#but I’m wondering if there’d be anything else

[sadiecoocoo]

So if Tech did survive that fall (please let him be alive) do you think he would have to some prosthetics like echo? Like he’d need new legs or something, probably more than that but yknow

Need this for a fic… even tho it’s not at all tech centric lol (just set in an au where everyone is happy and back together and go back to doing bounties [havent decided if it’s bounties or if they do jobs for Rex when he needs it… possibly both])… it’s wrecker whump :}

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[pupyuj]

Need ur thoughts on baby daddy ive unnies 😊

since i’ve already covered jiwon and yujin before i’m only gonna do gaeul, rei, and wony here! 💕💕

[cw: pregnancy, lactation kink]

gaeul would be the sweetest baby daddy ever :(( i like the idea of the two of you being a long term couple who everybody always assumes that are married but actually aren’t 😭 and naturally gaeul would want a kid with you but due to thinking that you might not want one yet or ever, she ends up just staying quiet about it until you bring it up, in which her eyes literally light up as soon as you say “i’d love to have your baby” one night during a heart to heart 🥺🥺 after that talk, the two of you would then try to get pregnant every time you fuck! there’d be a different kind of hunger in gaeul’s eyes every time she’s on top of you—she fucks you in a way that feels good for you and her and to top it all off, she’s making sure not to waste a drop of her cum 😵‍💫 promises you so many sweet things in your ear after every thrust 🥺 things such as: “i’m gonna give you however many of my babies you want” and even taunting you almost?? “you want that, hm? you wanna be a mommy, my love??” 🤤💕 of course countless nights spent fucking and being a nightmare for your neighbours results in you having a perfectly healthy child in your belly months later 💞 now ik ya’ll were expecting something nasty and allat but gaeul is just . the angel ever so this was mostly just soft hours 😭

rei and her baby daddy moment would come as a welcome surprise methinks 🤓 getting you pregnant was neither planned nor unplanned 😭 yes, she frequently daydreamed about starting a family with her one true love but she wasn’t actively trying to knock you up every time you fucked! in fact, reibear is very careful and strict when it came to protection bcs the last thing she wanted to do was give you a baby you didn’t ask for 💀 so she was shocked in the best way when you gave her the big news with the happiest look on your face 🥺💞 rei would hug you, spin you around, then jump about the room with you before stopping abruptly to ask you if you really are happy with all of this and when you answer “yes” (bcs of course!!), she would jump around with you again 😭😭 ah, rei would be so happy that she’d just pick you up, put you on top of her desk, and give you the best head she’s ever given you in all your years of dating 🥰 and she’d honestly have an obsession with eating you out throughout your pregnancy and it is not just because she’s addicted to your taste! there’d be this whole misunderstanding where you’d start thinking that maybe rei was starting to get the ick seeing your stomach get bigger as her child grows inside you when really she’s… scared to do anything else 💀 hell, you’d even catch rei jerking herself off alone in your shared bedroom and she’d explain that she’d just been afraid to fuck you properly bcs she didn’t want to potentially hurt you and the kid ☹️

ofc you’d reassure rei with both words annnnd… riding her reverse cowgirl style and proving that you can be safe having sex while pregnant! 💕 and now onto actual baby daddy stuff; rei takes it all very seriously to the point where it’s so endearing 😭💘 she’s always on high alert when it comes to your needs and there’s never a moment where she’s far away enough to not immediately be there when you need her, such a sweet girl 🥺☹️ she’s giving your baby bump kisses, caressing it, staring lovingly at you while you take a nap in her arms… SHE’S JUST A WONDERFUL MOMMY UEUEUE 💔💔

wonyoung acts like a kid who has just been given a new toy when you drop the news on her head in the middle of a lovely friday afternoon after coming home from a doctor to confirm that yes, you are in fact pregnant with jang wonyoung’s child! and when i tell ya’ll she’s locked tf IN throughout your entire pregnancy.. 😭 actually leaves work to always be in the house and take care of you, never ever leaves your side, actually loses her mind when you so much as trip on air or get a paper cut, and is clingy and overprotective to the point it’s kinda annoying?? 😭 like you would actually have to sit her down and tell her to not stress about you and the kid bcs she’s already doing so much for the two of you 🥺 ofc she’d calm down then and be a bit more tame around you! 😭💞 ugh, wonyoung would be so sweet�� constantly talking to your stomach in this baby voice and getting so happy when she puts her hand on it and feel your baby kick 🥺🥺 seeing you so happy carrying her child just makes her want to make more! and this is where her clinginess became rlly adorable bcs she’d just stare at you with shining eyes and a lil pout… you’d think she’s just being cute for no reason but nopeee~ let your eyes wander down a bit further and you’ll her cock fighting against the fabric of her jean shorts 🤤☺️

wonyoung would absolutely not let you do anything that requires you to do too much so she would actually have you sat on the couch while she’s standing up with her dick all hard and up in your face 😵‍💫 and even though you’re only using your hands and mouth on her, wonyoung is still asking you if you’re doing okay, praising you endlessly, and rewarding your hard work with the loveliest of moans, whines, and the softest hair pulling 🥰 cums all over your face, neck, chest area, and your tits… the sight of her seed dripping down your breasts just gives wonyoung the idea of her newest obsession! wonyoung + lactation kink is just a match made in heaven okay?? it’s impossible to not picture her just getting absolutely turned on at the idea of getting a taste of your breast milk and then actually going ahead to do exactly that when you decide to entertain her fantasy 🤤🤤 and she cums in her underwear while she does it. oops 🤭

[orangecatsmissingbraincell]

Her First Time, Laura Lee x Reader

Minors do not interact. This is my first time writing actual smut here so sorry if it’s a little wonky at moments. This isn’t proofread, it’s just very stream of conscious

“Just checking one last time, you’re absolutely good with this?” You asked Laura Lee as you closed her bedroom door

There’d been an awkward tension between you two for the past few days. It all started, like so many other things do, at one of Jackie’s parties. She was drinking her soda out of a red solo cup so she didn’t feel too othered, but accidents happen and she accidentally switched with Natalie. She was drunk off her ass before anyone realized it, and you spent your afternoon taking care of her. That alone was no big deal, but she impulsively kissed you. You were too shocked to do anything at first, but couldn’t resist that blonde and the two of you made out in secret. You two weren’t quite dating, it was more of a friends who occasionally kiss situation, until now at least

Laura Lee gave you an enthusiastic nod from on the bed, quiet but eager. With that sign, you headed to meet her, crawling onto her bed and over her, pushing her flat on her back as your lips first made contact. You slid your arms behind her back and embraced her while your tongue entered her mouth. You could feel her heart pounding against you, and she felt yours

This was her first time doing anything like this, the strictness of her Catholicism always having been a mood killer. You still didn’t know exactly what it was that prompted this, but you knew better than to ask too many questions. Still, you weren’t going to jump straight in no matter how excited you were. This was something that had to be gently elicited. You started by using your knee to gently separate her legs and slowly pushed it against her shorts

“How’s that babe” you asked between kisses

“Good…really good” she panted out

“I’m gonna slip your shirt off now, okay?”

She nodded and helped you. Her complexion was paler than you’d expect for a soccer player, almost porcelain with a few freckles along her chest. “That’s fucking perfect,” you said before unhooking her bra. The sight was better than you’d ever expected. You immediately moved to kiss her pallid chest, savoring her taste with every single kiss before finally moving down to her tit. It took one single flick of the tongue before it hardened. She was immediately gasping. “Fuck you’re sensitive,” you teased. Her hand went to grab a lock of your hair. Her other hand pawed around her nightstand and flipped over her icon of the Saint Francis to hide her indecency

Her back arched from the pleasure. You couldn’t help but giggle a little at it. It was barely anything, but for someone as untouched as her it was so, so intense. You switched sides to give her other tit some attention too. This time though, you decided to leave a little hickey right above. No one else would see it but the two of you would always know it’s there. Every single flick of the tongue prompted a sharp moan. They were almost squeaks, high pitched and thin and desperate. After spending longer than you planned just on her tits you tossed your shirt off too. Laura Lee stared at your chest in an innocent wonder, admiring the curves of your body before her eyes locked right onto your tits. You leaned back down to kiss her one more time, pushing your chests together, before moving to her cheek, then her neck. After a playful bite you moved down her collar, then chest, then abs, leaving a trail of kisses until finally your face was hovering over her shorts. You yanked them down to her knees and she kicked them off

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful,” you said at the sight. You were stunned at how wet she was. Before she asked what you were going to do, you had already moved your tongue in. You grabbed her thighs, which were well muscled from her time in soccer. Her moans were rapid and sharp. “Babe…” Laura Lee purred as you pleasured her. She closed her eyes and let that warm euphoria course through her. Her thighs clenched and held you tightly in place. She was a needy thing who just needed a chance, you realized. She was squirming so much you practically had to grab her just so you could keep eating her out. Laura Lee whimpered when you grabbed her

“Babe…I’m really close,” she whined out. You kept going at a slow pace, trying to fight the urge to go as fast as you could. Even when she gripped your hair, you kept lapping your tongue gently and slowly until finally her hips gave out. A series of gasps and whimpers came from her, followed by a long, deep moan as she squirted right on your face. There was an entire lifetime of repressed sexuality that all came out in that moment. You gave a few more licks just to make sure she was absolutely done. She was panting when you broke away and wiped her juices off. “You did really good baby” you said softly. Laura Lee was blushing from her cheeks all the way to her chest

“That was…wow…” was all she could say at first. You were about to come up spoon her before she suddenly asked you “Can I try?” in that sweet voice that always made you cave.

You smiled at the question. “You don’t even have to ask,” you said as you got on your back and slid your pants off. “I’ll walk you through it.”

When she got into position, you gave her clear instructions on how to use her tongue. It was a little awkward at first, but endearing. “You’re doing great princess” you said as you pet her blonde hair. Her tongue finally found the right spot for you. It caught you off guard, since you thought she wouldn’t find it on her own. She was about to break away to ask you but you immediately shoved her back in. “Slow down, ‘kay babe?”

You groaned from the pleasure, a more throaty sound than what Laura Lee would make. “You’re doing so good. You look so pretty down there.” You grabbed a fistful of her hair and held her in place when you got close. “Now don’t fucking stop, okay?” She pushed through even as she ran low on breath because she was that desperate to thank you. The pleasure ran through you like a fire burning your insides and finally you crossed the tipping point. “Fuck L!” You shouted as you came on her pretty face. She wasn’t expecting that and flinched, causing the both of you to laugh

You helped pull her back up, the both of you feeling hazy from it all. “We might make a slut out of you yet,” you said in a satisfied voice before pulling her in to taste yourself on her lips. You broke off and stared into her eyes. “How do you feel”

“Different…but a good different.” She sounded embarrassed by it

“You did so good though.” You said pulling her onto your chest. She let out a long sigh. Mood drops could happen after all the hormones went away, and you were absolutely determined to keep that from happening. She pressed her face into your collar

“Are you tired already?” You ask with a teasing cadence. “Or do you have another round in you”

“I think we should wait a bit,” she said with a warm smile. You planted a kiss on her forehead and she let out a soft laugh at that

“Okay, go ahead and rest up, but I’m not done with you just yet.”

As she took her time to recover, you were thinking of all the different things you could try with her. She was the perfect canvas for you to paint all sorts of desires on, but for now you held her close. You laughed just a bit when she fell asleep on your chest

“God…such a baby” you said

[mysteriousrainsworld]

a funfair date

pairing: bf! yunho x gf! reader

genre: fluff, slice of life

summary: you’ve been wanting to go to the funfair to relive your childhood. now that you’re with yunho, you can make even better memories.

word count: 2.5k (2,515)

warnings: uhh reader is a bit (maybe a lot) shy, yunho leaves (only for a bit!) and she feels a little anxious, bf! yunho understands her needs better than her, uhh anything else and there’d be no point in reading?😭 OH pet names: baby (overused i’m sorry😓), my love, honey, my precious baby

author’s note: this was very self indulgent lol. my first ever fic 😱 i’ve had so many ideas but this is the first that i actually fully wrote cos i just wanna go to the funfair rn and would it be so bad to go with yunho :/. anyways, hope you love it and i would appreciate feedback 😋 ALSO ignore any grammatical errors lmao i went back and forth so much trying to make it all present tense but my brain hurt :/ leave me alone regarding that lol. enjoyyy!

“one sec, baby, i’ll be right back.”

your eyes widen as your boyfriend leaves your side. you turn to view his retreating figure, too embarrassed because of the people behind you in line to call out to him.

“y-yunho…?” you murmur, confused and a bit anxious as to why he suddenly left you alone.

“next!”

it was hook a duck, a game at funfairs you played often and loved as a child. you were so excited to be here with yunho, wanting to experience the loud lights in the dark hours of winter at 5pm. yet now it seemed like you were going to do the first activity by yourself. you’re given the rod and you aim for a duck to latch onto. as you’re about to hook one on, yunho’s voice hits your ears causing you to knock into the duck you were about to catch. before the stand owner could sense a failure, you quickly hook your duck, smiling to the owner for your prize but then glaring at yunho for his interruption and his prior exit. he’s oblivious to this though, eyeing the prizes as if he had a choice.

“so, what would you like?”

you turn your face to the multitude of plushies that came in all sizes, yet you knew for this game you could only have a small one.

“hmmm…”

“baby, they have the me to you tatty teddy bear! you love those.”

it was true, for some reason that bear was precious to you since you were young and as much as you wanted to refute yunho because of your slight annoyance with him, you couldn’t deny your love for that specific teddy.

“i’ll have that one, please.”

“here you go.”

“thank you!” you beam at the owner before turning around, walking towards the rides with your teddy in tow.

“where on earth did you go? you left me all alone,” you pout at yunho with furrowed brows.

“i went to get this.” only now do you realise he was hiding his hands away from your vision. he shows you the cotton candy he got and you make a face.

“yunho, you know i don’t like that.”

he pouts back at you, “oh, i know baby, that’s why i got you this.”

that’s when you see what he was hiding with his other hand: a blue and red slushie. your desperation to continue being annoyed with him wasn’t as big as your need to have something sweet on your tongue, so you take the large cup from him and relish in the taste. he grins at you, happy to see you satisfied.

“thank you, yunho.”

“no worries, baby. where to next?”

you look around at the rides, pretending to wonder about what to first ride on when you knew you already had made a plan before your trip. yunho knew this too but pretends to wonder with you.

“how about the…”

“the…”

you giggle as you look at him with hearts in your eyes, “the miami trip ride?”

“perfect, baby. lead the way.”

you wrap your arm around his and walk towards the ride, yunho putting his cotton candy stick in the bin on the way. as you approach the line, the usual nerves overtake you. you sip on some of your slushie hoping to keep calm but yunho can sense your nervousness.

“hey. baby.”

“yeah?”

“i’m excited,” he smiles at you so wide his glasses bunch up on his nose.

despite your nerves, yunho’s words help you voice your own excitement, “me too! i can’t wait.” you smile at him, grateful for his grounding presence.

finally, you’re allowed access to the seats of the ride. yunho knew you didn’t like sitting next to strangers so he sits next to you whilst you sit on the end. as soon as everyone is seated, the ride starts, slowly at first and then building momentum, going faster and faster which caused your stomach to have butterflies every time the ride came rushing down. it wasn’t too high but you could still get an overall view of the park, allowing your mind to capture the full picture of the aesthetic of the funfair. soon, the ride comes to an end and yunho helps you out. you pick up your slushie from where you had placed it on the ground and grab yunho’s hand to lead him to the next ride, adrenaline coursing through you.

luckily there was space for more people to join so you and yunho were admitted into the tagada ride without having to wait in line.

you sit in the middle where there was space and the ride begins. similar to the other ride, you were going at a soft pace until the conductor wanted to shake things up and started making it spin faster, making more bumps occur. a few times your legs lift into the air with your arms held onto the railing behind you. to stop you from momentarily levitating, yunho placed one of his long legs over your lap, securing you in place. you may not admit it but this is what you wanted the outcome of this ride to be: you held by him. you heart flutters but you try not to let your giddiness at his action show too much. he seemed content with keeping you safe and that was enough for the both of you. some other people did fall and you felt bad for finding it funny so you tried to hide your face behind yunho’s shoulder. eventually, the fun was over and you both headed to the next ride, not as disorientated as everyone else.

you once again had yunho’s hand in yours and was about to beeline to the next ride when he pulls you back. it was a bit comic, the way your leg stuck out only to fall back into his arms.

