. The feeling slightly tickling you.

“I wasn’t done earlier.” He whispered against you. “Then that dickhead had to interrupt.”

You laughed, loving the pouty sound of his voice.

You embraced him back, leaning your head against his.

“I think the elevator interrupted you.” You rubbed his back in soothing circles.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting a silence fall in Jason’s apartment before your curiosity got to you.

“Jaybird?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“It’s cute.”

“Enough about him, we need to put away all the stuff we bought.” Jason lifted his head to sullenly look at the numerous bags.

“That reminds me.” You let go of him to dig around the bags, trying to find your earlier gift. “I was told to share this with you by an older woman who thought my boyfriend was adorable.”

Jason shifted behind you. Closing his hands on the edges of the counter, both of his arms on your sides. Once you found the lemon bar, you turned your body, careful to lean against the counter with Jason’s body still in front of you, around you practically.

“It’s a new product. She said I could have it for making her day, but I have to thank you because we wouldn’t have gotten it without you.”

You opened the wrapper, breaking a piece off to feed to Jason.

“How does it taste?”

Jason lingered. You anticipated what he thought, but he leaned forward to kiss you. You held onto the lemon bar, but lowered it the more heated your kiss became. The tangy taste invading your mouth.

“Amazing.”

[unboundprompts]

Hi! If you've got some ideas, how about: Sidekick hopelessly in love with Hero-Turned-Villain. The kind that sticks by them, even at their most villainous.

Devoted Sidekick x Hero-Turned-Villain

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"I feel betrayed," the villain said, running a hand through their hair as they paced back and forth, lost in thought. "They used me," they continued, "took advantage of my powers. And for what? The greater good? Bullshit. There's no such thing. Not anymore." Sidekick watched them pace, memorizing the angry lines on their face. "So much for loyalty," the villain spat. "But, at least I have you, Sidekick."

Villain wanted to burn this city to the ground. After so many years of protecting it, not receiving an ounce of gratitude for risking their life day after day, they wanted destroy what they once swore to keep safe. And Sidekick would stand by their side, even after the city was nothing but ashes.

Villain's line of morality had long since blurred. Sidekick had watched them change from a Hero with a heart of gold to a Villain that was broken and angry. The world had wronged Villain. Sidekick had watched it happen. And they'll be damned before they let Villain take on the wrongs and rights of the world on their own.

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[spacebaby1]

Yuta always makes me feel soft. He is a thoughtful, kind man who is devoted to his loved ones. He is his mother's son. Of course dad Gojo. 😙 He is jealous because his son is his mother's copy. Their only son. Especially the mother is very fond of her son. Can you write some cute things?

I wanna write more of these😩🩷my beautiful boys!!

You were overjoyed when you found out that you're gonna have a baby. And Satoru being the only son of Gojo clan made everyone in his family excited for his first born; some even excited that your child might have the six eyes just like his father, which is one thing you didn't want. The birth wasn't easy, and it came to a shocking end. You could still feel the five days labor pain even after many years and it made your body shiver everytime you remember; crying from the labor pain, barely able to lay down or stand when everyone were petrified on your situation, unable to help you. Satoru haven't felt this hopeless all his life as he did in those five days to the point that they all that you might lose the baby. On the sixth day, at the early hours of the morning, your baby boy was born. You remembered crying as your mother in law placed your son on your chest; even Satoru couldn't hold his tears back as he caressed your hair gently, whispering praises. The intensity of labor left your body in so much distress that your doctor sadly informed you that you would never be able to have another child in the future. The news was a slap in the face for both of you however having your precious baby yuta in your arms was worth every pain and every other loss.

To your and Satoru's relief; your son did not inherits Satoru's six eyes on the other hand your son was a carbon copy of you; he had your black hair, your dark blue eyes and your personality, your gentleness and even your smile. However, he was as strong as he's father but he surly was your baby no matter how old he got. Yuta would never leave your sight which made his kindergarten years very difficult because he would cry nonstop when you weren't there. You'd go to shop leaving him with Satoru and he would still cry for you.

It was another long day when you and Satoru were fast asleep when the baby monitor went off, you groaned getting up but Satoru pulled you back to bed, still half asleep himself. He kissed your forehead before whispering, "I'll get him, Mama." You nodded falling asleep only to be woken up minutes later with another cries of your son, you got up rubbing your eyes and saw that Satoru wasn't in bed so you made your way to Yuta's room.

You could see how tired Satoru was softly rocking his little baby in his arms, "hey, he's not letting papa sleep?" You said with a small smile making your way towards your husband. Placing your hand on your husbands bare arms, "is he hungry?"

Satoru sighed handing him to you with a pout, "he won't stop crying and I tired to feed him but he won't eat and he doesn't need changing, I think he needs his mama to hold me and not his handsome dada." You chuckled at that but you knew that Satoru felt a bit left behind from your childs love. You kissed Satoru's hand while rocking Yuta in your other arm, "He loves you and he wants his dada to have a goodnight sleep that's why he won't stop crying to let mama hold him, right yu?" Yuta already stopped crying and falling asleep. Satoru kissed your head leading you towards the rocking chair and sitting by your side as you held Yuta in your arms, "he's so mini you, isn't he?" Satoru smile gently rubbing Yuta's cheeks. You smiled, "he has your beautiful nose tho." Satoru chuckled planting a kiss on his son's head, "Our beautiful boy."

Your thoughts were cut short when the front door flung open followed with your husbands unmistakable voice and your teenager sons tired groans. Yuta had just turned twelve and Satoru would take him for training ever since because he wants his son be able to help himself and other just in case he encountered a curse. And it was getting to your poor boy.

Your two boys entered the living-room when You were putting some reports away and Yuta literally ran to wrap his arms around you leaving a tired sigh, "Welcome, home you two." Satoru gave you a kiss while your son still held onto you, "Satoru, did you overtrain my baby?" All your husband did was laugh, "hey, this wasn't even the actual training."

Yuta sighed looking at you, "ma, I'm tired. Papa said we need to train more, tell him no." You looked at your husband and he just shrugged. You sighed, "just don't drain our baby boy." You said to your husband and rubbed your sons back, "come on, both of you go get ready. Dinner is ready, now up up. Come on, papa you too. Go" you pushed your husband when he tired to hug you laughing.

The dinner was as cheerful as everyday both your boys "arguing" over their training and you watched them with a loving smile on your lips, "admiring my beauty?" Satoru wiggled his brows to which you son reacted, "eww, not in front of me." You laughed and ruffled Yuta's hair, "Eat, both of you." You noticed how Satoru watched Yuta tell you all about the school events and his training with his dad with a small smile, as your husband played with the food in front of him and that smile would fall every now and then.

The three of you were watching some TV show in the living-room with your son laying on your lap and Satoru on the arm chair. No matter how old he got, Yuta would always lay his head on your lap as you placed your hand in his hair caressing it or just placing it on there for comfort. Satoru would lie if he said that he wasn't a bit jealous and wishing that his son would lay his head on Satoru's lap. Satoru often felt left out no matter how hard he tried to be around his baby boy. However, he never stopped showing his love to his child. Yuta yawned and you tapped his shoulder after looking at the clock and it was 10 in the evening, "Okay, bedtime. Come on." Yuta nodded getting up from your lap and giving you a long hug, "Goodnight, Ma." You kissed his cheek, "Goodnight, Baby." He smiled and went to hug Satoru, "Goodnight, pa." Satoru hugged him tight observing the love he is getting, "Night night my superstar."

Satoru made his way next to you on the couch and dropped his head on your chest as you played with his silver hair not giving any attention to the TV, Satoru was laying on your chest eyes open and lost in thoughts. "What's going on in your mind, papa?" You asked hugging him to your chest and he let out a long sigh, "You'll think I'm overreacting," He chuckled and you kissed his head. "I'll never think that, now tell me what's bothering you, is it the work?" Satoru shook his head nuzzling his head in your neck. "Do you think I'm a good dad?" He asked almost in whisper. You looked at him and made him look at you as he sighed and sat up straight, holding his face in your soft hands your spoke, "you're an amazing dad, your the best dad to our baby boy and you have been the most loving since the day Yuta was born. Why would you even think otherwise?" He sighed looking at his hands with heavy eyes that took you by surprise when he whipped the tears before falling. You moved closer holding his hands in yours, "hey, Sweetie. Satoru, why are you crying? Did Yuta say some-"

He shook his head immediately and chuckled the tears away looking at you, "Our sweetheart Yuta would never say anything to make me cry. He's such a gentle boy just like his mama always considerate of others feelings. It's just, ugh I don't know, I'm being so dramatic but I feel like he likes being around you more than me and I'm terrified that he'll grow away from me and I wanna give him all my love and support I just feel like I'm lacking at something." You hugged your husband, "I'm sorry you feel like this Sweetie. You're an amazing dad and Yuta loves you as much as you love him don't you ever feel like he doesn't like being around you and you out of all people should know how much he looks up to you and tries hard to be like his strong papa. He's just a-"

"Mama's boy." You both said together and Satoru laughed holding your hand in his and placing a soft kiss on it, "I don't know, I just felt the need to let that off my chest and you just know how to make me feel better, I love you, I love both of you." You smiled and hugged your husband.

Unknown to both of you Yuta saw and heard it all when he came back to grab his bag but stopped when he saw his parents talking. His lips quiver when he saw his dad crying and feeling like Yuta didn't love him. He went back to his room and tried to not cry at the image of his father crying in his Mama's arm.

The next morning you were in the kitchen making breakfast while Satoru was going through the report you wrote from yesterday. It's how your weekends went a late breakfast with you and Satoru rewriting the report for the week missions. Yuta came down a bit to excited skipping his way to hug you first, "morning angel, slept well?" He nodded happily giving you a kiss on cheek making you pout at how tall he has gotten; your baby was growing so fast. He happily ran to hug Satoru, "wohh, Good morning strong boy, don't attack your old man like that, I might break a bone." Satoru kissed Yuta's head, "slept well?" Yuta nodded happily still hugging his dad. Satoru's brows frowned as he hugged his son, "you okay, buddy?" He rubbed his son's back. Yuta finally let go and smiled, "better than ever, you're amazing pa." Satoru smiled as he ruffled his sons hair, "says the strongest boy. Who's my strong boy? Who's my strong baby boy?" Satoru spoke in a baby voice holding Yuta's cheeks making him laugh and try to let go of his fathers hold. Yuta finally managed to free himself from his father's hold, "Pa, are you busy today?"

Satoru smiled as both of your boys made their way to the kitchen to help you set the table, "not really, no missions for the day, why? You want me to drive you to your friends?" Yuta shook his head as shrugged, "Nah, I was thinking if you want to hangout at the mall? We haven't been to the mall, if you'd like?" He asked nervously and Satoru's eyes light up, "ah, yes and your mother would love to go-"

Taking your chance you spoke, "I don't think I can baby, I still have the report to finish, how about you two boys go and have fun? Plus I need my alone time." You said making them chuckle. Yuta looked at his dad, "Yes! Sure, let's go after breakfast."

You happily watched your husband get ready as you were standing by the doorframe, "you seem so happy that's making me fall in love with you over again." You said making Satoru smile, "I fall in love with you everyday!" He placed a long kiss on your cheek, "have fun at the mall, and get me something sweet when you come back." You said that and headed towards your sons room to find him trying to button up his shirt sleeve; unsuccessfully. Which reminded you of your husband and how both your boys can't button up their shirts sleeves. You laughed and Yuta forward his arm happily for you to button up his sleeves and you immediately helped him, "have fun okay? And please don't let daddy eat so much candy?" Yuta laughed at your request and hugged you once you were done, "I love you ma, I love you both so much." You kissed his forehead once you let go, "we both love you more, baby boy."