“how about we take a five minute break, yeah?” he speaks into your ear. it tickles but you couldn’t help the smirk that falls over your features.

you face him. “why? you getting scared?”

he chuckles at you. “no, baby, just thinking we don’t wanna waste all our energy now and be too tired to enjoy the rest of our time.”

he looks at you knowingly and you lower your gaze to the side. he was talking about you of course, since you tended to get overexcited when you were happy and that led to early burnout.

“okay, let’s find a bench to sit on.”

due to it being the middle of winter, the cold bit at exposed fingertips and noses with a dark azure blanket covering the park, which meant there weren’t as many people at the funfair than there would have been during the summer. you didn’t mind this at all, savouring the music from the rides travelling through the air.

“come here, baby.” yunho wraps one of his arms around you to pull you closer.

“yunho, i’m about to sit on your lap!”

“so? sit on it.”

“nooo! people will see us.”

“and? we’re just tryna keep warm.”

“i’m warm enough,” you huff at him.

“i want you to be warm more than enough.”

you look at yunho’s face and see the sincerity in it. the bright lights surrounding you two reflect from his glasses, looking like he was shooting stars from his eyes.

“being here with you is more than enough. i’m content. even tho the weather is freezing, i feel warm when i’m with you.”

because of the cold, because of your words, whichever it was, a light pink tint crept upon yunho’s face. you wanted to kiss him, just a peck, maybe even on the nose but your awareness of other people made you hold back. just as you were about to turn to get up, yunho’s face drops to yours and places a sweet kiss on your lips. he lingers but not for long, speaking just a breath away from you, “i love you.” it was your turn to blush.

before your shyness could overtake you, yunho gets up holding your hand and leads you to the next ride.

“wait, how did you know this was next?”

“mmm, just had an inkling.” he winks at you and you shake your head laughing.

it was time for one of your all time childhood favourites.

after waiting in line for less than five minutes, you and yunho sit in a cart and push the barrier over yourselves to make sure you were secure so that you wouldn’t fall out. when everyone was ready, the ride came to life, with its blinding lights and powerful music. you start moving forward, going up and down as if riding the waves of a smooth ocean. it starts to pick up pace and after a few minutes, your cart begins spinning, turning side to side. it felt like you were in a chaotic ballroom, where the moves were the same but harsher and with upbeat tunes. you fight to keep your eyes open, the intensity making you want to just snuggle against yunho. but you keep your hands on the handle and continue to enjoy the ride.

when it ends, you have to hold onto yunho for support, feeling a bit dizzy. he grasps your waist as he gets you both out of the ride and back on the ground.

“wow.”

“you okay, baby?”

“yeah, that was … a lot than i remember. but i’m okay! but… can we sit down… heh…?”

“of course we can, my love.” yunho smiles as he guides you to the bench you were sat on previously. he didn’t sit down with you, choosing to stand with his arms crossed, looking around as you gather your senses.

“hey, baby. how bout we go on the teacups?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“the teacups?” they aren’t a part of your plan, yet you don’t want to say no either. if you ride them for a bit, it would allow you more time to spend with yunho, and that was the whole point of today. “okay, help me up.”

he grabs both of your hands and then you make your way to the multicoloured teacups awaiting someone to sit in them.

it was getting late, meaning no children were scrambling to get on and you guessed maybe the remaining adults didn’t want to ride a stereotypical children’s ride, which was a bonus for you.

“go on, baby, go pick one.”

you didn’t think about it and just walked until you felt satisfied.

“i see, your favourite colour, honey.”

“oh. oh yeah.” maybe that’s why the green one felt right to you.

the teacups started moving and the whole ride was relatively slow, but that didn’t bother you as you felt calm. you and yunho spin your own teacup for a bit of fun but you mainly enjoyed each other’s presence, basking in the warm glow of the lights above.

it ends sooner than you expect. you drag your tired legs from the teacup and hold yunho’s hand as you both get off the ride. it was time for the next phase of your plan but it didn’t feel right to carry out yet. you didn’t know what to do in the meantime, eyes desperately flicking between the stands and rides that surrounded you.

yunho gasps, which scares you. “what?”

he points at a truck towards his left, a little closer to the end of the park. “churros.”

“oh,” you sigh in relief. “you want some?”

“do you?”

“hmm, yeah actually. let’s get some.” you smile up at him as you hold onto his arm, making your way there.

once you acquire the churros with the accompanying chocolate dip, you feel it’s the right moment.

“yunho, let’s have these whilst we ride the ferris wheel.”

he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and awe. “baby, that’s such a good idea. let’s go.”

finally, the last stop of the day. there were a few other couples getting on the ferris wheel as well, which annoyed you slightly, but you were grateful for the ride conductor for spacing out the people between the carts.

you get in with yunho and your churros, sitting down facing each other. at first, you sit in silence, the pair of you quietly enjoying the sweet treat, occasionally looking out down below. once you finish eating, you could only stare at yunho. shyness crept upon you for a second time that day and you try to avoid eye contact with him. you wanted this alone time together but could hardly handle being alone with him so intimately, let alone initiate anything.

yunho continues to look at your flustered figure, noticing how stiff your body was compared to your eyes flittering all around the cart. he tilts his head with a light smile, finding it cute how hot and bothered you became around him.

without a word, he pulls you onto his lap. you were about to pull away but this only made him hold you closer.

“shh, baby. we’re all alone. we’ll be fine.”

as he said that, the cart stops and you look out the window to see you were at the very top. just like you wanted.

yunho could sense you were too shy to make a move you had planned to make so he wanted to help you. he moves his face to yours so he could look straight into your eyes. you felt yourself warm up, contrary to the weather outside. holding onto his collar, you make yourself look back into his eyes, even if that had you slightly quivering.

“baby,” he speaks on your lips and your eyelids flutter. you will yourself to not shut them completely, resuming the staring contest.

he smiles against you. “ba-“ before he could finish the word, you press you face to his to close the gap, lightly kissing him. after a few (very long) seconds, you pull away, your eyes wide as if you didn’t expect yourself to make the first move. but you did, and yunho was so proud of you.

“my precious baby, kissing me first, hm?” you were ready to hide your face in his chest but he places his hands on your cheeks to keep you in place. “i loved it, should do it more often.” you whine at his words but you both knew how much that filled you with confidence.

the ride starts again, taking you down to the surface where you would have to depart. you wrap you arms around yunho’s neck and whisper in his ear, “i love you, yunho.” even though you were the only ones who would have heard it, your soft voice highlights the vulnerability you feel in the moment.

“i know, baby. i love you too.”

as you near the bottom, yunho gently places you on the seat you were sitting on opposite him and soon the doors open. you look at each other as you have everything you needed, walking out with your hands entwined and your tatty teddy bear in the other.

[goosewriting]

Our New Empire

summary: reader and Cal dress up for a costume party and share a moment alone.

relationship: college!AU Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, maybe second-hand embarrassment lol, kissing

word count: 1.5k

A/N: inspiration struck just in time for valentine’s day! this one’s for @soka-writes-things <3 thank you for your support always and for your patience, this took a while :’) <3 this is technically a spin-off to class is now in session. i hope you’ll enjoy all the meta references xD

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Every year, the university would host a handful of events, mainly for the freshmen to meet new people and explore the campus. Many of the older students still like to attend, though; the university does know how to throw a party, after all. You’ve been looking forward to it for months, and even pitched an idea to your faculty to make it a costume party. To your delight, everyone was immediately on board. 

Luckily, the organisation went without a hitch, and everyone even pitched in for food and decor. Since the event would become more of a party than anything else, the university would allow for it to still be held in one of the bigger halls, with the condition that there’d be an assigned group of people who’d stay and clean up afterwards. So the faculty held two raffles: one for prizes and one for the clean-up crew. The latter was announced before the event, and you and Cal both got drawn. But neither of you minded, as some of your friends got drawn too, so at least you know you’d have a good time with them. 

As for the party, you decided to dress up as Jedi Knights from that one movie, ‘Galactic Conflicts’. When you found out that Cal is also a fan, you were delighted, and you easily settled on matching costumes. Others also wore costumes from the franchise, and you’d go up to them with your plastic sword and challenge them to a duel, quoting some lines here and there, happy when they’d play along.

An hour or so into the party, you start to feel your shenanigans catching up to you. The air in the main hall, which has been converted into a dance floor, is pretty stuffy, and the bass thrums in your ears. The several layers of robes you’re wearing are starting to cling to your skin since you’ve been running around, taking your Jedi role very seriously. So you decide to step outside for a while, and look for Cal while you’re at it. You lost your companion a while ago in the colourful mass of people. 

You navigate through the crowd, careful not to hit anyone with your sword, and head for one of the exits that leads onto an elevated patio. The evening air is pretty cool, and you breathe in deeply, welcoming the sensation. With your hands on your hips, you stand by the railing, looking down at the cobblestone path that snakes around a small pond. You wonder if there’s any fish in there, and if so, if you could get the chance to feed them. 

“Hello there!” 

You recognise the voice, and turn around with a chuckle, shaking your head. Standing on one of the nearby benches is Cal, his arm extended, sword aimed at you. The lamp post shines a halo-like light over him, his copper hair glistening with specks of red and gold, contrasting his dark robes.

“General Kestis,” you respond, playing along.

”I have the high ground,” he continues, striking a silly heroic pose from where he looms over you.

”That’s not how the lines go!” you laugh, and he shrugs, giving you a lopsided smile. 

“I was looking for you,” he says.

”Yeah?” You lift your sword, shifting into a battle pose. “You want me to kick your butt again?”

”I’m afraid it won’t be so easy this time,” he says, flicking the switch on his sword to elicit a whirring sound effect, and the blue colour changes to red. “I’ve turned to the dark side. It’s Darth Kestis, now.”

You hum, not bothering to cover the fact that you’re checking him out. 

“I have to say, for a Sith Lord, you look really good,” you say, and Cal breaks character for a split second when he can’t hold back the smile spreading on his face. But he’s quick to return to his serious expression, jumping down from his bench and coaxing you to approach with his free hand.

”En garde!” you exclaim, holding your sword up, and he mirrors you so that your weapons form an X.

”That’s not-“ he breaks again with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Ah, never mind. Let’s go!”

You two play fight for a while, adding your own sound effects when your swords clash, throwing banter back and forth, switching to slow motion for particularly cool moves. It doesn’t take long for you to break out in laughter at the silly antics, unable to hold back any longer. This means you let your guard down, and in one swift move he swipes your sword from your hands, caging you against the railing. 

“Gotcha,” he says, panting softly; you two really took this seriously and are slightly out of breath.

”Oh no, whatever shall I do,” you say in mock distress, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead in an exaggerated manner. But the grin on your face betrays you. “So tell me, Darth Kestis. Did you perchance grow very powerful now that you’ve turned? Brought peace to the Republic?” 

“Indeed,” Cal responds, turning both swords off and clipping them to his belt. He places his hands on the railing on either side of you. 

“What about the younglings?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

”All safely evacuated, of course,” he retorts, looking like he might add something else, but he decides against it. Instead, he continues, ���I’ve brought peace, justice, freedom and security to our new Empire. I’ll overthrow the Chancellor. We can rule the galaxy together. You know how it goes.” 

His tone is so matter-of-fact, you raise a brow at him with a chuckle.

”So, will you join me? To rule together?” he asks, his tone surprisingly earnest, and it kind of makes your heart flutter a bit. 

Cal pushes himself off the metal bar, standing in front of you with an extended hand. In your mind, you can perfectly imagine your surroundings on the lava planet, everything bathed in reds and oranges. You give him a knowing smile, sighing dramatically.

”You know I always say the Queen should have gone with Vader.” Taking a step closer, you place your hand in his, and he brings it up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles. Without letting go, he lets his arm fall back down again. 

“So, what should our first official decree be?” he asks, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he comes even closer. You hum, as if musing it over, deep in thought. His face is so close to yours, you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks.

”Free healthcare for everyone,” you start, and he hums in agreement. “Retirement plans for the Clones. Guaranteed food and housing for all inhabitants.” 

“Anything else?” he asks in a whisper, his lips brushing over your ear, sending tingles all over your skin. 

“And once the government stabilises a bit, I’ll bring you back to the light.” 

Cal stops his ministrations, pulling back to look at you in surprise. 

“Emperor or not,” you continue, bringing your free hand to cup his face. “I’d never let you lose yourself.” At this point, the line between reality and role-play is blurred. You swallow, feeling the heat rush to your face as you add, “You mean too much to me. I’d never give you up.” 

Cal’s brows furrow for a moment, then an unreadable expression washes over his face, and you fear you’ve ruined the moment. You open your mouth to say something, but your words get swallowed by his lips capturing yours. A squeak of surprise escapes you as he kisses you with urgency, but you reciprocate, bringing your arms around him to pull him closer. Cal’s hands sneak around your waist, slipping underneath the outermost layer of robes which aren’t cinched by the belt, hugging you to him. 

After breaking for air momentarily, he tilts his head slightly and kisses you again, this time much calmer. He pushes against you and you take a couple steps back until your backside hits the railing, where the kisses shift into a slow make-out.

“Hey lovebirds!” a voice calls out to you suddenly, and you both flinch in surprise. Cal takes a step back to give you some space, holding onto your hand as he turns to the patio door. Sabine and Ezra wave at you from there and call you inside, several more heads peeking out as well to see the spectacle, and you hear a whistle or two accompanied by cheering.

You groan in embarrassment, burying your face into Cal’s shoulder, who laughs heartily, and you feel it vibrate through your whole body, heart still racing. 

”We’ll be right there!” Cal calls to the group, then turns back to you. He places one last kiss on your temple as he unclips your sword from his belt, offering it to you. 

“Ready to go recruit more people for our cause?” he asks with his boyish smile that you love so much.

You bring your hand up to run through his hair, smoothing it down a bit after messing it up, then take the weapon from his hand. 

“And take down anyone who stands in our way,” you reply, placing a quick kiss on the tip of his nose as you take off. “Race you!”

”Hey, no fair!” he calls after you with a laugh, already spotting another Jedi in the crowd. Truth is, he didn’t care if he turned to the dark or light, as long as he was with you.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

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[strawberrystepmom]

narumi x f!reader. implied long distance relationship. silly little fluff ft. kikoru 💖| wc 918, divider thanks to @cafekitsune

No sooner than when you’re finally able to melt into Narumi’s touch, his mouth effortlessly melding against yours, the pounding on the door begins.

“Open up!” Twin sighs leave both of you while twin fists beat on the door. Kikoru’s voice is echoing through the entire room, as bold as she is, and the dull throb at the back of your neck reminds you of just how tired and ready to relax you really are. “I know the import is in there!”

Despite the exhaustion that weighs you down after a very long international flight, you giggle and sigh. Gen glares at the door and wonders if his current annoyance is similar to a zombie or a snake; if the two of you can remain undetectable to her as long as you do not move or speak and she’ll leave. The pair of you wait it out another few seconds, glancing at each other expectantly, your fingers pushing his overgrown bangs off of his face.

“Now Narumi or I’m breaking the door again!”

You raise your brows in surprise, smirking. The man between your arms rolls his eyes, gradually peeling the blanket that is covering both of your (thankfully fully covered although if she’d shown up a few minutes later there’d be no guarantee) bodies back.

“Again? What have you been up to?”

He grumbles below his breath but you can’t quite make out what he’s saying while his bare feet touch the ground and he pads toward the door, flinging it open with the most unenthusiastic expression he can muster.

“Move.”

Kikoru shoves past him and spots you immediately, her blonde hair out of its usual style and flowing around her shoulders. She turns to him and motions for him to leave the room with her hand wordlessly.

“No. This is my room and this is my girlfriend and you can leave right now Shinomiya!”