You watched them both leave and went to your report once again not minding the quietness in the house. Surprisingly you needed that time alone after finishing the report you went to your reading until it was getting dark and you heard the familiar voice of your two boys entering the house. Followed by laughter that made your heart swell with love at the sight of your two boys. "Pa, show ma what we won today!" Yuta hugged you quickly before rushing towards Satoru making you smile wide, "and tell her about the new store we want to! Ma, you won't believe what pa got you and we had so much fun. There was this new game store and pa and I went a bit crazy but it was so much fun." You watched you son and husband show you the big stuffed toy they won. "I take it you two had fun?" You asked to which Satoru and Yuta nodded happily. "Should we try the new video game, yu?" Satoru asked and Yuta nodded, "Yes! Wait I'll turn the TV on pa, get the game. Let's play it!"

It's been a few hours, and your husband and son were playing the video game on the living room floor, laughing and having fun while you happily read your book from the couch. A few few minutes later, Yuta fell asleep with his head on your husbands lap. Satoru turned the TV off and turned to look at you with a huge smile on his face, which you matched to his. Carefully, Satoru carried his son to his bedroom with you following behind. Satoru placed Yuta on the bed and was about to leave when Yuta grabbed his hand in his sleep, Satoru tried to carefully let go but only to earn an annoyed groan from his son. You chuckled and whispered, "Now he won't let go of his papa. Stay with him a while?" Satoru nodded with a smile as he knelt down next to the bed, caressing his son's black hair with such gentleness and love. You kissed Satoru's hair as you watched your two precious boys.

[powerpuffobsession]

I don't like Vaggie getting retconned into an angel

(This one is more of a personal opinion/complaint/vent. I'm just trying to analyze why exactly I dislike this plot change. Viewer discretion is adviced)

When the leaks first said that would happen, I chose to believe it was fake until the very last second. I remember even denying it in my mind when I started watching season 1, hoping that they haven't implemented such a change....

Because the sinner Vaggie premise had so many interesting possibilities - of making her a person, someone interesting on her own, when separated from Charlie

Her sex worker past (meaning the incoming bonding with Angel Dust over shared trauma), her life in El Salvador, her death age that was supposed to be very young (early 20s dead in 2014) contrasting the other hotel residents exept for Niffty (who's from 50s), an interesting dynamic with Charlie where a human sinner gets together with an ancient demon princess - we were promised all of that.

The fandom built plenty of fancontent on the "sinner Vaggie" basis and got used to it. Not many expected an angel Vaggie, and I remember a lot of people saying that would be too obvious and boring and that that wouldn't happen

And in reality, it turned out to be even worse, in my opinion. Now Vaggie is literally one of the faceless Barbie dolls mass produced by Adam. She's so unimportant in-universe, she got broken and thrown away when she was no longer in use. Very symbolic, don't you think?

Her boss, Adam, is objectively more interesting than she is now! By becoming his inferior, Vaggie lost her miniscule interesting features in favour of being outshined by a male character! The one who mistreated her too. So typical... never change since the pilot era

To add salt to the injury, we learned that Vaggie IS in fact, short for Vagina, and that this "charming" name was given her by Adam, the sexist murderous pig! And she kept that name, as if actually liking it! Great!

(Vaggie being short for Vagatha was still unpleasant because Vivzie's dumb humour was obvious through and through, but a lot less offensive than what we actually got)

(And wow thanks a lot for that Vagatha joke with Sir Pentious. Way to mock the viewers by accentuating what was lost)

Also, Vaggie has basically no backstory now - "she was a murderer, then BAM she's not a murderer anymore, and out of nowhere she became a love interest for the main character". And her sparing a child was honestly such a cheap attempt at pulling at the viewer's heartstrings... why did she spend so many years murdering everyone in her way (making her the most effective exorcist, according to Adam himself!) but suddenly decided not to kill a child sinner? Were there no other child sinners before that one? Besides, it's hell, girl! That child could have drove his peer to suicide or killed animals for all we know!

And we are seriously supposed to care about a character who was a boring basic warrior intended for mass murdering just a while ago? Sure, that cliche can actually work with the right portrayal, but not like this! (Personally, I really felt my interest to Vaggie drop when the angel plot twist was revealed, it was like a cold shower)

That leaves Vaggie no choices of showing any personality whatsoever other than clinging to Charlie and having every moment of her life revolve around being with the princess, loving her and helping her. No thoughts, hobbies, world views and goals of her own. Come on, that's so bland!

Vaggie basically just changed one owner to another - from Adam to Charlie, to completely dissolve in their needs and wants instead of devoting some time to her own (which she can't have because she was born as a slave - that is if exorcists are created by Adam)

I feel like I shouldn't complain. I want to believe that if angel Vaggie was given time and space to develop, I'd like her, but really no... the very idea of making her part of Heaven was still-born to begin with, given the nature of hazbin hotel. This cartoon shot itself in the foot with an awful pacing. In the light of that, making Vaggie a significant part of a plotline that had no time to shine was a choice to avoid

And angel Vaggie should have stayed an urban legend in the fandom instead of making it into the show. I feel sad that for me Vaggie was ruined as Hazbin Hotel's aspect I could have enjoyed

I hope she at least gets more interesting interactions with Charlie and other characters in season 2. The ones in season 1 were not so bad, even if they're not the ones I wanted. And I'm still going to love Vaggie out of habit even if she's not the same anymore. Maybe I'll come around and start loving her as an angel eventually 🤞

P.S. why did they change the delicate white colour of her dress and the light pink colour of her bow to bright red shirt and bow? If she's a angel, wouldn't it have made more sense for her to be wearing pallette that has a bit of white in it to make her stand out? Even in that regard a questionable decision was made, dear god...

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Ahh it's the last day of 2023 already?

I am expecting a call from a friend although the possibility of this happening is very slim it always felt nice to hear the voice of an old friend ( I'm not a text person I've realised this over time but I am stuck to be a text person) .

I can't wait for spring to come in 2024 , spring provides an intense amount of healing to my soul.

The next four months are very crucial in my life if they go well I can survive the rest of the year, I have died a couple of times this year and I am amazed that I am alive i didn't honestly thought i would make it to the end of this year ( especially in the last 3 months , I badly needed help but i didn't wanted others to pity me so i spoke to none about it ) anyways I don't want to talk about it , i don't want to make it sound blue than it already is,a i am really sorry about the fact all my posts are blue I sincerely wish it wasn't that way( altho i haven't posted anything here with as much as devotion I use to do , partly cuz i created an Instagram acc but that's not all reason I ve been sad nonetheless) and sorry for all the "anon/asks" that i haven't answered

I have made no achievements this year and there is little to no progress towards my self love or self growth, but I think that's okay I can do it in the upcoming year, time flies so quick i can't believe Its been so many years since I was 16 I miss being 16 honestly I had more in me back then than i have now , i have lost of confidence my vision and my smile over the years it's as if I am very different person now , i certainly wish I wasn't this way i really thought i would be so much more and better in my early 20s but it is what it is , acceptance is haredest of all emotions in my opinion , you know things are harder to accept when you know you could have done better .

Just like in the last 2 years even this year I didn't make any real life friends with whom I can hang out with i think it's partly due to the fact some people are destined to be alone and I am afraid to admit I am one of them , I did make 2 online friends this year .

I don't want to share any life lessons i learnt this year but if there is something i would love to share is choose yourself one more time each time you feel it's the last time you are doing it , choose one more time to live,one more time to hope, one more time to have faith , one more time to start again [ the fact I am the one telling you this is rediciculosly funny ] .

Unlike most people i don't have a lot of goals for the new year I just got things i want to avoid ( idk if that's the same thing?) Avoid my leftover heart's heartbreak, avoiding what takes away my peace, avoiding what can cause me discomfort, avoiding things that make me question myself ( in any negative way) ,i think that's a little too much but that's it .

As I was writing this Google photos sent me a notification saying " 3 years back today with a photo of mine " and it broke my heart a little, now I am questioning myself how did i let so much happen to me , I wish I treated certain things as the last time instead of always stupidly believing in future ( my worse trait yes).

There is a lot to say as always, i wonder if I open my mouth i would never stop sharing things that go inside my mind , but i also know there is no use of it if i can't find people who can understand it , maybe that's how I end up ranting here .

Not to mention I love people who are patient, i believe in the near future i would only like to talk with people who could be patient with me and with my silence . I believe everyone deserves people who can be patient with them .

Nothing really matters in the end but at the same time everything you do matters ❤️‍🩹

[foolondahill17]

Annual Favorite Supernatural Fic Rec List of 2023:

I bookmarked 66 fics in 2023 (and read…a lot more than that), but only 9 were written/updated in this year of our lord. SMH we gotta pump out more content, friends. Seriously though, I’ve got several more 2023 fic reads in my Marked for Later, but some are still WIPs or I just haven’t gotten around to picking them up yet. I’m sure some (like the much-hyped Lighthouse Keeper AU where there is darkness by the talented quiettewandering [@wanderingcas on tumblr]) will end up on my Bookmarked favs…but, alas, they’ll just have to wait for the 2024 recap.

The list below is in no particular order, barring the first, which has joined the ranks of one-of-my-favorite-fics-ever:

A Cliff That Knew Too Many Tides by luulapants (@luulapants)

E, early series Dean/others, 94,508 words

Partial Summary:

A canon rewrite AU diverging from the events of Some Cruel Tide, in which a shifter disguised as his father used Dean's blind obedience to molest him. By the start of S1, Dean's relationship with his father is more strained, his devotion more intense, and his life consumed by the need to hide the parts of himself he is most ashamed of.

My words:

If you’ve been looking for a gay!Dean manifesto, you’ve found it. Obviously, the subject matter is dark: warnings for past childhood sexual abuse, internal and external homophobia, past suicide attempt, and traumatic outing. It is also beautiful and heart-wrenching and scratches the swollen, itchy, weeping rash on my heart in a way that only the balm of good Dean angst can.  

Favorite part:

“I wasn’t acting out,” he blurted.

“What?”

“When I – I wasn’t trying to act out or anything.” Deacon’s presence hovered behind him like an aura, and Dean reminded himself, Don’t rock the boat. Don’t rock the boat.

Dad sighed. The line crackled, and Dean pictured him standing in a phone booth somewhere, probably huddled up against the cold. “Then what the hell would you call it?”

Dean tried out a few words in his head, imagining how they’d sound to Deacon. He ended up with, “I misunderstood. I thought I was supposed to.”

Asterism of an F-Series Ford Pick Up by disabled_dean (@disabled-dean)

M, Destiel, 17,408 words

Partial Summary:

When you've been to hell, desire is isolating and ugly.

Or: Cas drives his truck for a case and Dean is exceptionally horny about it

My words:

The way Dean’s PTSD is described in this fic, like a slow, oozing poison that awakens the longer he and Cas travel together, is tantalizing and masterful. Ostensibly, this fic is about Dean and Cas road-tripping to a case. It’s actually about how you, a monster-hunter, can come to terms (or not) with your body and soul when you think you’ve become the very thing you’re spent your whole life hunting.