She sticks her tongue out at him and you decide to sit up and make your way to the edge of the futon, rising fast enough to be captured into a hug. You laugh, hugging the younger woman back, glad to see her again although you could have waited until tomorrow.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting here today?” She whines while you immediately start braiding her hair as always despite the unavailability of anything to fasten your work with to make it stay.

“I figured you’d be asleep by the time I finally made it,” you shake your head, glancing over her shoulder toward your boyfriend whose frustration is practically an aura you can see radiating off of him.

“Besides, I gotta keep the Captain happy or else he’ll give you a really bad day tomorrow.”

The blonde scrunches her nose and lets go of you, stepping away. “Ew.”

You shrug. No need to elaborate further when she clearly gets it, arms folded over her chest. Her eyes dance between you and Gen, stopping to roll into the back of her skull.

Reaching to gently grab her shoulder, you smile in her direction, drawing one back from her. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow, okay?”

Now your offended boyfriend finally decides to voice his opinion, taking a few steps and situating himself between you and Kikoru, eyes wide. “No! Tomorrow we are going to that res—“

You shoot Gen a wide eyed glance and he immediately nods at you, picking up that you are trying to get her out of here. Placation isn’t exactly the kindest thing to do but you are tired and desperate for a few minutes of quiet time with the man you’ve given your heart to.

You will make good on your promise, you always do, but for now she needs to go. She looks at you over Gen’s shoulder with raised brows, arms tightly crossing her chest.

“Okay but if you bail on me I’m taking the door off and you’ll get no privacy at all, you got me?”

You salute, accepting the consequences if they are to come. Chances are he’ll be dragged off after training for other official JAKDF business and that will give you at least a few hours to be filled in on Kikoru’s latest crush or frustration that nobody gets her.

She turns on her heel and prepares to leave, glancing over her shoulder one final time. “Good night, import.”

You smile and wave her off, joining Narumi’s side to gently lean against him.

“Good night Kikoru, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Each step puts her further away and Gen mumbles under his breath, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. “What about me?”

“Don’t keep her too busy you gross asshole, we have a lot of catching up to do!” Shinomiya doesn’t bother turning around this time, only hollering over her shoulder with a flippant wave.

You shake your head and glance over at your beloved, the strongest man you’ve ever known, and rise to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Come on, you heard her. You better put in good work now while we still have time.”

Despite his annoyance, he chuckles down at you and slides that grip around your hip lower to cup your ass, taking a handful of cheek he has had to wait too long to feel again.

“Don’t forget who is in charge here,” he mutters, dipping his head to rest against your ear. You giggle and drag him toward the futon.

“Prove it.”

[sashayed]

have you heard that jordan peele said steven yeun's character is the one that has the most in common with him. have you thought about how most of his cinematic career has been built around discussions of race and the traumas that come from racism. have you thought about how any media handling real and personal topics is a sort of emotional self-disembowelment on the part of the creator. have you thought of the glory and horror of being Seen. have you screamed

Have I? HAVE i. Have I thought about how Peele has discussed being objectified and tokenized on set, especially early in his career? Have I thought about what it's like to suffer real-life trauma in a space created for make-believe? Buddy, I haven't thought about anything else for days!!

I think one thing that makes this movie so visceral to me is that it's an exploration by a great popular artist on the human cost of making popular art. To me, the connection between Peele and Jupe is a link between the auteur and the cult leader — both are people consumed & defined by stories, people who are compelled by a narrative and feel an urge to spread that narrative to an audience.

And I am really impressed by how hard Peele seems to work to reject the cult leader in himself as best he can — to make art that enriches the lives of ALL THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE IT. Every interview is about how collaborative and present he is as a director. Obsessed with this Q&A for many reasons but this moment sticks with me:

KEKE PALMER: There would be moments where we’re going through different parts of this script, this story, from when we first rehearsed to when we were actually on set, or when we had an idea that happened that morning. I would be listening, my head would be down, I’d be listening to what Jordan’s saying, I’m like, man this is deep. And I look up and there’d be just this one little tear falling. Man, this brother’s deep. JORDAN PEELE: I’m not afraid to cry as a director. KP: And he’s chill! He’d be like, “That’s what happens” and tears are falling. I’m like, “Are you all right?” But he keeps going and he’s like “Yeah, yeah. So that’s the thing.” And then he just walks out.

To me, that reads as a person who is NOT JUST super smart and deep and creative etc but who is also aware every moment of how lucky he is to be doing what he's doing, and who is not ashamed of his own reaction to that gratitude. What's to be ashamed of? It's incredibly fun! He is having an amazing time! He's hanging out with people he likes and respects and coating actors with goop in the esophageal tube! What a job!

I wonder if, to be that thankful and that aware (and that collaborative), you have to have experienced the flip side; if you have to have been Jupe, at least for a little while. I wonder if the process of -- to some extent -- commodifying your own suffering (as capitalism practically demands that artists do in order to survive as artists) leads, almost inevitably, to a moment where you think, "I survived this horror and became a Star because I am the main character of reality: I am more special than other people, I have a special ability to communicate, I have a special destiny." That is a powerful story and a seductive one, but if you don't leave it behind, it will eat you and the people around you alive.

It seems to me like an extension of what Peele is exploring in Us--the notion that your contentment is entangled with someone else's suffering. Why you? Why not the person with all your qualities who for whatever reason never ended up where you are? Especially for creators with marginalized identities, right? "Am I occupying a space that should belong to someone else?" You can avoid that question by deciding that you have special individual qualities that make you the Chosen One, as Jupe does. Or you can accept that the question will always haunt you, that luck (LUCKY THE FINAL HORSE??) has no logic, and you try to spread your luck out and open your space up to as many other people as you can. Which you see Peele doing all the time! Gah!!

[aewon]

the one that got away...then came back

jungwon x f!reader ☆ first love ☆ childhood friends to lovers! ☆ wc. 1k ☆ warnings: none

Jungwon was your first love. At the tender age of 10 you weren’t completely sure what love really was, but to you, in your eyes and mind, it was Jungwon.

You and Jungwon met at the age of 3 and had become attached at the hip.

You never went anywhere without Jungwon, Jungwon never went anywhere without you.

Growing up together there was never a dull moment.

You know that you and Jungwon are meant to be together.

There was no one else for you.

In Jungwon’s eyes, you were it for him.

Everyone saw it. Hell even your own parents saw it.

You knew there’d come a time where you could call Jungwon yours. It may not be now, but someday.

For now, you’re content with the way things are.

Except for one thing. There’s one thing you’ve wanted for a while, and you were hoping to get it.

You and Jungwon sat underneath your favorite tree. You call it 'your' spot. You carved both of your initials into it.

“If I asked you to do something for me, would you do it?” You asked, playing with a dandelion.

“I would do anything for you.”

“Then close your eyes.”

Jungwon looks at you confused but does as you say.

Seeing nothing but darkness, he feels you come closer to him, your breath hitting his face.

Then he feels your lips connect with his.

It’s quick, only lasting for a couple seconds, but after you part his eyes open in shock.

“You’re blushing,” you giggle, going back to your dandelion as if nothing happened.

“You…you kissed me!” Jungwon squeaks, a hand coming up to feel his lips.

“That I did. You said you’d do anything for me, that’s what I wanted.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted my first kiss to be with someone I love and trust.”

Jungwon can feel his cheeks heating up even more than they already were.

“Oh…okay. Well, I’m glad mine was you too.”

You don't speak about it after that. But you notice that Jungwon becomes increasingly clingy as the days pass.

You thought that Jungwon would be beside you always, until that day he came to your door, crying.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, pulling him in for a hug.

“My parents just told me we’re moving.”

You’re confused. “Like.. moving houses?”

“More like moving across the country.”

“What? Why!” You feel your own eyes begin to water, and before you know it, fat tears are rolling down your cheeks.

“They said my dad got a new job opportunity. We leave in a week.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t wanna leave you.”

You pull Jungwon closer, hugging him tighter.

“I don’t want you to leave either.”

“Promise me, you’ll always be mine?” He asks, putting out his pinky finger.

You link it with yours, twisting them, “I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always be mine.”

You and Jungwon spent your last week together at all your favorite places. The arcade, the park under your tree, the ice cream shop.

As he sits in the back seat of his parents car, you begin to cry as he does the same.

You wave goodbye, him following as the car departs.

You stand there for a while, crying, sniffling as your parents hug you.

That was 8 years ago.

The first year apart, you guys kept in touch. Facetiming and texting everyday.

But that started dissipating to once a month.

Before you knew it, you and Jungwon had stopped talking completely.

You made other friends, people you’d call your ride or die, but Jungwon still lingered in the back of your mind. You wondered if you lingered in his.

Here you are, 18 years old starting college, still thinking about your childhood love.

You’re anxious walking on campus. Your friend Hanni beside you is the only thing keeping you somewhat calm.

“Be excited! We’re finally starting college, we get to go to parties and have wild times.”

You chuckle, “The only wild times I’ll be having is in my dorm.”

Hanni pouts, “Come on, you should let loose, have fun while you can! Maybe find someone along the way.”

The thought of having someone has crossed your mind before, but it’s never been a priority for you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that Jungwon guy.”

“I’m not hung up! And he’s not just some guy, he’s someone very important to me.”

“Even now?” Hanni asks, looking at you solemnly.

“Even now,” you confirm.

You and Hanni find a seat on a bench, going over your class schedules.

Thankfully you have 2 classes together, so you won’t be alone.

Hanni is looking around at other people in the courtyard when she gasps.

“Cute guy at 4 o'clock.”

You look and see a group of guys, hanging out at one table.

“Which one?”

Hanni points to one wearing a gray hoodie with loose, acid washed jeans.

You recognize that face, and before Hanni can stop you, you’re getting up and walking in that direction.

She calls out your name but you don’t hear her, focused on what’s in front of you.

In seconds, you’re behind the gray hoodie guy and his friends are all looking at you, confused.

You feel tears start to form, “l never thought I’d see you again.”

You see his form freeze before quickly turning to face you.

“Y/N…”

Before you know it, you’re being crushed in a tight hug.

You wrap your arms around Jungwon, squeezing him just as tight.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, but was in fact only a few minutes.

“Look at you,” Jungwon says, standing back to look you up and down, “My pretty girl. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“Not as much as I’ve missed you.”

Jungwon cups your face, “Just let me look at you.”

You blush profusely, “Jungwon, stop.”

“What? I can’t look at you? I can’t admire how beautiful you are?”

“I guess you can, if you let me admire how handsome you are.”

Now it’s his turn to blush.

“Can you do something for me?” He asks.

“Anything.”

“Close your eyes.”

You do and soon feel his lips meeting yours.

It’s soft and slow.

You can faintly hear his friends whistling and clapping in the background.

When you separate, you’re both blushing up to your ears.

“You kissed me,” you say quietly, looking down at your shoes to avoid meeting his eyes.

“It was only right. I’d like to make up for lost time.”

“I’d like that too.”

— ahhh my first post on my new account!! hopefully it’s not too bad, i’m kinda rusty 🥹😭

here’s to more in the near future!

[dark-frosted-heart]

Choose Your True Love - Keith Howell (part 4/4)

This is the from the 4th anniversary event.

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. 

(—I didn’t expect this)

Alter!Keith: You don’t even look sleepy.

Emma: You’ll be surprised by how gutsy I can be.

Alter!Keith: So you’re saying you didn’t cry during the fight or when people were hurling insults?

Emma: Well…I wouldn’t say cry, but rather, I’ve gotten so angry I thought I’d explode.

Alter!Keith: Wish I did something about that. Would’ve been interesting to see you rage.

Moonlight dimly lit the room.

Prince Keith was sitting on my bed, staring down at me as I lay on my bed.

The way it felt like he was watching my every move made me so nervous, I wondered if he could hear my heart beating. 

Alter!Keith: … Sorry.

(...For what happened back at the estate, I’m guessing)

(I have a feeling he’s not used to apologizing)

The way he awkwardly looked away was so different from how cold he was toward the nobles. I felt some sort of adoration.

Emma: Just words?

Alter!Keith: Is there something you want?

Emma: I want you to sleep.

Alter!Keith: You’re still worried about these dark circles? Too bad I’m not feeling sleepy.

Emma: You might fall asleep if you just close your eyes.

Alter!Keith: I’m still not done dealing with those people, so there’ll be trouble if he comes to the front. …Well, causing trouble would be convenient for me.

Prince Keith snickered at that and I couldn’t sense his true intentions.

Suddenly, everything that happened today flashed before my eyes.

(Wicked Prince Keith didn’t have any obligation to put so much effort into taking over government affairs and work)

(The reason why he does what he does is for the sake of the nice Prince Keith)

(So much more than I could ever imagine…He only lives for the nice Prince Keith)

(Probably never for himself)

I tried to hold back the tears that started to well up as I continued to think about how he supported the nice Prince Keith all by himself, without anyone being aware.

(I’m frustrated by the fact that I can’t do anything to help, even when I’m right beside him)

(But I don’t want to keep being someone that can’t do anything)

Alter!Keith: Hm?

I sat up on the bed and turned toward him.

I then gently placed my hands over Prince Keith’s ears.

Alter!Keith: What are you doing?

Emma: Warming your ears can help you calm down and relax. There’s too many unpleasant feelings today and I want to make them go away. …Please let me at least do this.

(I want to help lift this burden, even if it’s just for now)

Alter!Keith: …

Prince Keith’s sigh melted into the dimly lit room.

Seeing the somewhat vulnerable look on his face after he released his pent- up emotions loosened the strings tightened around my heart.

Alter!Keith: That guy’s future fiancee sure is softhearted.

Emma: …How did you know?

Alter!Keith: You don’t look like the type to invite someone else to your room when you’re engaged.

A bony finger traced over the engagement ring on my finger that had two jade stones of different colors.

Alter!Keith: If you really are his fiancee in the future… Is that guy finally smiling?

(...This was what he wanted to ask back in the study)

Though he asked nonchalantly, there was an underlying desire in his voice.

Emma: …Yes, he’s smiling. So, so much. Every day, from morning to night, he’ll smile on various occasions. Whenever our eyes meet or we pass by each other, the smiles reach his eyes…Ah, when we made sweets the other day, I got so shy with how much he smiled. It was so cute… And before we sleep—mmph.

Alter!Keith: I didn’t tell you to gush about it.

(Hmm, I was doing that)

I nodded and he removed his hand from my mouth.

Alter!Keith: Well it sounds like he’s happy…else there’d be no point in me being around. … That guy came back.

(Ah…)

Emma: Even you smile just as much as him.

Alter!Keith: Huh…me?

Emma: Of course.

Alter!Keith: What…I didn’t disappear?

(Ah, I thought so)

~~ Flashback ~~

Alter!Keith: Haha, so I played with you in the future? Well, you do look gullible.

~~ End flashback ~~

(It’s been on his mind this whole time)

(The way he said it, he assumed he didn’t exist anymore in the future)

Since his very existence was supposed to be impossible, it’s only natural for him to think that way.

(But I don’t want him to assume that)

(I want Prince Keith of the past to know he has a future)

Emma: In the future, I’m engaged to both Prince Keiths. I love you both and you’re both more important to me than anything else.

Alter!Keith: …

Emma: That’s why I don’t want you to think you’re someone that will disappear. I won’t let you think that. I want you to remember that the both of you will be loved by a stubborn, greedy woman.

When I loosely laced my fingers with his, he awkwardly responded back.

It looked like he believed me.

Emma: I’m still new to it, so there’s only so much I can do to help you. But I definitely will become a strong woman who can support you.

Alter!Keith: You’ve already done enough. Actually, I… Your words saved me.

The last time I saw Prince Keith, he looked childish and at peace.

--

(Mmm…I’m in…)

Instead of moonlight, it was sunlight that streamed into the room through the windows. I squinted at the brightness.

When I sat up and looked around, I found myself in Prince Keith’s room.

(Everything that just happened was all a dream)

(It was a pretty realistic dream…my heart still aches a bit)

Alter!Keith: Thought you weren’t in your own room. You were here instead.

Emma: Ah…Prince Keith.

(Oh yeah. I was waiting for him in his room as he finished his official duties)

Alter!Keith: …

(What’s wrong?)

When Prince Keith came into the room, he immediately made his way toward me and sat on the bed.

He awkwardly patted my head.

Alter!Keith: You look like you wanna cry.

Emma: Ah…Well, I was remembering the dream I had.

Alter!Keith: …That so. Then nothing happened to you.

Emma: Sorry for worrying you.

Alter!Keith: Not forgiven.

Emma: Eep!

After nipping my neck, he wrapped his arms around my waist.

The pain in my chest faded away as he patted my back, similar to the way one would when comforting a child.

(Back then and now, Prince Keith’s kindness never changed)

Emma: Um, so your official duties…?

Alter!Keith: I’m done with them.

Emma: You finished pretty early today.

Alter!Keith: More precisely, I put an end to it. Wanted to spend time with you. Since it’s your day off, there’s no point in my working that hard in the first place.

(You say that, but I know you do your job perfectly)

(...So you want to spend time with me?)

Emma: Mnn…

He tilted my chin and captured my lips with his.

It felt a surge of happiness with love from our repeated touches.

We stared at each other and when I kissed him, he pushed me down onto the bed.

(Wicked Prince Keith has things he wants to do for himself now)

(Use his time for himself, and not for the sake of someone else)

Warmth spread in my chest.

(I want this to keep being the norm for him)

With that wish, I hugged my lover tightly.

[liminalmemories21]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @whatsintheboxmh, @nisbanisba, @carlos-in-glasses, @carlossreaders, @bonheur-cafe, @lemonlyman-dotcom, and @strandnreyes Thank you!

“What do either of us know about raising a child?” “I didn’t know anything about raising a child when I had Gabriella.” He bites his tongue before he says, “at least you wanted her,” because it’s not fair, and not even true.  He loves Jonah.  He just loves Jonah as TK’s little brother, Enzo’s son, not as a child he’d be responsible for. “Or when I had Elian,” she adds, like there’d been no too long pause.   “Yeah,” he says.  “It’s not really the same though, is it?” “Hmm, it could be though.  If you wanted it to be.” “TK wants it to be,” he mutters.  “He said he was okay with never having children, that we were enough, and then today he says he’s ready to be a father.  What am I even supposed to do with that?” “What did he say when you asked him?”  Ana asks practically, and he sometimes wonders what the inside of her marriage looks like where having a conversation like that wouldn’t feel like walking over hot coals.  Or maybe it does for her too, and she’s just so much braver than he is. “I know taking Jonah is the right thing to do, but I’m afraid I’d resent TK for it.  Maybe resent Jonah.  I’m afraid that I’d say yes because I’m afraid of losing TK.” She pauses, like she's picking her words carefully.  "None of those are questions I can answer for you.  Here is what I can tell you.  You would love Jonah.  You wouldn’t resent him.  That’s not the kind of man you are.  You would be a good father, because you would do your absolute best for him, because that is also the kind of man you are.” She pauses.  “I also think our childhood screwed you up more than I realized.”  And he barks a laugh.  “Look, Dad loved you, but he wasn't always the father you needed.   But, Carlos, if what you are afraid of is not listening to your son, not understanding him, the way that Dad didn’t understand you?  Then I want you to listen to me closely.  There's no prophecy here, you are not destined to be someone you don't want to be.  If that’s where you end up, it will be because that’s a path you chose, not one anyone else chose for you.”

tagging @freneticfloetry, @guardian-angle22, and @irispurpurea

[purriteen]

Ad victor spolia, chapter two

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years)

author's note: I feel like this chapter is kinda shitty since I’ve mostly written pure smut before, not to mention I haven’t written in English in a while so I’m still warming back up to the language & structure

but alright, since I've just been projectile vomiting words all day anyways y'all get two chapters at once this time mostly cause I myself couldn't wait to flesh out what happens next

word count: 3,345

Previous chapter

Next chapter

You struggled to fall asleep that night. You’d already come to the conclusion that slipping past the guards positioned along the tall metal fence or the main gate wouldn’t be possible, but at least, before you used to have the privilege of leaving the house and spending time in the garden whenever you wanted. Now you were truly trapped. Now that you needed to get out of here the most.

At first you’d enjoyed going for walks in the garden or having tea in one of the quaint greenhouses, until you discovered the one with those god awful rose bushes. The ones that reeked of your brother. You figured he didn’t tend to them himself, but that didn’t ease the disgust you felt whenever that familiar, overwhelming scent reached you. It was nauseating.

Even in his absence, everything reminded you of him, in the worst way possible. In every nook and cranny of the house there’d be a reminder that this was his home. For a moment you wondered if his signature scent had worn off on you; your shower was equipped with various settings and products, but it was always stacked with that familiar rose shampoo you could smell on him whenever he got close to you - too close for your liking -, without exceptions.

When you finally fell asleep, your face was raw and puffy from all the crying. You hadn’t even bathed or brushed your hair, or changed into one of the many pyjama sets in your wardrobe.

Then, at around seven in the morning according to your alarm clock, you awoke to the sound of keys rustling outside your door. You were relieved when you realised it wasn’t Coriolanus - he’d never make such an awkward entrance. Instead, your nanny maid stepped through the door. Eugenie. She looked even more anxious than usual. Perhaps she took pity on you - if only she knew. 

The two of you hardly spoke that early Friday morning. She’d brought something for you to eat, stacked on a silver tray. As if you needed another reminder of your complete lack of autonomy here, your own brother now wouldn’t even let you have breakfast in the kitchen anymore. At least he’d been generous enough to let you have something you could actually stand to eat, you supposed. A bowl of blueberries and grapes and a fresh loaf of bread with butter and marmalade, neatly plated next to it. 

You sat on the small couch in the corner of the room as you ate your breakfast, only managing to get small bites down. Watching Eugenie change your bedsheets and clean up after last night, you simply couldn’t think about anything else. That was enough to make your appetite vanish.

Once you were both done she gestured towards the bathroom, and you took the hint. She went in first and ran a warm bath for you, before leaving the room to give you some privacy. Finally you took a proper look at yourself for the first time since yesterday.

Your hair was a mess, but what worried you most was the prevailing handprint on the left side of your face. Three, four stripes of a faint purplish colour that was already fading to yellow in some places. You shakily inhaled, forcing yourself to keep it together. The last thing you needed was for Coriolanus to think he was getting to you, even if he was right.

Yet you still didn’t realise the extent of your injuries until you’d already sunk down into the bathtub, relatively comfortably so. You’d felt the swelling on the back of your head last night, of course, but it was almost worse now. All you wanted to do at the moment was fall back asleep, but the aching bump on the back of your skull made it impossible to rest your head anywhere without being in pain. 

A couple minutes later, Eugenie returned. This time with an ice pack in hand, which she carefully placed in your hand and guided it towards the back of your head. She flashed you an almost sorrowful, empathetic smile, before she stepped back and closed the door behind her.

You weren’t particularly fond of her, but you didn’t want to make the poor woman’s job any harder than it already was. So you made sure to thoroughly wash yourself before she got back. The sight of the dried blood from your scalp liquifying and mixing with the bathwater as you rinsed your hair made you feel nauseous. 

You wondered what dinner would be like. If he would pretend nothing happened yesterday, or perhaps dish out another beating. You still hadn’t entirely grasped everything that went down last night. Everything he had kept from you, above anything, the hatred he’d felt for you. The thought of your warm, outwardly unassuming cousin having to make such a sacrifice for you made you feel sick. Poor Tigris. 

Not to mention being reminded of your mother’s passing. You knew she’d died in childbirth, your birth, but you never thought of it as your fault until he brought it up. Grandma’am never once blamed you for the loss of her only daughter-in-law. And until that moment, neither had Coryo. Not openly, at least. You were left staring at yourself in the mirror for a while, wondering if it was truly worth it. If you were worth it.

You knew you couldn’t afford to think like that, to let him get to you. But this was all so unlike the Coryo you were used to, you’d seen this side of him before, to some extent, but never directed towards you. You wished he had just stayed away, that he would’ve left you alone after the initial shock of Grandma’am’s passing. 

As you patted yourself dry with the soft white towel always hung on the gilded heating rack, you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what you deserved. You’d dragged everyone down. You hadn’t even been able to take proper care of grandma’am the last couple days of her life, or at least, Coriolanus wouldn’t let you. 

You sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Waited a couple more minutes. Got impatient again. You decided you might as well get dressed again before Eugenie came back, but the pile of clothes you’d left on the floor was already gone. In its place a peachy slip dress and a robe, with a pair of slippers to match. You sighed and slid on the matching set.

A few minutes later, she returned just on time. This time she just had a glass of water and a small yellow-ish pill in hand. You furrowed your brows a little, looking up at her. “What’s this for?” You inquired, silently scolding yourself as you heard the annoyance in your own voice. This wasn’t her fault, it’s Coriolanus you were upset with. “It’ll help the healing, Miss.” You simply nodded in return, washing down the small capsule with a sip of water before returning the glass to her.

Concern was written all over her face as she studied you for a couple seconds, discomfort forming in your gut. “I’ll be back in four hours with lunch. Master Coriolanus asked me to inform you that his personal stylist will pay you a visit tonight at six.” Her words came out tense and rushed, and you were left with no time to react before she stepped back and locked the door again. You weren’t sure why she was so out of it, or if you even wanted to know.

You were familiar with Coriolanus’ personal stylist. She’d been the one to prepare you for any of those important public appearances where your attendance was actually needed. Rumina, you believe her name was. She was not the type of person you’d expected to find working such a job - she was always well dressed, but always in a timeless, classic fashion rather than the bold, colourful looks that were all the rage this year. 

You supposed that might’ve been why your brother hired her in the first place. Beyond just that, she appeared to be in her fifties or sixties, whereas most stylists were much younger. The reason for that on the other hand, you couldn’t quite grasp. But despite her elegant exterior, you couldn’t stand her personality. She wouldn’t shut up about how delighted she was that somebody was finally ‘stepping up’ to truly restore Panem to its ‘former glory’. 

Truthfully you’d given up on politics long ago - you’d never been among the pick of the litter back at the Academy, largely thanks to being so caught up with caring for Grandma’am. Not to mention the way your last name seemed to precede you every time you entered a classroom - it was clear you had big shoes to fill, after your big brother’s academic achievements - which only drove you further away. So it was clear that wasn’t the right path for you. But at least, before Coriolanus’ presidency, you’d actually thought you might one day have a career of your own, something worth dedicating your life to. You just needed to heal and learn how to stand on your own two feet. 

Until he’d robbed you of that opportunity entirely. You didn’t even truly understand why, how it in any way actually served him. He had every reason to lock up Tigris, if he was simply worried about his own family turning on him. You’d never stood up to him in that sense before, or tried to distance yourself. He’d done a great job at that himself. If he genuinely believed you were so frail, he could’ve just left you in that penthouse to let you wither away in peace. He didn’t need to keep you so close to him.

Despite feeling about as rejuvenated as you could get under these circumstances after that bath, you felt a wave of drowsiness hit you. You laid back on the newly made bed, hoping to just fall back asleep. Instead you laid awake for nearly half an hour, staring at the canopy ceiling. Eventually you’d had enough.

You got up and walked over to your dresser, quickly pulling open your underwear drawer. You doubted that it was actually hidden, but you’d kept some old memorabilia from your childhood stashed in the shoe box at the very back of the drawer. Pictures of you and Grandma’am. Of all four of you who survived. Even a couple pictures of Coryo and your mom and dad together before you were born. 

There was a particular picture of them you just couldn’t stand. As far as you knew Coryo didn’t even remember the photograph’s existence. Mrs. Snow was sat next to your father, who stood up straight right by her side, with their newborn son in her arms. His gloved hand was steadily placed on her shoulder, but his face was about as devoid of any emotion as hers was of happiness. He had Coriolanus’ eyes - a pale shade of blue, cold and unforgiving. 

Your mother on the other hand, looked afraid, exhausted and tense. No amount of makeup was enough to hide the dark circles under her wide eyes. You’d always admired her beauty, and although you never had the chance to know her, you felt a sense of pride in the resemblance the two of you bore. You had her eyes, her smile, her lips. Even her hair, although hers was wavier than yours. Coriolanus always recalled her as a warm, loving mother, and you didn’t doubt that, but this picture always gave you the impression she had to have been wildly unprepared for the task of becoming a mom, and consequently disillusioned. Or worse.

Everyone always spoke fondly of her, of her charm and youthfulness, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were simply tiptoeing around the word naive. You didn’t have any memories of your father either, but just from the few photographs you had of him he’d always instilled a sense of fear in you. You hated how much Coriolanus was starting to resemble him. 

Finally you got to the picture of Grandma’am holding you in her arms shortly after your mother passed. She was visibly shaken up, and both you and her worn hands were bloody. You’d been told many times of how close a call it was, how the family cook was convinced you wouldn’t make it. You could only imagine how she must’ve felt in that moment, holding her two weeks premature, frail granddaughter in her arms after watching her daughter-in-law lose her life.

It didn’t take long for you to start crying, something which only got worse as you scrambled through the rest of your small collection of family photos. The family fortune had run out awfully fast during the Dark Days, so there were hardly any taken during your childhood. The few you had left were mostly school photos and ones taken at various social events. Even though you couldn’t afford your own photographer, you’d always kept the unprocessed copies and had them processed and printed whenever you had some extra money to spare. Much to Coriolanus’ dismay you’d always been sentimental, just like your cousin.

You stayed like that for almost an hour. All those photos of you smiling in your brother's arms, the ones where he posed so proudly with his baby sister, made you feel nostalgic for something you’d hardly even experienced. You couldn’t grasp that this boy, your Coryo, could’ve gone from that prideful older brother you saw in those pictures to the man he was today. You wondered if Grandma’am had felt the same way bringing up Crassus.

When you finally got up from your seat on the floor, you carefully put the stack of photographs away again, along with the pearl necklace and perfume bottle you’d kept after Grandma’am’s passing, to remind you of her. You didn’t have anything tangible left of your parents, but you had fond memories of Coriolanus letting you sleep with your mother’s powder compact when you were younger. He’d always been possessive, though - only if you were really upset would he share it with you. 

You checked the time. Almost ten o’clock. You went off to your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water, shivering as you looked up and were met with the sight of the yellowing bruise on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten. At least it was healing quickly, like Eugenie promised. After nearly exhausting yourself with tears, your throat hoarse and eyes puffy and red, you finally felt tired enough to take a nap. So you did. You nearly threw yourself back onto the soft, queen size bed and let your eyes flutter shut.

When you woke again it was noon. This time Eugenie had gone unnoticed when she entered, as you only awoke when you heard the wheels of the food cart she wheeled in after herself awkwardly bumping into the threshold, making the porcelain inside clatter against itself. You were startled at first, but immediately calmed down when you realised it was just her. 

Soon enough lunch too had passed, and this time Eugenie stuck around to keep you company for a little while. She taught you how to knit, and you lent her your favourite book. For a moment you’d almost forgotten the gravity of the situation you were in. Until she scurried to get up, proclaiming she was late to laundry service. You glanced at the longcase clock across the room, a bit surprised to find it was already quarter past four in the evening. You had forty-five minutes until your brother’s stylist would turn up.

You spent that time trying to perfect your knitting technique, ignoring the stiffness in your hands as best as you could. You’d never excelled at crafts like Tigris did, or patience, for that matter.

Finally Rumina arrived, and you were almost relieved. She immediately started to babble on about the latest gossip, and as always, sang your brother’s praises. Though, today it was particularly unbearable, and you thought to yourself that someone working so closely with him and his image should know that it’s just that, an image. That your brother didn’t give a flying fuck about the districts, even if he had improved the living conditions of the tributes in the annual Hunger Games, and that he didn’t even really care about the Capitol either. You’d come to terms with the fact that Coriolanus was only loyal to one thing: power.

You had stayed silent as she blow dried, brushed and twisted and folded your hair up behind your head. When she was done she offered you a handheld mirror to have a look for yourself, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you were met with a tidy french twist. Of course your brother had chosen something conservative that’d thoroughly conceal the bloody lump he’d given you.