 Favorite part:

"Like everything will be going fine and then all of a sudden I just. Can’t. I can't stand it. And the more fine everything is, the worse it gets and I feel-" he breaks off, eyes on his hands like they aren't his hands, thumb rubbing over and over the ring on his index finger, "It's like everyone else is living this normal fucking life and I'm still back in the pit."

Personal Space: The Final Frontier by botley

M, Destiel, Star Trek AU, WIP, 63,570 words

Partial summary

"Captain's Log, Stardate 10918.8. Captain Ellen Harvelle reporting, First Officer… Castiel… attending. After a month of bargaining with the Gehennian government, efforts to permit a search party within the Rack facilities still proved unsuccessful. Although Starfleet’s orders dictated we tuck tail and leave, I elected to disregard this decision and beam a rescue operations team down for the recovery of Lieutenant Commander Dean Winchester.”

My words:

This fic has been on my rec lists before. It’s still a WIP, but it very unexpectedly posted an update after a 3(?) year hiatus, so I’ll cling to hope until my fingernails leave a bloody, mauled mess.  This is basically a Star Trek AU where our favorite Supernatural gang are fucking around in Starfleet instead of the Midwest. Fantastic stuff – worth the read even if it does remain unfinished.

Favorite line:

"Dean made a face. Castiel decided the man was hideous."

Receding by minkmix

T, early season gen, 38,729 words

Summary:

After a visit to an old, abandoned theme park in the desert, Sam begins to notice strange lapses in Dean's memory. As his brother starts to disappear before his eyes, Sam must rush to find an answer before there isn't anything left to save... My words: A Lucky Charms fic if I’ve ever read one. Delicious, crunchy marshmallow goodness of some fantastic Dean!whump and panicked caretaker!Sam with the solid undercurrent of slightly sweetened amalgamized oat and corn cereal of a solid case fic. Yum.

 Favorite part:

“Sammy?” Dean cut him off.

“W-What is it?”

“What’s Dad’s name?”

Sam’s chest heaved as he fought himself from sounding as stunned as he felt.

“John.”

Swan Upon Leda by kelsstiel (@kelstiel)

E, Destiel real-world AU, 174,096 words

Summary:

Pediatric Surgery Fellow Dean Winchester meets baby Jack Kline and neuropsychologist Castiel Novak his first week on the job. Dean’s been accused a time or two of caring a little too much in the past and it’s hard not to care about the neurotic adoptive father and his medically needy preemie. After a series of run-ins between the pair, Dean and Cas develop a friendship that everyone else around them suspect more from immediately, though it takes them a little longer to get the memo. When Dean struggles with a particularly devastating patient loss, their mutual understanding of loss and love bring them closer in a way that neither of them could have expected.

My words: A solid, old-fashioned romantic AU. It’s unpretentious, fluffy, heart-warming, authentic and the kind of could-have-been-a-novel goodness that makes up the heart and breadth of fanfiction. Warning for infant illness and death (not Jack).

Favorite part:

"I know they say there’s a chance, but I’ve just got this feeling .” She shook her head and looked down for a moment. She looked up again and took a deep breath as if steadying herself. “I wish I could see you grow up.”

five minutes to six by saintedcastiel  (@saintedcastiel)

M, Destiel real-world AU, 23,383 words

Summary:

Castiel Novak has been the co-host of Good Morning, Lawrence! for a little over ten years when he stumbles across the story of a lifetime. But after a producer pulls the segment and tells him to forget it, Castiel begins to wonder who's really pulling the strings. Can he bring the truth to light while somehow managing to keep his co-host, and the man he loves, in the dark?

 My words: Another Goddamn quality AU. This one is a little quippier and fast paced than the Hospital AU above, but it’s full of fantastic characterization and even a last-minute breaking and entering romp. Fun that’s perfect for the whole family!

Favorite part:

“Been asking you out all week.” Dean tells him, and Castiel realizes all at once he’s right.

“Oh my god.” Castiel laughs. “You have.”

This Is Not My Beautiful Wife by luckshiptoshore (@luckshiptoshore)

T, Destiel, one-shot, 4,755 words

Summary:

“Dean,” says the man again. “This isn’t real. You need to come with me, now.”

Dean’s been zoning out again. But he can’t escape the feeling that something’s very, very wrong … and wherever he goes, a strange man in a trench coat follows.

My words: You gotta love the Djinn dream trope. This one has everything you want in a caught-in-a-fake-reality-while-your-lover-pleads-for-you-to-return-to-the-waking-world story, plus an extra dash of on-point characterization and some truly imaginative scenarios for Dean’s alternate realities.  

 Favorite part:

“We could look into adoption,” says Cas. “If you’d like. Of course we could also simply take a child, but I think that’s frowned on."

we really shouldn't be doing this by LoversAntiquities (@tragidean)

E, Destiel, 17,138 words

Summary:

After Castiel goes missing for a week, Dean finds him in an abandoned cemetery in the middle of nowhere Kansas, suffering from a mysterious welt. Only, as the hours go on, the deeper the curse grows—and Dean finds more than he bargained for, namely on every surface he and Castiel can find.

My words: This is more straight-up (not straight) porn than I usual rec, but this is a fantastic take on the from-sex-to-love fic where everyone was already in love to begin with. There’s a hefty sprinkle of idiots-to-lovers and sex-curse. Also angst, which is my bread and butter.

Favorite line:

Castiel stares up at him, his eyes gone soft, hooded. Dean thumbs over his eyelid, just to watch it flutter shut. “I’m not solely interested in you for your hands, or your mouth. They are wonderful attributes, but I don’t long for them so much as I long for you.” He leans into Dean’s palm and kisses the center. “I don’t know when I fell in love with you, but it would take the death of the universe to get me to stop.”

Postpartum Prometheus by babbyspanch, saltslimes (@dragqueenpentheus @nifedick)

E, Destiel, technically mpreg, WIP, 18,959 words

Summary

Welcome to the Supernatural renaissance. Welcome to Castiel and the terrible naissance.

My words: warning for the fact that this is technically an mpreg fic even though Castiel is an angel and not really a man. Warning, also, because this is another WIP that hasn’t been updated since the beginning of the year, so I don’t know if it’ll be finished. Basically, Dean and Cas bump uglies to unexpected results. Cas kinda freaks without telling Dean he’s his baby daddy. He also yanks out his intestines so said baby can be nice and comfortable in there. Funny and angsty.

Favorite part:

“Are those—?”

“Yeah.” He waves his hand at the door again, starting to feel like one of those used car lot inflatable men, limbs akimbo. “A total murderer looking guy just bolted that way. And not like— the regular murderer-looking people who come in.”

“And he left his organs.” Dennis thinks a moment, and then shrugs, as if this isn’t the weirdest thing he’s ever seen. He’s been working here longer than anyone Henry knows, maybe it isn’t. He opens his mouth and Henry can’t help hoping some miracle plan of action is going to fall out of it. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Um. What?”

“I don’t want to offend you.” He pauses, brows furrowed. He rolls Henry’s cup over in his hand. “What is a ‘FABINISTA’?”

Add your favorite written-in-2023 fics in the tags or a reblog!

[bakuliwrites]

Video Game Fanfiction Table of Contents

Disclaimer: 18+, Minors DNI!!!!!!

Baldur's Gate 3

Just to Be Held (M): Astarion x Tav, His shoulders slump as he releases a heavy sigh. He’s been worn down by your patience, worn down by years of keeping everything to himself. Here you are, offering up companionship without any expectation. Here you are, sitting in front of him, telling him that you actually, for some gods’ forsaken reason, like spending time with him and you’re not expecting any sort of compensation from him. So why is he trying so desperately to push you away? Astarion and Tav share a quiet, peaceful moment together along their journey. Astarion learns that he is valued and loved. Tumblr, AO3

The Elder Scrolls

Devotion (18+): Cicero x Listener, He worships her, every piece of her. All of his Listener must be worshipped, as ordained. Cicero, sweet Cicero, eager to please. Eager to serve. His lips on hers, his hands roving, searching, exploring. Venerating. He dies inside her, and it is glorious. He would die a thousand times in her, as many times as she wanted. Immolating in her light over and over and over again. Cicero is unsure of this new Listener, but his feelings are muddled and confusing. What will happen when the Listener is forced to choose to take or spare his life? Tumblr, AO3.

Legend of Zelda

Ebb and Flow (18+): Prince Sidon x Reader, “I will not accept that all we’re meant to be are star-crossed lovers,” Sidon states passionately, his tone filled with a steady resolve, “I cannot accept it. Was it not here that I pledged myself to you? And you to me? Was it not here that we promised our hearts to one another? Aren’t we more than just crossing tides?” Sidon is given earth shattering news. His duty as a Zora Prince outweighs all else. But how can he accept that when his love for you is so deep? Tumblr, AO3.

Stardew Valley

Love Letters (18+): Elliott x Reader, My Muse! You inspire in me such vivid dreams that when I wake to find my bed empty, I despair! I ache for you, body and soul. How I long to return to you, scoop you up in my arms, and ravish you from evening until dawn (Beyond dawn! For dawn does not limit my undying love, my eternal passion for you). Though weary from this whirlwind tour, I am never too weary to show you the depths of my adoration for you. I will return to you early next week, and I am beside myself with excitement. Elliott returns home from his book tour and the Farmer has a sultry surprise for him. Tumblr, AO3.

Dark Souls

Lunar Halo (18+): Gwyndolin x OC, Gods do not require witnesses. So in the sanctity of the Holy Church of Anor Londo, Gwyndolin weds a mortal woman, a marriage that takes place with sightless statues and eyeless stained glass figures for guests. Veiled by cloth woven of moonlight, Gwyndolin guides his Beloved Star to the altar. Her robes are redolent of the night that enshrouds the earth, glimmering diamonds and sweeping swathes of indigo pooling around her feet as she glides up the aisle. Iridescent moonstone enamels her hand and with the promise of fealty, of love for eternity, the Dark Sun is wed. And a mortal has been anointed his wife. A tale of how the Dark Sun came to love a woman born of the Dark Soul. AO3

Fire Emblem

Restless (18+): Xander x F!Reader, As leader of the combined Hoshidan and Nohrian armies, you find yourself growing restless one night, plagued with troubling thoughts. You decide some fresh air and quiet reflection under the stars might do you some good; but, you run into Xander, also lost in thought, and decide to spend some time together. AO3

Slip Away (18+): Xander x Gender-Neutral Reader, Xander finds himself unable to unwind at his birthday party, until a certain someone whisks him away. Tumblr, AO3

To Walk a Path of Light (M): Jeritza von Hrym x GN!Byleth, Jeritza’s desire for Byleth was sparked long before the goddess had even conceived of either of their forms. Their fates have always been intertwined... Long after the war has ended, Jeritza seeks out a familiar face, while the Death Knight seeks a battle. Tumblr, AO3

Gentle (18+): Jeritza Von Hrym x OC, "She is soft. And in her softness, she dissolves whatever sharpness, whatever edge I have. In perfumed sheets and gilded sunlight, I am, for a moment, vulnerable. My gentility clambers out from where it's been buried deep for so many years. The Death Knight dies in her embrace, and from him blooms a new creature." Jeritza finds himself drawn to one of Garreg Mach's newest professors. Tumblr: Chapter 1, AO3

[al-hekima-madara-blog]

What was Izuna's character?