Then she had done your makeup. This time she laid the base on thicker than usual, but you weren’t surprised Coriolanus intended to hide your bruise, too. You wondered if it was for his own conscience’s sake or for his image. But it could hardly be the latter, you doubted he would let anyone see you so soon after last night’s events. Then again, you weren’t sure he even had a conscience, either.

When you were done, you looked perfectly rejuvenated. Though to you it felt like an empty shell. Rumina eagerly guided you out into your bedroom and helped you get dressed. It seemed your brother had picked out yet another tasteless, phoney dress that you’d feel nothing like yourself in. Much like the makeup it was more glamorous than you’d expected.

The material was flowy, probably something like chiffon, but it was perfectly cinched at your waist, the sweetheart neckline and the puffy fabric at your hips flattering your figure just right. There was some sort of built in corset that stopped just below your chest. The sleeves were long and puffy much like the skirt, which stopped just above your ankles. You knew Coriolanus was always up to whatever dress code applied, and something this elegant was hardly necessary for a simple dinner. 

But what really stood out to you was the colour. It was a deep shade of burgundy; one you’d seen on Coriolanus oh so many times. You felt your jaw clench. It was bad enough that he insisted on dressing you up, like a mere doll, but this was yet another jab at your independence and individuality. Like you were just an extension of him.

Still, complaining to his own stylist would be of no use, so you decided to suck it up and let her finish dressing you. She clasped a silver necklace around your neck, a garnet pendant in the shape of an octagon hanging from it, framed by more silver. It almost seemed compulsive how your brother just had to show off his wealth every chance he got. Finally you slid on some black velvet kitten heels and had a look in the mirror. 

You looked like something out of a gothic painting. (A tragedy, if you had to guess.) That wouldn’t be too unlike your current situation. Only there wouldn’t be a handsome, brooding young mythological hero to save you. No, your ‘prince charming’ had few positive attributes beyond just that - his superficial charm -, and no intention of saving you. 

You felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter as you walked down the stairs to the main floor, confusion spreading on your face as you saw one of Coriolanus’ many servants waiting for you at the bottom. He stiffly informed you that there’d been a change of plans, that he’d be escorting you to the larger dining room over in the east wing. You hadn’t even explored the house enough to know there were multiple.

When you arrived you quickly understood what the sudden change of plans was for. 

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse

[obamas-eyebrow]

04/King of the Hill.

7th floor x female reader (the 8 show) Masterlist WC:7.9K. specific chapter warnings: uhh violence, kissing (it’s the king’s game ep)

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅::]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

If there was a way to test the limits of the human mind, it would be hunger. Three days she’s done this, stripped you of the most basic essentials for survival. You wondered where she was going with this, knowing her message had already been read loud and clear. three days of your insides gnawing at you, begging for any relief. You tried to cheat the system by buying glucose replacement drips, but it didn’t work. 

Upon the nauseating revelation of the current situation, you’d fully expected for all hell to break loose, surprised to see nothing of that sort. The morning after everyone received the empty boxes, the topic had become the elephant in the room with no-one able to utter acknowledgement, lest it become true. She was starving us because she didn’t get her way. At this moment in time, you were all equal. Those who voted for her and those who didn’t. No one was spared. 7th floor on the same level as 1st floor. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, some looking for previous scraps to pick at, others to disconnect from everyone. You waited about an hour in your room, having spent it staring at the ‘window’ and fantasising about everything you’d do when you get your hands on that witch, then got up and headed down stairs to 2nd floor. You hoped to fix things between the two of you, to get her to see why you took your stance. 

Knock, 

Knock,

Knock.

Three quick knocks, your special code. For a minute, you thought she’d just ignore you, as next to no sounds came from the room. Then, right as you were about to turn your heel and head back in shame, the tall blonde woman opened the door. Her face housed her usual expression; slightly exasperated, kinda challenging you with eyebrows raised only a little bit. She didn’t say anything and waited for you to lead the conversation. 

“Can I come in?” you cleared your throat. She shot you a quick up and down before turning around and stepping into her room leaving her door open, allowing you to walk in. 

“I thought by voting we’d already be giving her what she wants, 2nd.” you started, she still had her back to you. “I thought by leaving it blank there’d be no harm done on my part. Also, it wouldn’t’ve even mattered, right? This whole thing is crazy but you can’t go blaming me-”

“I’m not mad,”

“What?”

“I’m not mad. I wasn’t mad.”

“But you-”

“I was pissed at everyone that day. I thought the whole thing was stupid.” “Me too!” “Were you the blank vote?” “Yes.” “So who was the third vote for 3rd?”

She turned to look at you now, waiting for the answer, but you had a feeling she already knew. 

“7th…” To that, she huffed, but it sounded like ‘I told you so’. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. 

“6th offered to sneak me some food in exchange for my vote,” she chuckled lightly, “I wonder how he feels now.”

You both smiled at the thought of 6th floor, who’d been nothing but loyal to his master, even going out to campaign on her behalf, also being punished with everyone else. 

“What do you think we should do? How do we fix this?” she sighed. 

“Maybe we buy a speaker and blast some trashy music till she loses her mind,” You joked. 

“Won’t that affect 7th floor too?”

“Hmm, collateral damage.”

She looked at you with a small grin, happy that you’d apparently come to your senses. You found comfort in knowing that, at the very least, you could count on 2nd. But both of you knew the only thing that could be really done, was wait. 

So you waited. For two long nights and three wrenching days you tried to come up with an out. A way to fix this without playing by her stupid rules. But seven different people could not collectively could not come up with one solution. Well, almost seven, as 6th floor was not keen on joining forces with those below him. You witnessed the subtle yet prominent deterioration of the group throughout these days. It was likely less the hunger and more the uncertainty of when the relief would come. 

On the third day, it seemed that the end of the show would be rather near. There was nothing from 8th. Not a list of demands, not a second chance, no wiggle room, what she could possibly want from this standoff was behind you. Actually, calling it a standoff is wrong; after all, only one of you has a gun. That was until 3rd floor was struck with a revelation. 

“The poop! I will go up to apologise to her and take. the. Poop.”

Even 4th had offered to share the load, both going hand in hand to beg for forgiveness.

The only one who saw a flaw in this plan was, of course, 7th. He then suggested for him to lead the ‘negotiation’ for a better outcome. He made his way up the steps slowly, weakness wearing him down. At her door, he got close and worked his magic. You didn’t hear him from down here, but you were sure his words were well thought out and put together, even if they didn’t represent everyone’s opinions. To everyone’s delight, she opened the door to let him in, allowing for a more private discussion and only a tiny tiny tiny part of you counted the seconds he was in there for, incase they weren’t just discussing. Not that you cared, obviously.

…at least not anymore.

That night, food delivery came earlier than it ever did, and you wondered wether she’d previously keep it for a little out of pure fun. Despite having no desire to give in, to give her what she wants, to admit 7th was right; the hunger stripped away any form of resistance in mind and you all but inhaled the unfulfilling meal. You stared at the empty platter on your bedroom floor, one question plaguing your mind;

What could he have possible told her to get such a quick resolve? Was 4th floor begging incessantly at her door not enough? Was the cyclic knocking of other floors not satisfactory? Even 1st climbed up all those stairs to plead. Or did she want to hear it from him. 

Logically, if it was the latter of all those theories, it would be because it gave her the ultimate power trip. 7th floor, not a small number. It is most definetly not because she wants anything to do with him personaly…obviously…she wouldn’t gain anything cause he isn’t even interested. Or maybe its to piss you off? That is so far fetched, you hadn’t even began giving her any indication that you dislike her…right? Or that you like him for that matter. 

Your nails were begging for relief, so you did the only possible thig to quiten your mind. 

Face to face with the 7F sign on his door, your hand went up and back down a few times as you debated your next move. 

What would you even say? I’m sorry? For what? No, you weren’t. 

How did you convince her? Yeah, that  sounded more reasonable. 

But the door opened before your fist was able to collide with the wood, he didn’t look suprised to see you stood there, as if he knew. Instead, he greated you with an unreadable expression, only sleepiness present in his eyes.

“How did you-”

“I saw your shadow.” He pointed under the door,

“Oh. Were you about to-”

“No, not at all….Come in.”

 Maybe one day he’ll let you finish your sentenes. 

His room was still the same, with no new noticable additions to his decor other than two more pages of drawings on the wall. You wondered selfishly if you were on the other side of those, too. 

Whilst he’d usually be the one to break the quiet, this time he had nothing to say. There was a tense silence between you two, he’d retreated to sit at his desk while you stood awkwardly by the door. Surely he’d been expecting you, right? Or else why’d he be so unfazed by your appearance. Maybe he already knew what you’re going to say. 

7 years of medschool and countless nerve wracking osces and this is where you freeze up?

You don’t know why it’s so different with him, its not like he’s the first crush you ever had. You prided yourself in being a well-rounded intellectual yet, somehow, your brain would turn into mush around him. He was observing you from his spot, sat relaxed on the chair with head tilted slightly in curiosity. Why does he looked bored? You’d come to find out that no, you weren’t getting the hang of actually reading him, he only allows it to happen. And when he doesn’t feel like it he’ll put on his stone cold face and leave you guessing. You must’ve been just stood there for a bit now as he pulled out a cigarette from a pack that  rested on the table and lit it, taking a deep inhale and dropping his head back on the exhale, resting it on the back of the chair, eyes watching the smoke dancing above. 

“At the rate you’re going at I’d think you had a spare set of lungs.” Really, that was the best you could come up with? It was supposed to be a bit of a joke to ease the pull, but it only added to it. Mostly because he paid it no mind, taking another drag and blowing it out and above from his lips, as if you hadn’t said anything. You took this as your cue to maybe leave, or jump out the window, whichever is easier. This was not the man you were used to, not the one that did useless moves in chess on purpose so that you could have a fighting chance, thinking you wouldn’t notice. Not the one that spent time mapiing out every curve and dip of your features and then hid the evidence, keeping it only for his own pleasure. You wondered if maybe he’d always been this, if this is the man that 2nd saw. You grabbed your own hand to your chest for comfort, unsure of where to go from here. He relieved you of that reposibility soon enough. 

“Why are you here, 5th floor?” He said with an exhale, eyes unmoving from their spot on the ceiling. This wasn’t any better. “You said your part, I said mine, what do you want.”“I’m not here to apologise 7, nor admit defeat.” You pulled yourself together. At that, he chuckled. 

“Didn’t think so.”

“How did you convince her?”

“A whole bunch of kissing up.”

“That’s all you’ll give me?”

He re-adjusted suddenly to sit up straight and drop his head, hands gesturing a few times as if he wanted to say something then didn’t. Again and again. He turned his head up to you from his slumped position. 

“Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?” he put out the cig after one final breath. 

“For future reference.” 

He laughed. A full, well heard laugh. Tossing his head back and clutching his chest a bit. It did nothing to ease your nerves unfortunalty, actualy only adding to them. When he was done, he got up and straighted himself out, pushing his glasses back to their place. There was a slight skip to his step as he walked over to you, head turned down the whole way, he stopped with a  longer-that-usual distance between the two of you. One hand found a resting place of his hip while the other grasped his bottom lip and pushed it together. 

“Why are you being difficult?” he looked up at you from behind the frame. 

“Excuse me?”

“Just say what’s on your mind 5, go ahead. Why did you actualy come up here? Hm? Because I doubt it’s to get insight on how to handle conflict with 8th from here on out. No, I’ll be the one to do that, again. ‘Thank you for what you did 7th oh I was starving!’” He mocked in a woman’s voice, persumably ment to be you. “But no, you stroll in here, high and mighty as if what we just went through was easy. You know what 5, I’ll start for you. You’re right. What she did in the talent show was nothing special, nothing any of us couldn’t do, nothing you and I couldn’t have done better. And you’re right, doing what she wants will not get us anywhere but an endless cycle of being under her will. And you’re RIGHT, I’d really rather not betray my friends so that I can have food at the end of the day. But this is what the situation is here 5th, we are all entirely powerless.” 

Despite his pretty level tone of voice, his face had turned a slight red, giving his anger away. There was no lie spoken in his words, you’d completely disregarded the relief he’d brought for everyone, even if it was just a minute or two of smooth talking. Maybe accusing him of being a traitor had been overkill, even if it was only implied in your words. You’d been so caught up in justice that you forgot that, in here, there is nothing you could do if something like this were to happen again. Because, she would not kill you, only keep you barely alive. You’d been so ready to stand your ground, you forgot others who were unable to stand at all. In the end, 7th put the needs of everyone before his own pride, and you, who were too prideful to let things move smoothly, couldn’t spare him a word of praise. You both knew that this wasn’t about your vote, but your words that had been shot to kill. Standing here, anger long gone and consequences clear as day, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

“I’m sorry, 7th floor. I didn’t…I hadn’t thought out how things could play out. What you did this morning saved us a lot of torment. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Maybe this whole thing would’ve worked out better in the real world, justice, accountability and all. But here? This is just a game show after all, and there was nothing you could actually do to alter the circumstances, only accept them, tough it out for the remaining time and hope it goes smoothly. Still, you didn’t regret your vote. 

He looked at you, unmoving from his position, jaw clenched and face as neutral as he could keep it. Though there was now a hint of softness to his eyes. He sighed and shut his eyes slowly. 

“It’s fine.”

There was nothing more to say. You weren't sure how things will go between you two from now on. You would always rather chose the risky way, even if you’ll end up hurting others, and he’d rather always play it safe, even if it costs him his ego. Both of you were comfortable in your routines, making the differences between you as clear as day. Your thoughts were cut off by the sound of the money going up, eyes hovering over the accumulated amount for a beat. 7th floor, alright. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Goodnight 5th floor.” You took that as your cue to leave.

“Goodnight 7th floor.”

You left his room shortly after, feeling worse than when you’d gone up.

. . .

The sun beamed down from the clock window onto your spot by the ‘pool’. You sat quietly, biting mindlessly on the inside of your cheek as 8th floor reveled in the attention she had forced everyone to give her. Your eyes were fixed onto the projection of dancing water- almost life-like, entirely uninterested in the bootlicking contest going on at the moment. 

“Right 5th?” 3rd’s nudge pulled you out of your thoughts, you looked up to notice all but 2nd’s and 7th’s eyes on you, each for their own unique reason. She held your gaze with that sickeningly sweet smile of hers, waiting for your response. Truth be told, you hadn’t been paying attention to this whole thing, so what the question entailed was beyond you. But since everyone else seemed on board, and since it was 8th floor asking, you had no other option but to;

“Yeah, sure.”

King’s game. An openly sexual game you played at parties that reeked of alcohol and people that won’t remember your name. It was a glorified way of getting friends to finally make a move on their crush, often ending when everyone got their fair share of kisses and some STDs. You’d go to get a change of scenery, often only observing the game with a smile from afar. To make it ‘fair’ though, you were each to pick out a numbered ball at random, making the king unable to target anyone specifically. 

Much to your surprise, the first round of lottery landed you the winning ball. You picked two numbers at random and then thought for a minute. Usually the people you would watch playing would already have a clear goal in mind. You however, did not, so you went with the first thing in mind, having the two numbers hold hands till the next round. 

“Ugh that’s so boring!” 4th exclaimed, reminding you exactly why you never attempted to engage with this activity.

You were very entertained though, watching 7th and 6th hold hands was way more amusing than you’d like to admit. You tried to hold back a smile as 7th looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Awh man don’t lace your fingers!” 6th frowned. Ok now you were fully smiling. Just as 7th was going to let go of 6th to try and save face, you decided to be a little annoying. 

“Aht Aht Aht, one whole round.”

The following pick got you the number 7, maybe it was destiny. You felt a little disappointed, having just started to enjoy the role of king. 4th floor was crowned that round and she tapped her lip in thought. 

“Hmm 5th and 7th!” She looked around for the chosen numbers. No one said anything though, so you remained quiet.

“You two have to kiss!”

Lovely. Oh no…What if it’s 6th floor. Ew ew ew ew.

“Who’s number 5?” 4th batted her eyes around the group.

Everyone’s attention turned to look for the source of a loud sigh, 7th floor, he had his hand raised awkwardly as his eyes darted wearily around the circle. 

Oh! This is somehow worse! 

You almost burst out laughing. Maybe this was actually a prank show and everyone here is a paid actor, maybe this is all just one big joke. You bit your lip, unsure of how to proceed from here. There was no possible way for 4th to know that she picked the worst possible time to have you do this. 

“...Aaaaaand 7?” 

You stared at the ball concealed in your palm, is it too late to pretend you don’t know how to read?

Before you could even reveal yourself, 7th’s eyes landed on yours, causing you to bite your lip to conceal a smile. He had his arms crossed at his chest.  Maybe it was destiny, 5 and 7, how do we keep finding ourselves here? You could swear that some tension released from his shoulder upon knowing you’re the lucky gal, probablyprobably just relieved it isn’t 6th again. Without breaking eye contact, you also sighed loudly, mimicking his previous action. 

“Right here.”

All eyes on you. 

Taking initiative, you swayed over to him, eyes still locked with his. You took his side by the carousel and he turned to face you upon your arrival, small smirk planted on his lips. It was here you noticed that he’d gradually stopped styling his hair daily, opting for a more relaxed/messy look. Good, he looked better this way. He was trying to keep it together, but you could tell his resolve was slowly wearing away, his breath fast and shallow. Anticipation, nervousness, I’ve got you figured out, tough guy. You gave what you were about to do a geniune moment of thought, planning your moves cautiously. Before you could chicken out, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. 

Ok maybe it was more like a quick peck, his lips only momentarily meeting yours, but you both lingered face to face for a beat too long afterwards. This whole thing caught him off guard, how quickly you took initiative, causing him to awkwardly fix his already well positioned glasses. You both sighed at the same time, looking straight at everyone else but each other, unable to fully process what just happened. At least the audience was entertained, and by audience you mean 2nd and 8th, the only two who have caught on to your situation. 

Wait hold on why was 2nd smiling? You shot her a look, only causing her to press her lips into a thin line to conceal her amusement. 

“Noooo cmon that wasn’t a real kiss.” 8th giggled, tilting her head slightly. 

“Yeah! I was gonna say that…” 4th added.

What? Sorry that wasn’t enough of a show for you?

You looked at either of them with an unamused look.

“That’s all I-” You started but were cut off by a warm had pulling you in. 

You found yourself in the same position again, only this time he was leading. He’d hadn’t given you a moment to collect yourself before his hands moved up to cup your cheeks, his glasses nudging at your face a little. None of that that mattered though, as his determined lips pulled any coherent thought from your mind. You shut your eyes instinctively, your own hands shot up to his hair, letting the feeling wash over you as his hands kept your face close to his. Had you not known any better, you’d think this a man starving, the way he was practically swallowing your breaths. It got to a point were you were struggling to keep up, needing to sorrowfuly pull away from this man. And for a split second as you , in all the breathless mess that you were, you could swear he grunted a little.  

The two of you split, panting and struggling to pull yourself together. A glance over to him showed the same predicament, hair a huge mess and glasses practically fogged up. Your eyes danced across the grinning audience then found their way awkwardly to the ground. 

“30 hours..” 2nd scoffed

You snickered slightly, hoping that they will move on.

The following round, you found yourself with the ball number 1. 8th was the king, how fitting. You were still shaking with fluster from the previous round, both you and the lucky guy unable to look at eachother, opting to stand on the same side. 

“Numbers 3 and 7, you guys have to french kiss!” 8th giggles a bit. 

From this perspective, you realise how lucky you were to have 7th be your partner, had it been anyone else it certainly wouldn’t have played out so well. You watched in anticipation as 3rd floor and 2nd floor were revealed, wincing slightly at the unlikely pair. Something in you told you this won’t end well.

“And if I refuse? Let’s keep it fun, I’ll do anything but that.” 2nd challenged. 

“Hmm ok, you two wouldn’t have made an entertaining pair anyway.” 8th smiled. You knew that was just a subtle dig at 3rd but you’d hoped he hadn’t caught it. 

“The person with the number 2 ball and second floor have to….fight! For one round.” There it was, the moment 7th had been doing his best to avoid, all for what? A cold sweat ran down your back, mouth opening to protest but finding nothing. The air suddenly grew thick with dread, your eyes finding 7 who had his head dropped down in defeat. All you could do now is hope it doesn’t deal too much damage. 

A ball bounced from the person standing next to you. How cruel. It was 6th floor, you didn’t have to turn to see the excitement on his face, you could already practically smell it. How unfortunate is it that the two people who can’t stand eachother the most here were going head to head with no restraints, no judges, no referees. Only ‘surrender’ and what a heavy implication that word had. 

They got into position, trash talking a little, and you found a hand subconsciously clutched around 7’s arm as you observed the fight. 2nd wasn’t an amatuer, in fact she was kicking 6th’s ass. But regardless of your distaste for him, you knew it would be better to end it now. Neither of them seemed ready for that though, and in a split second, it all went to hell. 2nd’s hand had been hurt, maybe it was from the talent show, allowing 6th to get the upper hand. He immobilised her only weapon by practically breaking her fingers, causing her to get knocked down. He then took this chance to get on top of her, throwing punch after punch at his helpless opponent. Blood splattered onto the pool floor. Someone said something but the ringing in your ear had blocked it off. The men made their way to pull a victorious 6th floor off of 2nd. You rushed to her aid, hands doing what they do best. Her face was almost unrecognisable from the blood and swelling.

Up in her room, you used the best things you could get with the 50 hours 6th’s fists had earned you to nurse her back to health. Her eyes were fixed on the wall, unable to meet yours even for a moment. She wouldn’t speak either, so you didn’t push it, she trusted you for a reason and so you gave her grace in her moment of weakness. 

Re-emerging from her room 20 minutes later, you walked back to the group with your head hung down.

“She’s fine for now,” Your voice came out a bit shaky. “She’s in alot of pain though. We can’t-...You took it too far 6th.”

You stood your ground, looking him straight in the eye. 

“She didn’t surrender.” He stated simply. 

“You and I both know you had it out for her.”

He got up suddenly, sizing you up. “All she had to do was say the words.” “When? Between one bloody punch and the next? You didn’t give her any chance to-”

You hadn’t noticed your voice getting louder, angrier, as 6th floor got more pissed off. 7th’s hand had caught your wrist, his eyes urging you to tone it down, step back. You took a deep breath.

“We…I don’t have the facilities to treat serious injuries,” You pleaded to no one in particular, but your eyes subconsciously landed on 8th. “We need to set rules to prevent this from hapening again. A way to back out of the dares.” “A penalty!” 4th floor said with cheerfulness that didn’t match the room. 

A taser.  How great. You went from avoiding violence to introducing a weapon on the same day. She pushed the button causing you to jump back slightly, that thing was loud.

That concluded the first round of the game, capping off at 80 and a bit hours, minus what you used for 2nd floor. 

You sat in your room quietly, allowing the day’s events to catch up to you. It had taken so much effort to try to control the situation only for it all to fall apart in a few moments. Violence was now clearly on the table. And not just that, it was a better time-earner than any alternative. Wondering what other sick games 8th might’ve brainstormed in her solitude was only making you feel worse. You decided to head down to check up 2nd floor, catching a hint of your reflection in the metal of the chute. Come to think of it, it had been a while since you saw yourself, not that the blurry image of you in the metal was any help. You hadn’t noticed the blood staining your shirt, likely from when you helped 2nd up to her room. It made you sick, usually you’d change out of your bloody scrubs immediately at the doorstep, but you haven’t got that option here. 

Knock Knock Knock. 

You made your way into 2nd’s room, her eyes unable to meet yours. The chute groaned open, allowing you to retrieve the icepack you bought for her, the one from the morning too warm to re-use. You sighed, then began to do some checks on her.

“Can you move your fingers?” 

“Have you coughed up blood?”

“How’s the pain?”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

Of course, you were practically talking to yourself, her only giving short nods or huffs as answers. You took a good look at her face, now tinged slightly with a blue undertone, one eye swollen shut. You gave her a nod and turned to exit the room. 

What if it had been you? What if it had been anyone else? At least she was able to hold her own for a minute. Would 6th floor go all out on someone who can’t even fathom the strength needed to fight back? Is this how things will be from now on? Moving in fear of upsetting 8th or her guard dog? You made your way back up to your room with your head down, hoping the food delivery will be soon. 

“How is she?” You looked up to find 7th leaning against your door, a cigarette in his hand. 

“She’ll be fine.” You let out a shaky breath. “7th…this is so messed up. What are we going to do? I mean- A taser? Really?”

He took a drag and rubbed his eyes from behind the glasses, fixing them and then looking at you again. 

“Just avoid conflict as much as we can, I guess.” He said it as if it was the easiest most simple thing to do. You held eachother’s eyes, an uncomfortable silence accompanying your exchange. If he was here to talk about the fight then there’s nothing more to be said, but the way he was awkwardly just standing  there hinted at something else being on his mind. 

The kiss!

The events following it must’ve overtook your mind because you somehow completely forgotten that whole thing. The memories came rushing back and now you too, held some awkwardness in your stance. 

Where do you go from here? What does he want to say? This is completely uncharted territory. Last night you had practically willed the earth to swallow you whole after your conversation, feeling both guilty and a little stupid and then you made out with him like a few hours later! You recalled the sudden boost of confidence that took over you when you’d gone to kiss him first, 

Maybe if I stay still enough he wont see me. Do people with glasses have blind spots? 

He noticed your nervousness and straightened himself up, clearing his throat. 

“Oh- sorry was I blocking your way in?”

You tilted your head and bit your lip, what a dork.

“Were you blocking my way into my room by leaning on the only entrance to it? Yeah 7, you were. But I wasn’t that keen on going back in anyway.”

He let out a low chuckle, his ears turning red in embarrassment.

“Is there something else you wanted, 7th?” You said maybe a bit too sweetly. 

“I just- wanted to say I’m sorry. For earlier. I got a little carried away I think.” but his eyes told a different story, one that held no regret for what he did. You knew deep down that this was just him being polite, or maybe trying to push this unnecessary romantic sublot to the side while you deal with way bigger issues, so you really didn’t take this ‘apology’ to heart. 

Plus you were in the mood to get him flustered. 

“Oh its ok. Besides, you’re a pretty good kisser.” You shrugged.

This caused him to go into a fit of coughs, choking on his own breath. You tried your best to keep the smile inside as you walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to stand up straight immediately. The redness on his face would have now been one of two things, but if you had to guess…

 “Uh…Thank you,” he cleared his throat. “You’re not so bad yourself.” You raised your brow slightly. “Hard to judge my performance fairly if you were doing all the work, no?”

You really need to stop this now, you’re teetering on bullying this poor guy.

His jaw clenched as he turned his attention to the very interesting flight of stairs on the side. Truth is, he had nothing to say. He had come here to make sure there wasn’t any uncomfortableness between the two of you. This was not what he expected back. 

You sensed his predicament and decided to help him out here. 

“I think you were just excited you weren’t paired with 6th again.”

That prompted him to laugh, a little harder than the joke was worth, but it was the undoing of the tension that caused that. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out. 

“You know, all in all, I’m just glad you and I are ok. I thought- you know- because of our talk last night you’d be mad at me.”

That caused him to turn to you, laughter long gone from his blood. 

“I was.” he started, voice only a slightly above a whisper owing to your closeness. “For a little, but you’re a very difficult person to stay mad at.”

Now it was your turn to be speechless. His eyes darted down to your lips momentarily. And so here you two were again, in the same position you keep finding yourselves in. You gave it some thought and decided to mess with him a little, leaning in to plant a small peck on his cheek, lingering there as you could feel his breath grow quicker, his heart practically beating out of his chest where you’d subconsciously positioned your hand. You kept holding this position, and he turned to be face to face with you, only a breath or one boost of confidence apart. Instead, you pulled away suddenly, sighing at the loss of his warmth. You then grabbed your card and opened your door, leaning on it innocently as you looked at him. 

“Goodnight, 7th.”

He stared at you with his head tilted back slightly. He let out a long sigh and shut his eyes for a moment, was this desperation you’re seeing? 

“Goodnight, 5th” he bowed his head to you and walked lazily up the steps. 

2nd floor almost didn’t let you in the following morning until you threatened to sneak into the chute to get to her room. She looked worse than the day before, but that was expected. You spent your morning re-wrapping her hands and getting some of last night’s food in her. 

“How is she?” 3rd asked as you finally joined the group.

“She’ll be in more pain today than yesterday, so I doubt she’ll join us.”

“Nice makeover.” For a split second you thought 6th was referring to you, maybe commenting on the blood on your shirt. But you turned around, surprised to see an exhausted 2nd floor standing a few paces behind you. You let out an exasperated sigh, but you knew arguing with her here would get you no-where.

The second round of the game began around noon, you had the ball #5. 8th was king, again. Statistically, this doesn’t really work, but you know probability plays out differently in the real world. 

“4! Touch 5’s breasts, from under the shirt!” She smiled with excitement and your face scrunched up. This whole thing was made worse with 6th enthusiastic eyes looking for the victims. Gag, what if he was 4? Was that why he was giggling like a horny teenager? Oh you’re definitely picking penalty. 

“Who’s 5?”

You rolled your eyes and turned the ball around, catching 8th’s attention causing her to jump up and down in anticipation. Your eyes met 7’s, who had a slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“And number 4?” 

3rd floor raised his hand awkwardly, you’ll take it. The guy’s too shy to ever make something like this sexual and you really weren’t in the mood to get tased today. 

You sat in front of an audience on the swingset, 3rd standing above you to allow…better access, eyes planted on the floor in shame. You’d hoped he’d just go ahead and get things over with as you stared distantly at the time. 

“Okayyy, 3, 2, 1-” 4th counted him down.

“Tase me! I mean-” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take the penalty.”

You got up to protest with him, knowing that what he was asking was no small trade-off, and you really don’t mind anything at this point. But he insisted, and knelt down at the metal slide, what a stupid position. 

The taser felt heavy in your hand, you really didn’t want to hurt him, but rules are rules. You turned it on and put it on his lower neck, just at the end of the shirt, attempting to avoid going on direct skin. His body tensed up then fell forward, sphincters making a show of betraying him. 

Your hands shook a little, taser still clasped tightly as you watched 7th and 6th carry 3rd up to his room, allowing him some dignity. 

“He didn’t do it cause he’s a real man,” 2nd praised. But a freshly conscious and very distraught 3rd wouldn’t hear it. You left the room shortly after, heart breaking at the loud whines coming from his room the moment you shut the door. That was enough for that day, seeing as 3rd’s chivalry earned the group 60 hours. 

The following day got you yet another losing number, at least you weren't picked for the dare. 4th was king and you were beginning to notice a pattern, must be luck. She picked 1 and 2. At that, 3rd dropped to his knees in relief. Poor guy, it must’ve really done some damage. The numbers were 2nd and 6th floor. Had 4th floor planned this, she wouldn't have been able to continuously pick such awful pairs time and time again. A coin flip, loser gets penalty. 

“I thought you only get penalty if you disobey the king,” 1st floor spoke your mind. 

“We said the king can do what they want, as long as everyone agrees.” That response felt a little…rehearsed, but anyway. The way 4th moved during the coin flip had you a little confused, aren’t you supposed to catch the coin with the back of your hand?

2nd lost, her resolve fading as she came to terms with being on the receiving end of the penalty. Administered by 6th, no less. She met a similar fate to 3rd and 6th couldn’t resist taking a dig at her unconscious body. 

You weren’t king the following day either, 8th was. What a surprise. But at least you weren’t picked for the dare. 2nd and 3rd were. A slapping competition, loser takes penalty. Very high stakes. The only two people here that know what it feels like to lose were going head to head. If you had to bet though, the money’s on 2nd. Too bad you wouldn’t be able to cash out a win like that.

You’d spend the nights after each round up in 7th’s room. Things were…different between you two now. He was more comfortable, open and relaxed than he used to be. Flirting had become you two’s favorite game, along with the various obscure board games he’d piled up, it never went anywhere though and you’d lovingly started keeping a score of who could fluster the other more often. Its a tie, mostly because you never anticipate his cheesy lines and he shuts up with any compliment. He’d also become more open with the idea of getting to know each other.