Izuna is most likely one of the most mysterious character in the Narutoverse. He's truly a ghost. Barely seen but so important to Madara's storyline and his eyes the most powerful sight of the entire series. Regardless, all we know about his personality in the canon can be resumed in few sentences : He admired his brother as a child, he was also a fierce warrior from early age, he warned his brother against the Senju, and before his death willingly offered his eyes to Madara in order to protect the Uchihas. It's quite thin for a character development...

In the fandom, fanart, and the many fanfictions included, the general consensus is to represent Izuna as a soft and gentle character always devoted to his brother. Sometimes he's the victim of a hungry-power Madara (but that's really old stories back when no one knew that Obito was cosplaying Madara), often sassy and effeminate. A bit like Haku who was entirely in service of Zabuza. I suppose this idea comes from the adjectives that describes Izuna in the databook :

Considering the lack of information in canon, that headcanon starts to become the more popular. My ambitious is to try to discover what was Kishimoto's intentions for Izuna if he had more time to articulate that character. It's just an hypothesis that I present you, it's in no way a definite answer.

I) Intuition

That's nothing I can prove but it always seems to me strange that Izuna was the quiet one in this sibling's dynamic. If you put yourself in his shoes opened-toes sandals, he is Madara Uchiha's little brother. From birth, his brother was seen with special attention. Madara was the oldest, the heir and on top of that the genius one. Butsuma said that as a child he was able to kill adults. Being the second is virtually being invisible in front of other adults, it would have naturally created jealousy and a need to exist outside of the big brother's shadow. We've seen this same dynamic before between Sasuke and Itachi. The little one feels always left out. The difference there, is that Itachi was mostly absent in Sasuke's life, he was always busy with school and missions. And after the Uchiha's downfall, when Sasuke was just 7 years old, the distance between them wider dreadfully. For the majority of Sasuke's life, Itachi was a distant childhood memory. In contrary, Izuna seems to have stayed close to his brother until his death at 24 years old. They enjoy a childhood together and were so close than even adults they were able to take over the Uchiha clan. Because they spend more than 20 years together, sharing happiness and losses, there is for me an implicit idea that Izuna was balancing Madara and vice versa. In the same way, Hashirama's visionnary ideas are counter-balanced by a down-to-earth Tobirama. The Senju carves his unique personality by constantly creating new jutsus that surprised his opponents while Hashirama was known for being that rare and powerful Mokuton user. Madara being this taciturn person in public, Izuna must have been a bit more outgoing. So if Madara was in private described as kind by Hashirama, maybe Izuna was more rational when dealing with people.

II) Canon + extra materials

in extra materials I mean : databook, official card, official illustrations, video games ect...

Even if I'm team canon-only, sometimes other fillers or goodies can give us a hint of what would have been Izuna. And two things catch my attention :

first, he's always represented as someone very confident, holding a sword ready to slay someone, focused. Actually...he NEVER SMILES. He smirks once in a filler when he thought he was about to overpower Tobirama. It shows more his merciless attitude towards his enemy than any trace of softness. We are very far from the flower boy from fanarts.

secondly his voice...Have you heard his adult voice? It's surprisingly deep comparing to his slender appearance. Again it doesn't sound like a fragile baby doll but more like a commander in chief.

III) Izuna vs Obito

It took me a long time to realise how much Izuna is in the canon constantly in parallel with Obito. It goes back to my old post on "why Madara chose Obito". Months later, I think the answer is more obvious that what I thought back then.

Izuna simply might have had a very similar personality than Obito. Or should I say, Madara saw in Obito, not only his potential strength but also a clear resemblance in character to his dear brother. At the Kannabi's bridge, He observed and found Obito dying after he saved Kakashi, Rin and gave his right eye to Kakashi. There is a strong parallel to Izuna's life who also gave his eyes willingly to Madara when he was dying. In both case, there is a deep devotion for the well being of their friends/clansmen.

Even if Madara consciously chose to cut bonds with the world, unconsciously he still yearned for companionship. It's obvious by the fact he couldn't stop talking about his friend Hashirama, and in the similar way he looked for his "right hand" in Obito. Yes, in a deranged and manipulative way but even during the war, he never doubted Obito's intentions until it was obvious that he betrayed him.

So not only Obito was a replacement for Izuna as a brother in arm, but the databook gives them the same birthday the 10th of february, obviously the same zodiac sign Aquarius and most importantly the same blood type.

IV) Blood type

Izuna and Obito are said to be the same blood type O. Madara also is type O. As a westerner I've never paid attention to this information (I don't even know my own blood type to be honest!😅) until I've learned recently that Japaneses have got a whole culture associating blood type with certain personality traits. They take this more seriously that astrology to the point there is even campaigns to prevent discrimination towards rare types. Since I don't know much about this theory, let me quote some other sources.

So what is type O?

source : https://www.tofugu.com/japan/japanese-blood-type/

This source goes deeper into type O in Naruto.

source : https://aminoapps.com/c/naruto/page/blog/blood-types-personality-theory-in-naruto/lrqm_VpiQuDpPEDjoMXgoMVnn0E3eeXmpw

I don't really know how to interpret the type O because the adjectives seems very larges and vagues to me. but it seems that leadership trait, hard working, outgoing, protective, direct, confident are the trait that comes the most from the various sources I've read. In Naruto, the others type O are : Kakashi, Asuma, Sakura, Temari, Raikage, Neji.

An other interesting aspect, is relationship between each types. Look closely at OxO relationship.

Let's go back now to compare now Izuna and Obito's databook pages with this new information in mind.

Notice again how Izuna is systematically showed in action, fighting someone or ready to attack. That's not really a moment where he looks relaxed with an easy-going attitude.

Izuna's favourite hobby was training with his brother Madara. Because of their closeness as brothers they developed an healthy competition. A good OxO relationship.

In the opposite, considering the circumstance of their meeting, Obito never truly trusted Madara and even when he agreed on the Tsukuyomi plan, he decided early on that he'll do it his own way and almost overtook Madara's role as the "saviour". It shows a negative OxO relationship.

In this perceptive, it seems to me that Izuna and Obito share in common of being extremely strong-willed and competitive. They have an inflexible determination that never sways. After being deadly wounded, Izuna still found the strength to warn Madara about the Senjus and again in his deadbed he made Madara promise to watch over the Uchiha clan. His vision (even in the literal way) was strong enough to motivate Madara long after his death. This devoted, balanced personality must be read as a confident desire to protect his people, the Uchiha clan, to the point of self-sacrifice.

Obito demonstrated two times an incredible will. Once as a child when he defended Kakashi's father and swore to destroy an unfair shinobi system, and a second time when he battled against the juubi. He knew he wasn't physically strong enough neither to hold the rinnegan nor contain juubi inside him but by cheer willpower he forced his destiny.

To conclude my guess is that Kishimoto intended Izuna as a warlord, a man of action, just like Madara, with a strong sense of duty and sacrifice for his clan. And the Senju represented to him the epitome of threat for the Uchiha's peace. Izuna pictured peace and harmony related to his clan not the whole world like his brother did (and maybe that's why he had to make him promise to protect the Uchihas first!?). He was probably more extravert, agreeable and also more distant emotionally than Madara. His interaction with his big brother must have been a funniest version to what we've seen with Obito. Just imagining those two uchiha big egos together, they were probably insufferable for their opponents 😂. If you read the manga again it's as if Madara is expecting a back-and-forth banter with Obito...just like Izuna would have done with him in the middle of a battles.😢

That's all I wanted to share on my hypothesis, maybe in future Kishimoto will give us something about Izuna's past and this post will age badly but let me know what you think of this theory?

[gabessquishytum]

Hey, Gabe. I’m so happy you're doing better and taking time for yourself.

I've had this thought percolating in the back of my brain for a little while, for Dream and Hob, and their darling wives, Calliope and Eleanor to have a lovely poly/qpr style thing happening, because, as much as I love all the romantic, sexy, and unhinged shenanigans on here, I would like to see something similar to my own situation floating about.

Dream and Hob have been attached at the hip since childhood, when Hob punched another kid for trying to kick them out of the sand pit. They love each other fiercely and have been through all the ups and downs of adolescence: the conflict of who they were as individuals, the struggle to stay together in a world that told them they were too close, exploring sexual identities, mapping out their dreams of the future, and last, but not least, figuring out how to share with a dating partner.

It's surprisingly difficult to find someone that doesn't assume you're cheating on them with your best friend when you're so close. If they trust sex isn't happening, they tend to get angry about the casual intimacy. Feeling blocked by or jealous of the already established bond.

At one point, Dream and Hob's friends told them they were so close they should try dating each other. So they did. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be. The sex was fun and engaging. They learned a lot about themselves, explored kinks and the kink community. There wasn't another person's feelings they had to navigate, but beyond the lust there was no spark of romance, no passionate love, no mystery. There was comfort, devotion, and the soft, mellow love of their friendship.

They amicably broke up with a new, physical dimension to their friendship that only made dating harder in the end. Still, they persisted.

Eventually, Hob met a wonderful, dark-haired woman named Eleanor. She was fiery and beautiful, willing to barge into Dream and Hob's life and demand they make room for her. She was a raging river, filling in the ravines and creating estuaries where Dream and Hob had long ago learned they didn't meet. She was new life and new paths, and Hob fell hard and fast.

There’s a certain point, early on, in a relationship where you have to explain the complex dynamic between you and your best friend. It's the breaking point for many people. It's hard, to share, to be unintentionally excluded, to learn secrets from a third party, but the people that stand their ground and thrive are breathtaking.

Eleanor, when she is told, demands space. She does research, talks to people in similar situations, takes the time to suss out her own feelings, tries to feel out the edges of compromise and expectation she requires. In the end, she flows back into their lives with a willingness to try and an adventurous gleam in her eye.

She proposes a new dynamic between the three of them. She wishes to pursue a romantic relationship with Hob, but wants to learn how comfortable she can be with Dream in the bedroom.

Hob's quick to assure her that he and Dream don't have physical relations when dating.

Eleanor, brave woman that she is, tries to explain why she thinks that's part of the problem they have with dating. They're so entwined in each other's life that removing them from one area only causes more stress. “You're practically married already,” she snorts. “You just need to find people who can live with that. I’m willing to try. Are you?”

It takes work and patience, respect and communication. They still hurt each other. Life gets in the way. People judge them and cause problems. They make it, in the end, to a place where they are content and no one is left out. Eleanor and Hob are happily married. Dream has a special place in their hearts and marriage bed whenever he needs or wants.

Years pass, Dream has proof now, that he can have romance and his best friend. That he doesn't have to sacrifice a portion of his heart for love. He has taken lovers, tried to bring them into the dance that is his relationship with Hob and Eleanor. Reluctance, timidity, and selfishness ended those relationships. At some point, Dream starts to give up, maybe Eleanor was special, a miracle.

This is, of course, when someone new enters the scene.

Calliope, stunning and witty, drifts on the edge of their existence, darting forward and back to a tune only she can hear. She flirts, flutters, and flees. She's looking for something and she won't be caught until she wishes it.

Dream watches her from the corner of his eye, intrigued and wary. He watches, in the hopes of learning what he can before approaching. He knows what to look for now, those early signs that will tell him if she wouldn't be a good fit. He isn't nearly as subtle as he wishes.

It doesn't take long for to Calliope notice. She glides closer, flitting back when others pursue.

There are clues to be found in who she lets close, and why. The outline of what she wants takes shape as partner after partner fails to meet certain criteria.