“Are you…an engineer?” That made him laugh. 

“No, I am not.”“What!”

You were both laid on his mattress, a respectful distance between you two as you stared at the ceiling. He, as usual, was smoking and you took pleasure in watching the wafts of gray rising and disappearing. 

“Close though, I- used to be. Kind of”

“And then?”“I’ve already given too much.”“Ughh fine. Your turn.”

“How did you get here?”

“That sketchy white limousine-”

“Don’t be a smartmouth”

“I lost my scholarships cause of a decision I made. I wasn’t ever going to be able to afford uni without them so when I got kicked off I had two options; finish the remaining years on your own debt or drop out. I chose the former. I don’t regret it though”

“Of course you don’t,” he chuckled, 

This went on for a while. Vague answers and fits of giggles. You hadn’t noticed how sleepy you were, eyes betraying you in a moment of a silence going on for too long. He watched your sleeping form with a sheepish smile on his lips, feeling awful for what he was about to do. 

“5th…” he shook you gently. “5th it’s almost midnight you have to leave.”

You groaned in response. 

“C’mon I’ll walk you down.”

You reveled in this routine. It was…sincere. There was no hidden agenda or heavy conversation. Everything just flowed smoothly. That day was no different. You were in his room when food delivery was taking place, it seemed she would now only send it whenever she felt like it. A part of you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she received the food at different times each day. But knowing her? She probably kept it in her room until she decided which meal suits her best and then keeps it depending on how pleased she was that day. 7th grabbed two meals and set one infront of you. There was something so familiar about this, just eating in silence with some great company. The food wasn’t so bad that night. Bland, as usual, but being so high ment that you got second pick of the meal instead of 4th., allowing you more options. The poultry here wasn’t the best, you’d expressed your dilemma of never getting any of the shrimp meals to 7th. They used to be quite the delicacy back when you had group lunches, all things considered. So this time, he picked up the shrimp meal for you and another meal for himself. Your shoulders dropped in a sigh when the food hit your tongue, moaning a little, causing him to chuckle. 

“Had I known you like it so much I woul’ve left it, 8th usually takes the other one for herself.”

“That witch eats?” You said between mouthfuls. “Plus, 6th floor would’ve taken it.”

Your little bubble was popped by a knock at the door, the frown on 7th face indicating he wasn’t expecting anyone. 

“Is everything ok?” He kept the stranger outside, blocking your view of whoever it was. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like it wasn’t good. 7th looked over to you before letting the guest in. 

Guests, actually. 1st, 2nd and 3rd floors. It seemed important, so you put the food down and got up. They were surprised to see you in there, obviously, but the matter at hand swayed the conversation away from your presence.

Someone was rigging the game. That one wasn’t hard to figure out, but 1st floor made a show of the coin toss, revealing that 4th floor is probably a prime suspect. Less than a minute of thought will tell you that she likely wasn’t doing this for her own benefit, you all came to the conclusion she was working for the higher floors. 7th and 3rd smoked as you all talked, clearly a bit on edge from this whole thing. 

“We can’t confront them, they’ll just deny.” 7th sighed. “We have to wait for them to slip up.”

And how convenient was it that as you were leaving, you spotted a sneaky 4th floor tiptoeing towards the box. 7th volunteered to handle it whilst you waited upstairs, watching. 

“Care to explain?” 2nd had taken the spot next to you on the stairs, observing 7th walk quietly towards a distracted 4th. 

“You aren’t my mom, so not really no.” You said half seriously and she chuckled.

“You know, maybe he isn’t so bad” She said.

You both watch as he put a hand around 4th’s mouth to stop her from screaming, similar to what he did to you the first night you talked. You wondered how many women he does this to.

“You looked very entertained when him and I kissed,” You teased. “What was that about?”

“I just knew you were probably a mess.” She laughed. 

You let out an awkward laugh, catching 7’s eyes as he made his way back to you, giving you a thumbs up on the way causing 2nd to chuckle.

“Is he smiling? I didn't think he could do that!” she nudged your side. 

. . .

The air was thick with anticipation as you watched 7th stand over 8th floor, taser in hand. He seemed unsure, dragging the action on a little too long, as if he didn’t want to do this. Maybe he was afraid of what repercussions may follow, but this was a fair fight, no? Equal contribution and all.  

“I’ll count down. 3..2..1-” He didn’t get to have the taser touch her skin before 6th floor gave him a harsh kick to his side, causing him to get knocked down, glasses flung somewhere in the process. None of you had even noticed 6th go up to him, too focused on the excitement of the idea of punishing 8th. You let out a yelp, he had blood on his face and was clutching his side. 6th floor picked up the taser. 

“Hey what the hell are you doing!” It was not really a question, but 2nd’s cries fell on deaf ears. 

You were all frozen in place, unsure of what to do in this situation. 

“W-why?” 7 shook. 

“We needed a twist, don’t you agree?” 6th said grimly as he looked over to the cameras, before turning back to 7th and shoving the taser into his neck, prompting him to pass out. 

Shocked gasps erupted from your side and your brain went into action mode, running around the slide to reach the man on the floor, trying to see if there’s anything you could do. But you didn’t make it all the way before 6th made a show of turning the taser on in your direction. A clear threat. 

You watched in helpless horror as 6th and 4th carried 7th up eight flights of stairs to the highest room, smiles wide on each of their faces and you couldn’t try to think of what things they may have in store for him. 

05/ The pawn.

[desceros]

F!Donnie's reaction to the discovery of f!viola-chan pregnancy? *Gives you the biggest puppy eyes as possible as I sulk after reading chapter 19* I beg of you for some fluff before my heart can't take it.

[yelling as i walk around the dash with this fic in a makeshift hawking tray] come get yer symphony copium right here folks symphony copium we got yer symphony copium donatello/reader; female reader; rated m (lil bit of spice)

“You smell… really good.” 

It’s a rare evening: Donnie’s actually in bed with you, no one got hurt today, everyone made it home, and with the success of the latest supply run there’d been food enough to go around. Your already-smiling face brightens further at his words, and you laugh as he presses close to burrow his face in your shoulder from behind.

“So you’re going to crush me into the mattress?” you ask, expecting him to make some kind of quippy retort about how he does that most nights anyway; but he doesn’t. He’s still smelling you, like your scent is intoxicating him somehow. “…Donnie?”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his beak running over your skin, his brow furrowing as he concentrates. It’s a confusing mix; his intense study makes you a little nervous, but he’s holding you so gently and filling every inch of your personal space with himself, making it nearly impossible to think about anything else.

“Don? Is everything okay?” you ask after a moment, going to roll over to face him only to freeze when he clutches at your body and pins you in place, a low rumbling sound from deep inside his shell searing straight to the animal place in your brain that screams for you to obey your mate. Shivering, worried, aroused, you comply.

…He’s still scenting you. 

“Donnie. Donnie.”  Urgency fills your voice, and though you don’t move—not that you could, what with how he’s got his hand on your shoulder and his legs strategically on yours—you do put enough emphasis in your tone that he finally pulls out of whatever turtle-brain part of himself he’d sunk into.

“…You…” he starts, his voice something that sounds a bit like wonder. 

“Donnie, for fuck’s sake, what—”

“You’re pregnant.”

This time, you freeze without his command. The word bounces around in your head—pregnant pregnant pregnant—and bruises the sides of your skull for how hard it hits. 

“…Is that… Is that even possible?” you ask, trying to turn. Again, he puts pressure on you, not letting you move. He isn't on top of you, not quite, but you're not going anywhere. One part of you wants to scream in frustration, but you can also feel the way his weight calms the panic that you see just on the edge of your reaction, its gnarly tendrils ominous and bleak. “How is that—We can’t—?”

“Apparently we can,” he says, slightly muffled from where he’s still scenting you. “Fuck, you—you smell so good. I have to get up in a few hours. I’m supposed to be sleeping right now. All I can think about is fucking you while you smell like this.”

His hot words, combined with the way he uses his grasp on you to roll his hips against yours, make you keen into the dark air of his lab. Still, you claw your way back, refusing to let him melt your brain. This is—This is important, you have to—you’re fucking pregnant in the apocalypse, there’s so much you need to—

“Donnie, we have to—” you start, but he cuts you off by sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, one hand sliding down to press low on your stomach as he arches into you again, then again. Fuck; he knows your body better than you do, and with a twist of his fingers he has you nearly begging for him.

“Yeah. We do,” he murmurs, talking about something completely different and, infuriatingly, still managing to set your blood on fire. “You’re so pretty. Always feel good. Amazing. You’re incredible.”

…Oh, you think, hearing it in the tremble of his voice. Feeling it in the way that his fingers go light on you, the way he’s curling around you more than he is crawling on top of you. The gentle, gentle, gentle weight of his palm against where it’s not just you inside your body anymore. The curve of his mouth against your skin between the wet kisses and nips where he's drunk on you.

“…You’re happy?” you ask quietly, uncertainly, and that, that’s what finally pulls him to you.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s an absolute not to be questioned. “Why wouldn’t I be? I love you.” Then, going still, he seems to consider that there might be an alternative reaction. “…Are you happy?”

You stare at the wall in front of you, mismatched and haphazardly scraped together. Just out of your hearing range, you know there are millions of hungry aliens looking to erase the very memory of you and the ones you love off the surface of the planet. It’s cold in the winter and sweltering in the summer. There’s almost never enough food. Only Donnie’s desalination machine keeps water from being an issue, and it’s a delicate, delicate heartbeat for the entire operation. Any day, you could die. Any day, you could lose him. Hope is a butterfly wing between you all; beautiful but gossamer-thin. 

You roll over to face him. This time, he doesn’t stop you.

He’s—god. Happy doesn’t even begin to touch it, you think, cupping his cheek with your hand and tracing your thumb at the line where his mask would be if he were wearing it. You haven’t seen his eyes this bright in… in… maybe ever, you think. His mouth is frowning now, waiting for your reaction, tempering his own, but you can see the shape of where he’d been smiling stupidly a mere moment ago. 

“I’m… worried,” you tell him, whispering softly between you. “I’m scared. I’m—I’m so, so scared. I’m shocked. I’m…” 

Donnie puts his hand over yours, keeping your palm pressed to his skin. It’s all you need. 

“…I’m happy.” 

His mouth goes back to that easy smile, his forehead pressing to yours as he pulls you close. This close, you can see the way his eyes are a little wet, and, oh, oh, he’s—he’s so much more than happy. It’s contagious; his delirious joy spilling over and making you giddy with the very idea of getting to share something like this with him. 

Sniffling, you press a quick kiss to his lips, laughing wetly when he chases you for more, tucking his face into your throat and inhaling deeply like he can’t stop. His hand finds your skin beneath your shirt, and his teeth find you again, the low rumbling churr of hunger intermingling with the light chirps of jubilation. He’s his own symphony of contentment, filling the lab and drawing from you giddy little laughs that tickle before the two of you fall to familiar whines and keens and mewls instead. Through it all, he's careful; gentle; worshipful; a reverence of you that makes you tremble even more than his sweet touch.

There will be time for the rest of it, you decide, letting his fingers coil with yours above your head as he slides inside on a gasped chant of love you love you love you that fills you to your very soul.

For now… you’ll just be happy.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

better half

or: here comes the... um...

gn!reader, strong language and innuendo, good old-fashioned fluffy stuff. my undying love and gratitude to the gang over on discord who have kept me sane for the last two months or so - @zozo-01 @pinksparkl and @autisticempathydaemon i would be LOST without you!! a veritable tropefest of all my favourites - just don't ask me when it's set, i beg. astarion taking matters into his own hands in 20,700 words or less.

“No, no, do go on. And the marigolds?”

Dear gods.

“Well, they’re a fine variety, to be sure - and fresh as anything, just come in this morning from-”

It was the right thing to say - the man keeps talking, voice lifted slightly over the bustle of the market as he chatters on about petal density and stem texture and who knows else. You’re only half-listening, nodding along and making encouraging little noises whenever he starts to run out of steam, but you’re not really paying attention.

You’d only come to this damned city in search of some complicated magical artefact that Gale’s been wanting - according to him, there’d been an auction back in Waterdeep not long after he left, and the nobleman who’d bought it arrived back home here just a few weeks ago. As luck would have it, he’s throwing a party in a little less than a tenday’s time for a bunch of the city’s rich folk, so naturally you’ll be taking advantage of the distraction to quietly sneak in and steal the artefact when nobody’s looking.

Or at least, that had been the plan, until closer inspection had revealed some pretty nasty enchantments protecting the manor from intruders. Gale and Shadowheart had both had a look, and agreed that while they could probably break them, given enough time, it wouldn’t exactly be discreet - rather, it’d probably set half the house on fire or something equally ridiculous. You’d all been standing around a few streets away, trying to figure out a plan for how exactly you were going to pull this off, when-

Really, now. Did they teach you idiocy at wizard school, or did it just come naturally?

You’d turned, surprised - Astarion, appearing out of thin air and self-satisfied as ever, swanning past Gale with a dismissive flutter of his fingers. I don’t suppose you’d know, but some of us have actually been to parties before.

Ignoring the affronted squawking from behind him, he’d dropped an expensive-looking roll of paper into your surprised hands, before looking down at you expectantly. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be an invitation to the manor, addressed to some minor lord you’d never heard of.

How on earth…? You’d been shocked at his good fortune - what are the odds he’d run into someone carrying an invitation for a party that’s happening days from now? Where did you-?

All taken care of, darling, he’d said dismissively, even though you could see the smug smile tugging just slightly at the corner of his mouth. A word in the right ear is a wonderful thing. We won’t be interrupted, believe me.

It had been that sort of smile - you’d said a silent prayer for whatever poor soul he’d lifted the invite off of. ‘We’?

Please. As much as I’m sure Lae’zel would love to spend an evening hanging off my arm - he’d dodged the kick to his shins with infuriating grace - I think we both know that the answer is obvious.

He’d gestured to the paper in your hand - ah. You hadn’t seen that part.

What say you, dearest? he’d said with a bow, taking your free hand with a princely flourish and laying a delicate kiss against your knuckles. Shadowheart had rolled her eyes at Astarion’s antics, mouthing something at you from over his shoulder before turning to start herding the others back towards the tavern you’re staying at. Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Obviously, there was no way this could possibly go wrong. You’d replied with your best Astarion impression, gasping in theatrical shock and trying desperately not to laugh. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart, he’d groaned as if in pain, kissing further and further up your wrist, your forearm, your elbow. I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

Tonight? At least wait ‘til we’re wedded, dear, you’d gasped in return, smacking him in the shoulder and utterly failing to hide your grin. I’ll have the ring first, then we’ll see.

Conniving little magpie. He’d said it like he’s any better, the bastard. Is that how I’ll win your heart, then? Dangling sparkly trinkets over your head, putting a shiny ring on your finger?

The others are long forgotten, vague shadows in the street. If it were from you, my lord? Nothing would please me more.

He’d raised a single, silver eyebrow, something unreadable sitting just behind his smile. Nothing, you say?

Well. You’d shrugged as he laughed at your faux-serious expression, looking him up and down with an exaggerated leer. I can think of at least one thing…

He’d been about to reply, but you’d caught sight of Karlach halfway down the street behind his shoulder, leaning over to Wyll and whispering something with a chuckle. At that distance, you hadn’t been able to make it out, but that’s what vampires are for - Astarion’s jaw had dropped theatrically with an indignant I heard that, you-!

An unapologetic middle finger from Karlach, and an outraged huff from Astarion as he took your arm and started after them. Defend my honour, won’t you, my love?

For sweet Astarion, paragon of innocence? Dragged laughing after him by the elbow, you’d not really had much of a chance to protest, but it’s not like you were going to anyway. Why, always.

Yesterday evening and today have been dedicated to prepping the pair of you for this little mission, and you really can’t tell if you’re more excited or terrified of the whole thing. Is it a bad idea? Yes. Is it a ridiculous solution to the problem? Yes. Are you going to do something that inevitably gets you both discovered and kicked out of the house empty-handed at best, or run through with something sharp at worst? Almost certainly.

That being said…

What’s the right way to put it? It’s not good for you, to be doing this. It’s not going to do you any favours. It’ll be nice at first, but when the glamour falls away, it’ll hurt even more than it did before.