They start to circle each other at parties, a corkscrew winding tighter and tighter. He waits with hard learned patience. She slowly grows bolder.

Eleanor and Hob poke gentle fun at him, waiting on the sidelines, wishing him well. No matter how it ends, he'll always have them.

When Dream and Calliope finally crash together it's quiet, a gentle brush of fingers, a soft touch at the hip or arm. There are walks and dinners and music. They go to theaters and museums and libraries. She slots into Dream's life seamlessly, confidently.

There are the typical growing pains of partnerships and cohabitation, discovering how to be part of a couple separate from Hob and Eleanor, and learning where the four of them line-up and interlock.

People outside the relationship try to cause problems at times. They look at Dream and Eleanor or Calliope and Hob and notice how visually similar they are and accusations of cheating fly around. Sometimes someone close-minded will notice their closeness and try to enforce ridiculous religious views. Those that are covetous and jealous try to tear them apart.

They've worked too hard to let such things tear them apart.

Dream looks up one day to realize he’s curled against Hob's chest, in love and happy. Eleanor and Calliope are plotting something a few feet away, smiling. The future is unfolding before him, full of laughter and affection, understanding and belonging. The long journey and heartache was worth it.

—🏵

This is such a delightful and loving depiction of a beautiful poly/qpr relationship! I particularly love the way that Dream and Hob manage to work out their situation in the way you've described. Because not all friendships are meant to develop into romantic relationships, and platonic love certainly isn't worth less than romantic love. I genuinely enjoy the idea of them trying out romantic dating for a week and mutually deciding that it just isn't meant to be! The way they express love (romantically) is so different - Dream is all wild grand gestures and extremes, and Hob just. Isn't about that life. It just isn't going to work, and that's absolutely okay because the sex is still wonderful, and they're still best friends. They still want to grow old together, doing kinky things occasionally. They've both kind of accepted that they're lucky to have each other, and wanting more is probably a bit greedy.

But it's okay to be greedy.

With Eleanor and Calliope, life is never dull. In the large house where the four of them live, there is always music. Always laughter too, unless somebody is upset - then the other three will descend on them, and do everything they can to make it better. There is always a queue for the bathroom (even though they have more than one bathroom, all four of them tend to gravitate together into one space - you'll find Hob trying to shave while Calliope does her makeup and Dream tries to shower and Eleanor sits on the loo singing along to the radio). Somebody is always available for a cuddle (it's usually Dream who wants a cuddle, or some kind of physical touch, and it's great because he never has to worry about being too much. there are three people to take the load). Sex is just... easy. Even if somebody doesn't want to participate, they're always welcome to watch.

Hob loves silly jokes, loves it when Eleanor says "this is my husband Robert, and this is my husband's boyfriend, Dream". But he also secretly loves arguing with people who are rude about their relationship. He loves it even more when he's able to throw a punch. Dream and Eleanor might try to hold him back, but he can always rely on Calliope to join him for a scrap. She's taught him some wonderful Greek insults.

And life is basically very good. Turns out that more partners DOES equal more happiness, as Hob loves to say. Dream will never admit it but Hob is generally absolutely right.

[oddduckthatgirl]

Title: Seconds Are Welcome

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Lannister!female

Warnings: period typical misogyny, arranged marriage, period typical gender roles

Summary: Everyone talks of girls coming of age. No one speaks of when the girl doesn’t desire to be less than who she is.

A/N: this is slightly AU-ish. For this story, Daemon was named heir, not Rhynera (not hate, just a plot). Changed some Lannister names. It’s just a story, let’s not dissect too much. This story will have multiple parts.

Casterly Rock was the ideal hold for any man to feel like a king in his own keep. Jason Lannister attended to his family home with all the devotion any lord would. He has four children. His two sons, James and Jonathon, are both married, each of them having apartments within the walls with their lady wives. Also within the walls are his two unmarried daughters, Jasline and Jaylon.

Jaylon Lannister wasn’t as she appeared. She looked every part a Lannister. Her eyes were such a light shade of blue that they appeared gray in a certain light. A long flowing mane of pale blonde hair. She had a very lean figure, but muscular. She had been tutored all the ways a proper lady should be. She also could read and write seven languages. She and her sister Jasline received the absolute finest instruction befitting their stations. While her sister had to work for every lesson, Jaylon found academics to be simple. As such she had time to learn other lessons.

She spent some afternoons learning about all things equestrian. After all, horses are what helped her family amass their fortune. She wanted to know everything. From an early age, her father Jason indulged her curiosity. He had even found it quite endearing. However, since she was now eight and ten years old and not married he seemed to be irritated by it.

What raised his ire more was her interest in sparring with her brothers. She often would sneak out with them in the evenings so they could instruct her. Until one evening they had been discovered by their father. He hauled her into his study and told her that was not her place as a future lady of a fine house.

“I’m your youngest child Father and your second daughter. I could only hope for a match so great.”

“You will still have a husband to protect you.”

“What happens if he is killed? Who protects me then? Or if he did save my life, now he’s owed a debt. A Lannister always pays their debts.”

Begrudgingly, he relented but insisted on having her train with her brothers. To give her the same teachings. In truth, she was a far more elegant fighter and understood how to use her femininity to her advantage.

Jasline was far more calm. The eldest daughter who had understood her role. She was the picture of a proper lady. Everything a lord could want in a wife. She didn’t argue, she kept her opinions to herself and she could smile all day while appearing to not have a thought in her head. With her temperament, one would wonder her connection to the Lannister name if not for the blonde hair. Most described her as quite pleasant company.

Dull. Jaylon thought of her sister.

She could never live that life.

Jasline had been married to a nice lord from House Blackwood. They had a longer courtship than usual due to some haggling over the dowry. During that time there had been a small uprising that was beginning to become serious. Eventually, it was decided that Jasline and her lord should be married quickly so he could set out with his lord Father to right their lands.

They were wed in a small ceremony. Jaylon was her attendant while he had his cousin. They didn’t even consummate the union before he had to set out.

Young Lord Blackwood never returned. Jasline was a widow before she even had lost her maidenhead.

It made it difficult to find a match for her. So many questions. During the months after, Jasline had occasion to make acquaintance with Thomas Baratheon. They appeared to have a genuine affection for each other, so Jaylon thought, however it would seem their Father didn’t think the young lord, a second son, worthy of his eldest daughter.

Jaylon almost wished her father had those thoughts for her. Once she came of age, her father had her see every eligible second or third son in all of Westeros. She would do her best to be a proper lady but then they would ask her opinion and she would always answer honestly.

“Jaylon, they are not interested in what a lady thinks.”

“Well Father, perhaps they should be.”

She would tell her father about these young lord’s opinions on battle or horses or wine.

“How am I, a Lannister, to sit there and listen to them be so mistaken? They would make a fool of me and by extension, you.”

Jason Lannister was a proud man. He knew his youngest was correct but he would never give her the satisfaction.

“Why must you insist on such obstinate behavior?”

“I believe it is inherent.”

This would most assuredly have her father avoiding her for days on end. Which was fine by Jaylon, more time to devote to sparring and to horses. More time to think of the many ways to make the next suitor for her recoil in disgust. If it wasn’t their misguided crowing about how honored she should be to be their wife and welp their children it was their leering. She even had the moment to strike a young lord who commented on how strong her thighs were from riding.

It was a quick reaction. Truth be told, it was probably the first broken bone the young lord had ever suffered. Judging by his lewdness, it wouldn’t be the last.

Every day is the same. Until it wasn’t.

There was a new tutor. Some Septa sent to them from King's Landing. He told Jasline and Jaylon they were to have lessons in High Valyrian. The girls exchanged a look and knew what that implied.

A Prince was interested in a Lannister wife.

Lucky for Jasline, even more lucky for Father, Jaylon mused. She was just enthusiastic about another language to learn. More than likely she needed to do her best to master it so she could help Jasline. It wouldn’t do her well to not understand it. Jasline focused all her attention on it, while Jaylon made sure to note her struggles.

Jaylon had heard the rumors as had her sister. She could even see the fear in Jasline’s face when people spoke of Prince Daemon. The girls spent hours at night discussing him, his temperament.

“I hear he’s roguishly handsome,” Jasline sighed.

“He’s a Targaryen. Of course he is. And a prince,” Jaylon collects herself, “I suppose if you’re attracted to that sort of person.”

Jasline smirks, “and he’s a wonderful fighter. Quite a quick wit as well.”

Jaylon nods, “much to the annoyance of the small council I hear.”

Jasline shifts to face her sister, “do you think the other whispers have merit?”

“Did you mean the piece about the street of silk or the piece about him murdering his lady wife?”

“Jaylon Lannister! That is treasonous,” Jasline’s face flush.

“Sweet sister. He is a prince. He does as he chooses. He was commanded into marriage, so the story goes. A young prince who didn’t want such a wife. So he did as he pleased. Perhaps he was simply bored.”

“Jaylon. I would bore him so,” she gasped, “you should put yourself in his way.”

Jaylon laughed loudly, “Father wouldn’t dream of that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not you, Jasline. I’m not the first born. I’m just the spare.”

Jasline sighed, “perhaps marriage to the Prince isn’t what I want.”

“Thomas.”

“I love him, sister.”

“I know you do. But we are just women in this world. We are at the whim of every man,” Jaylon reclines and gazes out the window, “and Father knows best for us.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Jasline settles herself in her bed, “I would suppose it’s easy to be so placid; the eyes of a dragon aren't fixed upon you. But they should be.”

“Oh Jasline, marriage is an arrangement. You smile, you nod, you bear his children. Everything else you will sort out.”

“I have sorted it. He needs to wed you. You are one of the greatest beauties in all of Westeros. You are intelligent, strong, cunning and most importantly you are not easily swayed by the opinions of others.”

Jaylon rolls her eyes, “sleep sister, you’ll need your strength.”

Jasline settles into bed, “yes I will. I need to convince His Highness of all your virtues.”

Jaylon leaves her sister to rest and makes her way to her room for the night. She laughs thinking over her sister’s suggestion that she be put in Prince Daemon’s way. Her father would never allow it. She imagines the look of rage that would take him over. How he would have to obey the command of his Prince, if he did want her instead. That would raise his ire even more.

She couldn’t help the smile at the thought. Fun but a fool’s wish.

She sat and brushed her hair, staring at her reflection. She wonders what it is about her that these lord’s find appealing. She’s just a young girl, who knows about horses and wine. That reads whatever she can so she wouldn��t be left behind in the conversation of men. Her understanding that information is the greatest and most valuable commodity.

This is how she gathered what she could on the Targaryen prince. She wanted her sister to have every advantage. She also didn’t want to displease the man herself and squander all the work that has gone into this endeavor.

Before she drifted to sleep, she imagined what a conversation with him would be like. Would he be intimidating? Would he be kind? She also hoped for the chance to see his dragon. That isn’t a sight she would soon forget.

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tav and Astarion spend the night together.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

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

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

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

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 9: Known*

Ao3

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Word Count: 4.8k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Trauma, CPTSD episode during sex, Act 1 Spoilers

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It is said that being bestowed with the mark of a soulmate is rare. Even rarer to find a soulmate that you fall in love with. See, soulmate marks are tricky in that way. It is not a guarantee of life together. Sometimes, a soulmate can be a friend, a relative, an enemy. I have sung romantic ballads throughout my life about them, wondering what it would be like to have a soulmate of my own.

— Tavelle Swiftchoir, diary entry 217

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Love.

The meaning of love to Astarion was defined by cold nightmares of his flesh being carved into with a whetted blade. It meant endless mirrors—he could no longer see his reflection in—hung on the bedroom walls of countless obscured lovers he guided to the next celestial plane by a thrust of his hips.

Confined to the shadows like an unsent apparition, love was the compulsion by his master to peel back his fingernails and drive nails of iron into his wrists.

Lead up to the altar by the promise of immortality. His bride: eternal hunger. His husband: cruelty. Married forever to Cazador’s crimson that gave him undeath.

Love would condemn him to weakness; a folly of humanity.

But, he could pretend to love. He had lost count of how many conquests he feigned the emotion to as he seduced them. Astarion learned early on how to create the illusion of love during his countless years of predatory stalks. Batting lashes. Secret confessions of forbidden wants. The longing of their humming hearts as he showered them with adorations.

And each of these imbeciles believed him, even those he felt a rare ounce of sympathy towards.

Then, there was the bard. Somehow, in spite of their differences, he had managed to capture the songbird. He knew that she yearned for the connection through companionship, like he thirsted for lifeblood. She wanted to be known. Effortlessly and with devotion to the marrow of her bones. And she wanted to share it with someone in return. Astarion decided in face of those challenges, he would burden himself with the role to shepard in the requirements for his conservation.

If he could make former notches on his bedpost believe he loved them, then he could simulate prolonged connection.

At least, that's what he thought.

It’s why he agreed to engage in her pointless game at the party, to get her to trust him further. Each sentence, every word, he fed her was so carefully planned leading to this exact moment of their night. His answers were enough to satisfy her queries about him—truths that belied his aversion towards her.

He hated it. Hated the instincts he knew would draw her to him. Because the vampire knew that one of the most sensible ways to establish a form of “connection” was through sex.

The death dance of frivolous and faux intimacy. Years of bedding anything with a pulse had conditioned his cock to rise without him feeling anything inside. Except, this time was not to give a victim to Cazador, it was to procure a target for himself.

He laughed to himself while he removed his shirt. He chose her. For him. The unpretentious songstress with a mystifying heart. His protector. The soulmate he couldn’t accept. How utterly insane.

Astarion patiently waited for Tav in a forest glade just a stone’s throw away from their camp. With a quick peck on the tip of his nose, she promised herself to him for the rest of the evening.

Still, his words of subterfuge would not be enough to guarantee the immunity of her balm. The details in between had to be the mirage for his stratagem.

To keep her interested. To keep her affections.

Fragrant oils were reapplied in places he knew she would want to touch, to completely envelop herself in. He cleaned his teeth, polishing them off with a piece of cloth. Mint leaves were chewed for the benefit of quelling the taste of blood when she would inevitably kiss him. Even the illumination of the moonlight splashing on the trees, forming enchanting shadows on the ground, was a planned location by him.

Astarion heard her drawing closer with the strange chorale hymn encaged behind her breast. Anxiously, he quickly recited phrases of poetic novelties in his head, ones to enkindle her need for him throughout their upcoming coupling.

Gods, had he ever gone through so much trouble to secure a quarry before?!

Tav approached, like gentle rain in the sunlight: fluent and quiet. Her hair had been decorated and restyled into a waterfall plait with the same flowers she kept in her garter.

The pallid spawn appeared from behind one of the large trees, confidence in his gait. Silvery curls bathed by the lune’s brilliance, his skin glowing in near perfection with faint beads of dew upon his neck, painted a picture of his otherworldly aristocracy.

“I’ve been waiting,” he purred, stepping closer to her.

She smiled meekly, staring at the nakedness of his chest. “You started without me?”

Inwardly, he briefly panicked. Shit. The shirt off was a poor decision.

“I suppose I’ve been eager to have you,” he grinned in recovery. He held out his hand for her to take. “And you will let me have you, won’t you?”

Warmth was deposited into the crisp chill of his hand as she demurely placed it within his own. He brought it to his chest, isolating her fingertips to drag them across the field of his muscular pectoral muscles, down to trace along his Adonis belt.

A wave of gooseflesh rose on her forearms. “You’re the only one right now I want to have me, Astarion,” she softly vowed.

He tilted his head at her admission. The temptation to completely possess her had risen, to walk alongside the wickedness of his inner carnality for power. She would so sweetly acquiesce to him pushing her to the ground before his shrine of hunger, binding her wrists with his hands, and sliding into her creamy, waiting slit while he told her to worship him with titles of grandeur.

Oh, merciful Astarion, Creator of besmeared covenants, The convalescent songstress seeking his touch to cure her fervent body. With his holy emblem in ichor painted on her breasts, Power of powers, May your wants be granted upon you.

Astarion wrapped an arm around her waist, urging her near. He pressed his forehead against her own, noticing her shakes of anticipation as he rubbed her lower back through her chemise. A heart stopping, then speeding back up.

“You always shudder like the babe of a rabbit whenever I touch you. Do I frighten you?” he asked in a low gravel.

She looked away timidly, a shadow of diffidence cast over her face. “Your succor makes me feel like I’m being pulled into directions I didn’t know existed. The only thing that frightens me, is how much I crave you.”

His stomach churned. How many times had he managed to tear such streams of flattery from his former lovers?

The vampire cupped the apple of her cheek, turning her head to face him. “Tavelle, look at me.”

Tav lifted her eyes under the veil of her desire for him. Something inside of her had splintered. By the gentle exhale of her breathing—that rhythmic thrum inside her chest that was once again out to sea—a divergent path had slipped underneath her confluence. She wasn’t afraid of him; she was afraid of letting go.

“Do not shy away from that which you crave. To be tasted. Felt held by another. Known. You want those things, don’t you?” He stroked a brisk finger along her jaw, settling his thumb against the plush of her lower lip.

Cheeks rosy and warm, Tav grabbed onto his wrist, placing his palm against her lips to anchor a reverent peck. “I do. But, what about you? What do you want?”

Why did she keep asking him such stifling questions? A whispering diviner at his ear trying to open up a portal to the abode of his shades. He couldn’t bloody stand her.

But, what did he want?

It was possible to want now, wasn’t it?

It was even possible to receive those wants.

A twisted smear alighted his dead arteries.

Power. Freedom. Her shield. Her blood. Cazador’s true death.

Whatever the hells he could take!

And other wants.

Not to be touched or put on display like a whore. To continue walking in the sun. Seen.

“Our collective pleasure. Ecstasy that lasts well into the night.”

The sudden dour expression on her face almost made him question his practiced response. She squeezed his hand as if she were trying to reassure him that he could trust her. “Is that all?”

No.

She studied him in silence, in considerate observance, as she nipped at her lip. Her damned searching again.

He needed to guide them along before their conversation became some emotional slop and ruined his plans.

Astarion reached out for her hips, effectively turning her around. He backed her into the nearby tree, relishing in the heat of her hold on his arms.

He leaned into her ear, unintentionally blowing a cool breath, as he pawed at her skirts. “Lift these. Let me show you what I want.”

The songstress bunched her skirts without breaking eye contact, holding them tightly around her hips. He could hear her short breaths of air waiting for him in a fervid state of starvation.

Limber fingers slid up her outer thighs, tickling her with featherlight scampers of his pads. She keened until his touch turned into an avid need, gliding along her inner thighs. Reservedly, he felt her legs part for him.

What he found, caused him to smirk mischievously. She really did continue to surprise him.

“And I see you also started without me,” he chuckled above her.

As his digits skimmed the crease where her thigh met her mons pubis, he discovered she had chosen to forego her smalls, leaving her completely bare.

Had Astarion been a normal mortal man about to fuck a woman into mind-bending bliss, her impulsivity may have turned him on. But instead, what his vampiric nature granted him was an unholy possessiveness over her cunt. Here his bonny songbird stood, offering the secrets of her milky secretions for his dark schemes. The scent of her nectar, a sweetened musk almost as intoxicating as her blood. All for him to indulge in, should he so choose.

His?

That was unplanned.

“I guess, I too, was feeling eager,” she sighed bashfully.

Peppering kisses along the length of her neck, he slid an index finger between her folds. Oh, she hadn’t been this wet the first time he had his fingers inside of her. Judging by the blinks she fluttered at him, she was also aware of his findings.

Gently, he rubbed her sensitive bundle of nerves, cradling a pleasant cry from her lips with encouraging mumbles on her cheek. He circled her clit clockwise, swiping across it with more pressure every time she whined. Astarion moved his thigh in the middle of her legs: a wedge to keep them open at his discretion.

Then, he suddenly relented, lecherously probing through her heated lips with a single finger, inserting it deeply into her. Tav’s mouth opened in a quiet scream of delirium. He lunged it in and out of her at a snail’s pace, watching her squirm, desperately trying to keep her skirts raised. Chilly lips found their way to her earlobe and he instantly assaulted it with his tongue, moaning with it in his mouth with every thrust of his finger.

“I could finish you off like this,” he rasped into her ear, licking from her lobe to the point of it.

Her ears were ablaze from the rapture he rewarded her. A winded noise clawed from her throat. “Please—”

Astarion ceased the movement of his dexterous finger, leaving it within her ardent balm for her to clench around. “Please what, lover?”

Silence. A few seconds more and still—nothing.

Astarion, abandoning his onslaught of her lobe—uneasily wondering if he performed wrong—moved to face her directly. Chest frantically heaving, Tav skewed her head in his direction. He noticed she was fighting the torrents of ravenous hunger that were trying to claim her, pushing back her permission to let everything go.

His garnet eyes narrowed as he reallocated her chin to ghost his brisk lips over her panting mouth. “Let go.”

Tav dropped her skirts, hastily sweeping her hands into his snowy curls to maneuver his head at the angle she preferred, and collided her lips roughly against him. Where her kisses had been slow and intentional in the past, now, they were shameless gluttonous extensions of her neediness. She sucked on his upper lip, seductively licking it with her tongue. Astarion kissed her with an equal measure of intensity, kneading her lips, goading them to continue.

Her eyes were clenched shut, mewling unintelligible tales of her urges with her pecks. “I…gods…’Starion.”

Bombarding him with her lips, she continued to mold them over the pallid edges of his own. With stimulating swipes of her tongue along the underside of his jawline, back to his mouth, she consumed him like a tornado. He grabbed the back of her head, rigorously propelling her to seam her body to his torso in a firm hold.

“I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t,” her teeth nibbled sinfully on his lower lip while she mumbled her words hoarsely. “But, I…more…than…I…”

Musical hands lightly massaged themselves over his chest, splaying over his frosted skin. Tav’s face mantled into a flustered expression, a confession she seemed to try and cover by way of kissing him again, boldly endeavoring to slide her tongue past his lips.

There was a sharp intake of his breath through his nostrils, and suddenly, he leaned away from her, breaking their fevered motions. Usually, during his multiple dalliances, tongue kissing was not given a second thought. It came as a natural detail of his one night stands in debauchery. But given their accidental journey together, Astarion knew it held a deeper, intimate meaning that denoted a relationship he wouldn’t or was incapable of having with Tav.

This was about transactions, not falling in love.

He needed to deflect.

“Mmm, darling. You are delicious, but kiss me as you have been with only those succulent lips of yours. It’s what makes me want to completely ravage you.”

She patiently nodded.

Perfect.

He felt it. The tug. That corrupt allure within his stomach. To overtake her. A bedevilment of his own temperament. To drain her entirely of that crimson that kept her alive. His vampiric wrath, driven by his hunger for blood. And by the way she peered up at him through those nymph like lashes as if he were a god—

It was enough to make him erect for the night. To distance himself from their sordid interlude just enough to get it over with.

Palming at her skirt, he slid it down her legs, leaving her naked save for her blouse. He rose back up, leaving random pecks on her thighs, stomach, and arms before stopping at her neckline. Lazily, he tapped his lips along her décolletage, savoring her temperature.

Tav busied herself touching his lower abs, tracing the lines of his muscles as if to memorize him. He grinned into her skin when he felt her unlacing his trousers.

“Is this okay?” she asked cautiously.

Why did she…?

He plunged his hand betwixt them, piloting her to cup his hard bulge. “I can’t wait to be buried inside of you.”

Her heart chambers palpitated, a befitting hymn to his ears. She rubbed his length through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock with slender fingers. Pivoting her hand, the bard crossed over his lacings, finally pulling his shaft from its restricted position.

Introverted as she was, this was a woman that liked to equally grant bliss in the bedroom. It mimicked how she lived her daily life when she wasn’t exercising heaven in her sheets with a lover. Her authenticity was tried and true—an insight that pleased Astarion.

The squeeze she gave the head of his cock was a prelude to the pumps she moved up and down over it. Precum beading, she spread it in smooth twists with her hand. He groaned a punishing sound into the velvet of her throat.

“Hold onto me.”

He collected her hands from her pandering strokes, kissing her knuckles, then led them to thread around his neck. With his strength gripping beneath her ass, he lifted her, coaxing her legs to wrap around his lean waist.

His cock laid heavy amidst her drenched labia, nuzzling against her throbbing clit. She moaned loudly for him, like an immoral nun spread eagle on a pristine bed of white, seeking sanctuary through orgasm. He jetted his stiff sex, teetering her nub on his tip while he balanced her against the tree. Tav’s mouth chased after him, successfully landing hotly on his lips, subduing her voracious sobs.

The head of his cock caught on her pink pearl several times as he deliberately stuffed himself between her slippery lips. He teased her entrance, inserting a centimeter of his erection before abruptly pushing up through the scope of her vulva. At this angle, it would have been so easy to slide right into her and take her as hard as he could imagine.

During a particularly motivated drive through her folds, one of the florets unattached itself from her plait and hung midair near the side of face. She started giggling.

Cute.

Allowing her to continue her kisses on his cheek, Astarion slowed his hips, momentarily shifting his weight to yank the bloom from her hair. “The banality of flowers. Always making the grueling effort to wither away.”

Tav aptly touched a petal, seemingly admiring its shape. “That’s why they are to be cherished; a fleeting moment of their beauty that slows down time.”

Her poison was too potent.

The edges of his vision softened considerably. Awe dimly drew up the muscles around his mouth.

And then, a slip up.

“In another life I—” he forcibly blocked himself, becoming aware of his near fumble.

What the bloody fuck was I about to tell her?! In another life, I would have what?! In another life, you wouldn’t have been a victim. In another life, I wouldn’t have manipulated you for my benefit. In another life, I may have asked to properly court you.

His throat scalded with bile.

Rushing forward, he crushed his mouth against hers, wiping the confusion from her expression. The songstress stuttered out a few heady breaths as she mounted her hands back around his neck. He tightened his grip under her thighs, turning her around to lay her down in a plot of leaves and dirt.

But now the time was ripe for dread. The undertaking that condemned him to a disassociating hell where his undead heart turned a blackened void, striving to escape the horrendous weight of yet another tallied mark of copulation in his memory.

On the ground she laid, ethereal in the beams of moonlight. Dark ash brown hair outspread like a duvet. Picked flowers falling out of place to gracefully nest in her strands.

Astarion shimmied out of his unlaced trousers, his pale erect cock bobbing before his newest target. He kneeled, surrounded by her robust legs. Tav sheepishly smiled up at him, her balletic hands making contact with the hem of her blouse, pulling it over her head, revealing large breasts.

The vampire loomed over her, lowering his weight onto her body. He steadied himself on one arm, brushing his fingers up her ribs. A long puff of air floated out of her lungs when he groped her tit in his hand. And, gods, he could smell her emulsion arousal almost leaking outside of her slit.

He prowled his tongue down her clavicle to the heap of her bosom until he felt her writhing. Tav’s ample areolas were the lightest shade of pastel pink that disappeared into her ivory tone. The buds of her breasts, a luscious dusky rosette, primed for Astarion to suck. She clamored when he pinched her nipple.

The tip of his tongue bumped her nipple and her hands flew to his head, assertively pressing him into her bosom. Her nails scraped his scalp tenderly, earning her a deep growl. A flat moistened tongue swathed around her sensitive pert berry with a keened breezy sigh before he nipped at it between his front teeth.

Ah, she was so responsive to him. Wreathing her legs around his hips. Grinding her pelvis into him. Seeking the friction only he could grant her.

“Astarion…” she murmured gingerly, still massaging his scalp.

He continued sucking on her nipple, swiftly licking it when her breathing calmed. She screamed his name when he bit into her bud a final time before viewing her under dark lashes.

“Gods, Astarion! I want you inside of me!”

The spawn nodded, crawling back up her body to linger above her. He kissed her lips serenely: once, twice, a third time. Then, he pecked the inside of her wrist, motioning for her to rest her flourishing hands on his shoulders.

Firmly clutching his cock, he lined it up with her entrance. He stared into the pane of her eyes, wondering briefly how he would look as he entered her. Was his fervor passable enough?

“Ready, songbird?”

Tav shook her head.

As the crown of his cock breached her opening, the caged canary unobtrusively whistling between her two lungs, closed off its song. She held him close to her the further he pushed in, stretching her to a perfect form around his thickness, gasping into his throat.

Oh, she was tight.

So. Very.

“Tight,” he hissed.

He bucked into her languidly, her juices smothering him. Hells, when was the last time his cock had been thoroughly clenched in this way? Her cunt was hot and dripping and snug and—

Scars. She encountered his scars. An impalpable tremor in remembrance bloomed across his back. Raised and undead—along with the rest of him—an intricate framework branding him as Cazador’s slave. The pads of her fingers touched them with frugal dabs, as if he were a piece of blown glass that would break. He stilled.

Astarion wrestled with the notion of how to respond. Ruining the moment with laments of his past tortures, would not be fortuitous for him. He could ignore it entirely, subvert her attention with a pinch of her clit. Though, that ran the risk of eventually confronting the ‘elephant in the room’—so to speak.

But, the bard with her gods damned noble tenderness, cupped both of his cheeks with a kiss above his brow.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered thoughtfully.

He blinked several times, his thoughts in a race to catch up with the feeling of her gentleness in his arms. Astarion couldn’t take it. It unsettled him in ways he didn’t understand.

And then, he was fucking her at a punishing speed, a wicked entity moving his shaft all the way out before ramming it back into her. His mouth found hers, stifling her cries.

All the pale elf could think about was the promise of her guardianship. No matter how much he despised her, sex with her was the stipulation of their unspoken contract. It would be over soon until they needed to make another trade.

Blood and aegis for companionship.

Forgive him gods, for Astarion has sinned. As he fornicates and bites, covered in blood. The tabernacle, his for the taking. He knows in the cavernous pit of his being, He’ll do it all again.

And the detachment came. The scarlet gaze a million miles away. He neither felt nor heard anything. Not Tav’s shouts of pleasure. Not even the tepidity of her charitable caress she was once hesitant to forfeit. He was nothing more than an artificer for seduction.

Automatically, his haunches maneuvered themselves in a lunging manner. He was not present. He didn’t need to be. If he could only remain floating a distance away from his body, then—

“—me.”

Fuzzy interference. A voice maybe?

“rion… ite…me.”

Tav. That instrument in her voice box. Always a song upon the winds. Always reining him in.

“Astarion, bite me,” Tav pleaded.

All his senses returned at once. The outlines of her facial features were no longer a blur. Her sounds: a resplendent wonder from the vaults of Mount Celestia.

The heap of her long waves were swooshed away from the front of her shoulder and neck. Her head drifted to the side with a blush rising up to clothe her satiny skin.

He relaxed his thrusts, baffled at her invitation during the height of their passion.

“I trust you,” she assured him, fingers sailing into his silvery curls.

His mouth twitched.

A kiss attentively fixed on her temple. His short-tempered thirst roared from within. Fangs cruising to the vein he heard pounding in his ear, prepping her with savory pecks and sucklings.

The bite pierced through her taut flesh. She wailed, scrabbling at his body, trying to merge herself with him. He moved his hand to finger her aching clit, brushing against it with chilled touches.

Her addictive crimson poured into his mouth in glorious splurts of an exquisite delicacy, filling him rapidly with her heat. He huskily growled into her neck as his hips started to resume their vigor. Astarion lapped at her blood as he felt his vitality sprinting through him.

A lithe finger moved Tav’s swollen nub in circles, at times, spreading her clear fluids to easily stimulate her arousal. He could feel his fingers receiving the warmth from her blood in nascent layers throughout his appendages. She whimpered so well for him as he kept a steady rhythm with his hardness tunneling into her cunt.

The contractions of her walls was an indicator of her oncoming climax. Further, he slid in and out of her, submerged in her gushing moisture. Pushing his knee to sit higher under her leg so he could angle his cock deeper, a grunt filled his chest as her slit squeezed him tightly.

“Ooo…fuck…you feel…I’m going to cum soon,” she announced breathlessly.

Then, her crescendo began and she arched her back, their bodies slick with sweat. She sang in depraved sobs, whilst she ensnared Astarion’s engorged manhood, spasming around it with a flood of her cum. He lifted from his feeding, licking the trickles of blood down his chin, praising her with red smeared downy kisses on her face.

Yet, as the fates often have other plans for people, he peered to his right—with an unusual phantom yank on his bleating soul—to find an identical soul mate mark, matching his own, in the juncture between Tav’s shoulder and her outer collarbone.

“Fuck,” he croaked under his breath, slowing his thrusts.

Her heart was a pandemonium screaming out for him. And with every elated thrash of her pulse, he felt the marking behind his ear stirring in dreamy tingles.

He felt nauseous.

Until, it finally subsided.

Astarion slipped out of her as she was coming down from her orgasm, kneeling back on his knees. Tav rolled over onto her side in the fetal position, billowing noises like a gentle lullaby.

“Would you like to lay next to me?”

He didn’t want to be touched. Not right now.

“As appetizing as you were, I need a few moments to arrange myself.”

“We can just lay here. Nothing more—if that’s what’s best for you,” she yawned.

What? Why?

Astarion didn’t respond, instead focusing on putting on his trousers. Tucking himself behind his lacings, he lowered himself to the forest floor, laying inches from the exhausted bard. He turned on his side, noticing she had already fallen into a deep trance.

He tested her slumber by stroking her arm with the back of his index finger. Tranquil mutterings passed through her sleeping lips. She had never looked so peaceful before. Her skin was suddenly softer to him, cooler to the touch from his earlier bite that devoid her of blood.

With discreet strokes, his fingertip outstretched to connect the beauty spots of her soul mark. They were coffee shaded dots, compromising the shape of a falling star—or so it appeared to him.

There were very few things Astarion could recall from his mortal life, but seeing this—knowing the same marking was imprinted on his flesh—for the first time in two centuries, filled him with rage.

It was a painful reminder of everything he had lost, including the ability to experience real connection with another. His history that should have remained underneath six feet of dirt in the graveyard that housed his tombstone.

A piece of his humanity: once lost in time, now a living memory.

[jazda-iga]

"I don’t suggest or hint at anything. She has trainers for that." - interview with Iga Swiatek's father

The interview was translated from Polish:

**In your relationship, are you the one who motivates Iga to keep pushing the limits of endurance, for example, by training in a mask to improve fitness?**

Iga is so intelligent and independent that we don’t even talk about it. I don’t suggest or hint at anything. She has trainers for that. I have stepped aside. Tomasz Wiktorowski is responsible for tennis issues, Maciej Ryszczuk for general preparation, and Daria Abramowicz for psychological matters. The team works very well, and they themselves make sure that the workload is at the right level.

**You and Iga live sports practically all year round. Can you talk about anything other than tennis?**

It’s amazing, but even when I come to Iga for tournaments and spend a lot of time with her, we don’t talk about tennis at all. We decided long ago that it’s impossible to live the sport all the time. Even during important tournaments, you have to escape with your thoughts from tennis, because constantly thinking about it would not do any good. The best tennis players are characterized by the fact that they devote one hundred percent of their time to the discipline - at training and during matches, possibly during post-match analysis. They devote the rest of their time to other issues.

**Don’t you miss your role as head of your daughter’s team?**

I’m glad I’m no longer one. I’ve never been a tennis player, so I’ll never feel it all as much as Iga and others do. Now she is the one who manages the team, makes the key decisions. She’s doing very well.

**Was it easy to cut yourself off like that?**

I didn’t cut myself off, after all, I’m still with her, I go to many tournaments. However, I try to have my own life and let Iga live and work as she wants. Before coming to the Olympics, I also talked to her about it. She agreed, she wanted me to be by her side during the tournament. I’m happy to be by her side as a parent. It really is more beneficial for everyone when there is a division of roles and competencies. The result is good results on the court. We are first and foremost a family, and family is not work. That’s what Iga has specialists for.

**Many parents can’t find themselves in just such a role....**

... And belong to the committee of crazy parents. Of course, it wasn’t easy for me at the beginning, but there was a moment when I processed a lot of things and understood what my role was. That, however, was quite early, even before Iga started her career in the WTA series. I’m glad I figured it out so quickly.

**Not so long ago, Magda Linette’s dad admitted that he had trouble focusing on his other responsibilities. Do you also experience your daughter’s matches so strongly?**

This is something that cannot be taught. When Iga enters the game well, there are indeed easier matches. I will admit that then I can actually relax. The match becomes a bit of such a self-play, and I watch the competition completely at ease. Still, there are some matches where you can see that Iga has difficulties from the beginning and struggles to play her tennis. This hurts me as a parent, but we have learned that losing is part of the sport. You can’t win all the time, especially in tennis.

**Isn’t it that with each success it becomes harder and harder to come to terms with Iga’s losing matches?**

Maybe, in fact, Iga has accustomed fans to the fact that most matches go quite easily for her. However, one should have a distance from this. It’s not that she has to win every match. I myself explain to her that she has already done so much that now she doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone and should focus on enjoying it.

**Can you say that you know your daughter so well that just by her stepping out on the court you are able to tell what kind of match it will be for her?**

It doesn’t work that way, because after all, every match has its phases. Tennis is interesting because practically until the end there is a possibility to make up even the biggest losses. However, I can see when the match is under her control, and when the bigger problems actually start.

**Many experts say that during the Olympic Games we didn’t watch the real Iga, that she was too tense, nervous. What do you make of this?**

The Olympic tournament is special because it is unique and is played only every four years. The extra stress was evident not only from Iga, but also from the other athletes. The favorites didn’t always win and it felt like a completely different burden.

**It seemed that until now such issues as too much external pressure had not affected Iga. Why was it different this time?**

The pressure to win the gold medal was very high, a lot of articles were written, everyone was already hanging this medal around Iga’s neck before the tournament, and this certainly did not help. Iga is only human. And it’s not like we push a button, the machine will go out on the court, win all the matches and leave Paris with the gold. I saw up close how much this tournament cost her, how stressed she was and how much she cared.

**Iga herself said that she cuts herself off from the media for the duration of the tournaments, but you probably read them. How do you react to some of the experts’ opinions, such as the one about not having a plan B for the matches?**

People write all sorts of things, but I decided from the beginning that I would not fight windmills. If I wanted to straighten out wrong assumptions, I wouldn’t do anything else, and I don’t have time for that. People judge differently, but it has the common feature that when it goes well, almost everyone praises, and when there is one stumble or loss, immediately the criticism begins. It’s hard to say what this is due to.

**I understand that you as a father are hurt by the critical comments against your daughter, but I think you have to admit that this is not the norm, that it is incidental.**

My point is not to elevate her on a pedestal, but to treat her like a human being who also needs support and is not an insensitive machine. I wish she could feel appreciated even in her weaker moments. It’s great that there are a lot of fans who give support and positive comments or messages also in more difficult moments.

**Do you have any examples of specific allegations that have outraged you the most?**

I’m not going to talk about specifics, because it’s pointless. However, the point is that many “experts” speak up, although they have absolutely no idea about the factors that affect performance and career or tennis development. They make theses that are often not supported by reality. This does not lead to anything, but creates chaos. However, I realize that I can’t fix the world by myself.

**Do you wonder how long Iga’s dominance can continue? Are you afraid of a real crisis?**

I’m not afraid of that at all, because it’s clear that there will come a moment when she trains or plays worse. Or simply the motivation will be less. This is part of life and sport. In her case, it’s all a matter of intrinsic motivation. If she drops for various reasons, it is clear that the ranking position will also drop. However, I don’t think it will be a drama. This is the natural course of things, after all, life is not a straight line going upwards only.

**Do you think Iga is ready for something like this? Are you preparing for such a moment?**

We don’t talk about it. The key is for Iga to continue wanting to do what she likes. So that after one tournament she still feels like going to the next one and competing. I assume that she is young enough and motivated enough to achieve more success that she treats her career as a great adventure. We are enjoying it all and doing everything we can to help her seize the moment.

**In the past, there were times when Iga called you and had moments of doubt about the sense of what she was doing?**

There were no such radical cases, but Iga pays attention to the WTA calendar, which forces players to constantly move and play with great frequency. After all, more and more tournaments are compulsory, and tournaments such as the Olympic Games have little room in the calendar, as this edition showed - they require an unfavorable change of surface twice. Such a system will lead to a decrease in the quality and level of play of the players. Already there are a lot of injuries, injuries or simple fatigue. All this causes the rank of the tournaments to drop. Fortunately, Iga is physically well-prepared and for the time being is able to manage the load properly, but it is a very demanding process.

Interviewed by Mateusz Puka, journalist at WP SportoweFakty

[coqxettee]

Why I love being a girl ♡

- January 8th 2023 -

Written by Kellen-Pippa Beckett (@coqxette)

I adore being a girl. 💋

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve been literally living my mornings, afternoons and evenings on Pinterest, and as I’ve been scrolling, I’ve come across so many pretty pictures, of simple girly things that just make me so happy. Bottles of perfume, lipgloss, other pretty girls, pink clothes, bags, shoes, outfit combinations, pretty bedrooms, skincare, makeup. All kind of things I didn’t ever used to particularly romanticise and see the true beauty of up until this year. Since January I’ve not taken anything for granted, in terms of enjoying my life on this planet as a girl. There’s so many things I love to do, that I just don’t often think about. But since the beginning of 2023, I’ve been doing so many little girly tasks and activities, and I thought I’d share them with you 🎀

Girly habits to have: (@coqxette)

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🎀 Take a shower every morning, using the sweetest, sugary, and most divine shower products you can

🎀 Invest in cotton candy scented soaps, scrubs, shower gel, body lotion, hand cream

🎀 Have pretty makeup products. This will motivate you to want to do your makeup on days your not feeling it

🎀 Lipgloss & Mascara are essentials. Keep them in your purse for quick top up’s throughout the day

🎀 In your purse keep genuine essentials. A tiny mirror, hairbrush, lipgloss & mascara, headphones, emergency money and tissues/hand sanitiser

🎀 Save up your money. You know that one thing you’ve wanted for ages? (Dior bag for me ) Put some money aside each month to eventually pay out for it

🎀 Devote every Sunday to a pamper day. (Or one day a week) Wash your hair, manicure, pedicure, exfoliate, moisturiser, do a face mask, hair mask The lot ✨

🎀 Get an early night for an early morning, and do one girly thing before bed. Read a beautiful story, listen to soft music or your favourite song, watch a comfort episode of your favourite show. But try not to go on a screen 45 minutes before you actually sleep

🎀 Take time out of your day to do things YOU enjoy, playing a video game, reading a book, whatever you enjoy doing. Self care is important too

🎀 If the weather is appropriate, go on daily walks. I live in the countryside in the UK, so the weather isn’t always on my side but for people that live in hot climates, don’t take your beautiful weather for granted!

🎀 Even on windy days, a compact brush goes a long way. Keep your hair healthy, maintained. Have a hair care routine, and go to the hairdressers every 1-2 months (if you can) if you want that extra pampering feeling

🎀 Thrift to find the best stuff! Designer clothes are heavenly, but nearly ALL of my clothes are thrifted! (Some thrifted things are cuter than designer) and you can find so many vintage sales! Check TK/J MAX for Juicy Couture)

🎀 Maintain a healthy diet, but never fear to compensate when it’s that time of the month 🤒 One of my favourite, (but healthy in moderation) sweet treats are dark chocolates and it can help with cramps, so it’s a win win!

🎀 Paint your nails pink. Baby pink, hot pink, dusty pink. Just… pink

🎀 Invest in some new girly stationary. Pink notepads, pink pens. Girly stationary = girly notes & girly planning

🎀 If it’s pink and girly, buy it :)

🎀 Collect pretty jewellery! Silver or gold, or pink :))

🎀 If exercise is your thing, invest in some pink gym wear

🎀 Always keep a pair of earphones/headphones/AirPods with you to listen to girly music wherever you go. The world can seem so boring without pink, bubblegum music

🎀 Bored? Go shopping. Day off? Go shopping. No friends? Go shopping. Loads of friends? Go shopping

🎀 Have a signature scent, so people always know it’s you.

🎀 Have a box in your room dedicated to hair accessories.

🎀 Make your room girly! Pink floral bedsheets, a vanity, and fairy lights are all staples

🎀 Boys are cute but don’t obsess over them. Obsess over pink instead <3

🎀 Watch girly cartoons! It’s not childish and if it makes you happy, then it’s worth it. I love ANYTHING Barbie, I watch all of her content religiously :)

🎀 Start watching Barbie life in the dream house. This sounds niche but it’s SO cute and watching Barbie being effortlessly girly will imprint in your brain, trust meeeee

🎀 Lastly, and the most important of them all. Don’t force any of this. If your a girly girl, your a girly girl and there is nothing you can do about it! But these are just habits I tend to keep up, because I enjoy doing all of them. Don’t take being girly for granted, even when your just putting your perfume or body spray on before you go out, that’s such a lovely girly act, and remember that. Orrrrr maybe I’m just queen of over romanticising everything. Either way just implant these habits day by day and you will start to see girly changes <3

All my love… your homework is to try and do ONE of these girly things today, love you always. Stay girly, stay beautiful. - Kellen 🎀🛼