You like him. Or maybe you don’t. Or maybe you’re scared of what liking him might mean, so you’re trying desperately to convince yourself that there’s nothing out of the ordinary about the way you like him. It could mean anything, the way your eyes always seem to fall upon him first. It could mean anything, the way any joke you tell isn’t funny unless he laughs. It could mean anything, how his voice makes your stomach drop and his smile makes your lungs hurt and his fingers on your skin make you want to tear your heart in half.

He’s something else entirely. The sting of his fangs in your neck, the comforting way he sits in the corner of your eye. This is going to destroy you.

For what it’s worth, the others have been doing some intelligence gathering on this nobleman that Astarion’s supposed to be. Wyll and Halsin ventured out to one of the nicer parts of town last night to see if anyone might have drunk enough to spill anything good, while Shadowheart and Karlach had been making the rounds of some of the… less respectable establishments to try and dig up what dirt they could.

According to their collective notes, he’s one of the younger sons of a relatively unknown house somewhere up north, and he was due to arrive yesterday on some sort of business for his father. It can’t be for anything too complicated or expensive, seeing as a wealthier house would probably have a more famous name, and likely wouldn’t want to be seen sending a fourth or a fifth son as a negotiator.

He seems to be a fairly private figure - no especially distinctive features, and no particular public scandals or habits that Karlach or Shadowheart could discover, which is definitely good news for Astarion’s cover. Gale didn’t recognise the name in a magical context, and Lae’zel hadn’t heard of them as a notable military house - altogether, it’s likely that they’re probably a merchant family that’s come into money through trade, as opposed something like land or banking or politics.

Unusually, he seems to have brought someone with him - the invitation is addressed to him and a nameless betrothed, but none of you have been able to find anything out about them whatsoever. Nobody’s seen them, or heard about them, or even seems to know their name. As far as the people of the city have let slip, they might as well have never existed. Astarion had even said as much when you’d asked him.

I mean, he certainly didn’t look the type, he’d said, grimacing faintly as he pictured the man he’d pickpocketed. I’m more than aware that travelling can be a thoroughly unpleasant business, but really. If he does happen to be affianced, as you say, then I do pity the poor creature - it was barely the afternoon and the man reeked of alcohol.

An easy target, then, you’d replied with a grin. Please tell me you left him with some gold for a place to sleep last night.

He’d made a face, waving a hand dismissively. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. He’ll be halfway home by now, I expect, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

A few seconds had passed.

What? I’ve told you before, I can be very persuasive-

And the fiancé?

You’d been able to feel the headache coming on already. No. No, you didn’t.

…Ah. He’d had the good grace to at least look a little bit sheepish. I, um-

You mean you sent him home without the fiancé? Who I’m supposed to be impersonating? By this point, you’d had your head in your hands, already picturing the myriad of ways this could so easily go wrong. Who’s probably going to turn up at this stupid party and tell everyone that w-

No, no - none of that now, dear. It’ll be fine, I promise you. He’d not sounded entirely sure, but you’d grudgingly let him shush you, featherlight pressure on your shoulder. I’m sure this fiancé - you know, are we even sure there is a fiancé? That it wasn’t conjured up at the bottom of a bottle? The fool was practically pickled - I’m telling you, darling, it wouldn’t be out of the question.

I’ll pickle you in a minute, you’d grumbled, not entirely joking. If we die, I’ll kill you.

Oh, my love. I look forward to it already.

“You know, I had a gentleman come by, not half an hour ago, swearing up and down I’d got these confused with the peonies - peonies! Can you imagine!”

Startled out of your daydream, you’re left blinking back at the man in hapless confusion. “Sorry, come again?”

“Well, that’s just what I told him - but apparently…”

The flower seller launches right back into his monologue, and you’re starting to wonder if there’s a reason nobody was looking at this stall when you arrived. Curse these ridiculous noble types and their ridiculous fashions! Wyll had taken one look at your - admittedly somewhat slender - wardrobe and declared that none of it would do, either for the sin of being far too cheap or terribly out of vogue. Fortunately for your wallet, you’d collectively been able to cobble together something halfway decent out of bits and pieces your little group had thieved over the last few weeks.

Unfortunately, they don’t exactly fit too well, so you’ve been sent out to get it all tailored into something suitably expensive-looking to wear. Astarion, true to form, had jumped at the chance to take you shopping, although you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been dying for the chance to indulge in a little retail therapy at your expense, or just all of the various trinkets and knick-knacks he’d be able to swipe from unsuspecting merchants.

Oh, and you mustn’t forget about our little ruse, dear. Who knows who might be watching?

And thus, you’re stuck at this damned flower stand where he said he’d meet you, trying desperately to avoid whatever increasingly-unsubtle flirtation the flower seller aims at you, and really wishing you’d brought a book. Maybe that would have distracted you from the horrible, twisting feeling in your stomach at the thought of what might happen when he does show up.

Is it going to be weird? Oh, it’s a stupid question - it was always going to be weird, doing something like this with him. Acting as though you’re faking liking him, pretending to have to pretend, the double-triple bluff. It’s bad enough as it is, heartstrings all stretched and sore from the weight of keeping it all inside - but to be allowed to indulge, just this once? Falling into the fantasy of what could never be, letting yourself believe for a long, golden moment that he might actually love you the way you dream of. You’re afraid you’ll snap completely.

To be honest, the waiting isn’t helping. He’d rambled something last night about having some sort of business nearby - what sort of bloody business could he possibly have in a town he’s never seen before? - and that he’d catch up with you by the flower stall by mid-morning at the latest.

Naturally, that means that it’s nearly midday and you still haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, one eye on the crowd as you stare absently at the colourful buckets of flowers. The noise of the market all around you, the sun in your eyes, the mild breeze that’s more hot than cold - you were right, you definitely should have brought a book or something, because where in all the hells is that blasted-

“There you are, dearheart!”

Your head whips to the right at the sudden weight of a cool arm around your waist, pulling you to the side. Surprised, you’re already reaching for the borrowed dagger at your hip, only to be met with-

“I - oh, darling!” Before you really know what’s happening, you’re swept into an uncharacteristic embrace, face-to-face with a slightly-harried, definitely-late, maddeningly-beautiful Astarion. Hurriedly, you paint on a smile, looking up at him with what you’re hoping reads as blissful excitement. “Back so soon?”

“Soon?” He takes you at your word, the bastard, like he wasn’t supposed to be here hours ago. “Oh, it’s never too soon to be with you, my sweet.”

It’s infuriating, how your heart stutters at the rakish grin he gives you as he says it, at the thought - fake as it may be - that he might actually mean it. Pressed against him like this, strong hands keeping you close as you steady yourself against his chest, it’s even worse than usual. Can he hear it? Does he know?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the flower seller trailing off clumsily in the middle of his sentence, clearly now at something of a loose end. He settles for reaching down to adjust one of the displays, but you can feel his eyes on you even while he pretends to look away.

He doesn’t suspect something, does he? No, he can’t - why would he even be suspicious? He doesn’t know that this isn’t real.

Astarion must notice too, diving down to kiss your cheek so lightly that it almost tickles - you make the mistake of letting the involuntary laughter show on your face, and immediately regret it when it means he goes right back in for another one. Then another, then another, dipping you further and further back and smothering your protestations in kisses that shouldn’t feel as good as they do.

“Wh-hey, hey - darling!” Embarrassed, you struggle against him, trying to escape his hold, but it’s no good - he’s just too strong. “We’re - this is hardly the time-!”

He relents slightly at that, bringing you back upright and turning you around to face back towards the flower stall, before draping himself over your back and locking his arms once more around your middle. Somehow, it’s even worse than before - now you can definitely see the awkward flower seller, trying not to stare at the absolute mess that you two must be right now.

“Mmm, my apologies for the interruption,” Astarion mumbles against your throat, thoroughly unrepentant, and you can feel him smile as he kisses over the soft, tender space where his fangs normally go. “You were saying?”

You wrack your brain, but there’s nothing there except the swirling, flustered mist that fills your mind whenever he gets this close. What would you say, if this were real? Blindly, you reach for something to say - anything, that might get him off your case. And your neck.

“Did you, um-” You pause, stumbling over the words slightly. He probably doesn’t want all and sundry knowing what he was up to before he arrived, and he probably isn’t going to admit it anyway. Better to just make it part of the charade from the start.

“Did you find anything good?”

“Mm, nothing much,” he hums, fingers tracing tiny spirals across the front of your shirt. “A little bit of this and that, you know how it is.”

Okay, great, a total non-answer. Good to know that he’s really trying to make this act believable.

  “Very well. Keep your secrets.” You turn your face away in faux-offence, before softening with a smile as a petulant hand comes up to turn your chin back towards him. “Did you at least get everything you wanted?”

“Really, dear,” he huffs, soothing the blow with a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Can’t a man have any secrets from you?”

Gods below, he’s up to something. If your brain wasn’t too busy melting into goo, you might even wonder what it is - alas, you just have to settle for discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

“Of course not,” you reply matter-of-factly, even though the words make your heart ache just a little bit. If only it were true. “What’s yours is mine, and all that.”

“How could I forget?” Sweet hells, he says it so softly, like he’s trying to make it hurt. “As if I could ever be free of you, my love.”

You roll your eyes, even as you lean back into his chest - you’re vaguely aware that you were supposed to be doing something, but you’ll be damned if you can remember what it is. “You make it sound so appealing, you know.”

“Do I? It’s not on purpose, I assure you.”

You gasp, hand limp against your forehead in a mock-faint. “Rude.”

“All part of the plan, darling,” he says, nonchalant, and it’s ridiculous how it does actually make you feel better. “For a prize as lovely as you? I have to find some way of keeping you all to myself.”

You’re about to respond when the flower seller clears his throat awkwardly, evidently not really sure what to do with the pseudo-couple flirting incessantly in front of his stand - you jump slightly at the reminder, feeling weirdly like you’ve just been walked in on.

Astarion, meanwhile, remains annoyingly unfazed - when you turn to look at him, he’s… smiling? No, not quite. It’s less of a smile and more of a smirk, but not his usual one - and yet you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s different.

“Go on, then,” he prompts you, nudging you gently in the side. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend here?”

“Right, right, um-” Shaking your head slightly, as if to clear it, you smile as brightly as you can at the flower seller. Fuck, what did he say his name was again? “Love, this is - oh, this is…”

“Osric, sir.” The man comes to your rescue, tipping his cap in Astarion’s direction with a friendly smile. “Pleasure to be of service to you both.”

True to form, Astarion meets him with a flat, haughty stare, seemingly unimpressed. “Charmed. Now, sweetheart, I believe we were just on our w-”

“Ah - just a moment.” He recoils ever so slightly at the interruption, a tiny tremor that you feel but don’t see. Got him. “I might like to look a little longer.”

It’s only really for show, but you make a point of umming and ahhing over the display, surreptitiously stepping on the toe of his boot as you do it. If he’s going to try and empty your wallet today, as you’re sure he will, you’re not going to let him have all the fun.

“Really. If you want me to buy you flowers, pet, you only have to ask.” Astarion shakes his head indulgently as he catches your drift, rolling his eyes at the young man behind the stall in pretend commiseration. “Trust me to find the one creature in all of Faerûn who’d rather I spend my fortune on dahlias than dinner.”

You twist slightly in his arms without looking away from the flowers, one hand slipping idly up to cradle his jaw as the other drifts over the box of tulips. “But you do it anyway.”

He sighs, exasperated and achingly fond in a way you wish he meant, turning to press a gentle kiss to your palm. “Yes, I do it anyway. Fool that I am.”

You’re forced to step slightly to the side as a lady comes up beside you and starts chatting to the vendor, which gives Astarion the perfect opportunity to dial down the act a little bit. It’s hard work even for you, and you’re not even really faking it - you can only imagine how annoying it must be, having to do all this with someone you’re not actually in love with.

For some reason, though, he doesn’t. Instead he seems to double down, swaying the two of you lightly from side to side as you examine the flowers on display, cold hands warming with your body heat as they smooth absentmindedly up and down your sides.

“Tempted by anything, darling?”

A classic line - somehow, it makes the whole thing easier. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Oh, plenty,” you say, not even trying to hide your grin. “Nothing fit for polite company, though.”

You don’t even have to turn and look - your mind’s eye is enough to see the faux-outraged face he’s making. “Do I look like polite company to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The lady accidentally bumps you with her bag as she walks over to look at some of the other displays, and you can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like you can hear Astarion muttering something under his breath. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, you know.”

“Mind if I answer for you, then?” He waits for you to nod, cautiously curious about what he’ll say, before lifting a blasé hand to the flower seller and beckoning him over with a lazy wave.

“Six of the roses, if you will.”

“Certainly, sir,” the vendor replies with a nod. “Right away.”

What?

Utterly bewildered, you watch detachedly as Astarion points to the colours he wants, some comically cliché blend of red and pink and white. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing. “What in - what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

A sideways glance, faintly bemused. “Pardon?”

You should probably be more embarrassed about the way you’re tripping over the words, but you’re more concerned with wondering if he’s actually, genuinely lost his mind. “I don’t need - it’s fine, let’s just-”

"No, no, you're right, six won’t do." He’s unmoved by your futile attempt to drag him away, free arm locking around your waist to keep you trapped against his chest as he corrects himself to the flower seller. "Make it a dozen."

“Astarion!” you hiss, as quietly as you can so that nobody overhears. “This is - you can’t just-”

“I’ll have you know I certainly can,” he replies, producing a handful of coins out of nowhere and casually dropping them into the flower seller’s palm. Absentmindedly, you notice that he’s wearing more rings than usual - your eye is drawn to a particularly lovely gold one on his left hand that you haven’t seen before. “In fact - oh, would you look at that? It seems I just have.”

You - he - you’re going to m-

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he sighs, eyes bright with concealed mischief, one elegant finger pressing up under your chin. “It’s dreadfully unbecoming.”

Sweetling. You’re going to strangle him.

The excellent retort that you were surely about to give is cut off by the flower seller, bouquet in hand and clearly very amused by the whole situation. “There we are - a dozen roses, compliments of your gentleman friend.”

He’s certainly no gentleman, but that’s hardly the worst of his crimes. Hateful, traitorous creature, that scheming villain, tormentor of your mind and thief of your heart.

“Excellent taste, sir,” the vendor says innocently over your shoulder as you lean forwards to take the flowers from him. “They’re some lovely blossoms, those!”

“Mm, aren’t they just?” Damn it all, you know what it means when he uses that voice - when you turn around, his eyes flick back up to yours with a shameless grin. “And the flowers are rather pleasant, too.”

“I - you-!” Oh, you could just smack him for that - you can guess what he was talking about, and it certainly wasn’t a bouquet. The vendor hastily stifles a laugh behind you as you glare daggers at Astarion, sorely tempted to take a swing at him. “When I get my hands on you-!”

Cackling wildly, he dances out of the way with an annoyingly dignified sidestep, bidding a quick farewell to the flower seller over his shoulder before looping his arm around your waist and sweeping you away further into the market. “Careful there, petal. We wouldn’t want the whole town to know about where you’ll put your hands on me, would we?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to fucking kill him, and nobody is going to blame you.

“Come now, darling, no need to look so glum,” he murmurs, leading you gently through the crowd. “Don’t you like them?”

Irritatingly, you can’t actually say you don’t. The roses really are stunning, each one beautifully rich in colour, all soft, velvety petals and long, elegant stems wrapped in thick paper. They’re also far too expensive for him to be wasting money on like this, but you know exactly what he’ll say if you try to protest.

Instead, you settle for honesty. Staring down at the delicate flowers in your hands, you let yourself believe, for just a single second, that they mean what you wish they would mean. That he gave them to you because he loves you, rather than as a prop for a foolish charade - that the kiss marks burned into your skin spell devotion, instead of duplicity.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say. “Thank you, my love.”

A sudden, scuffing sound from close by - next to you, Astarion suddenly lurches forward slightly, fingers digging almost painfully into your sides for a fraction of a second before relaxing. If it was anyone else, you’d say he’d just stumbled over his own feet. But this is Astarion you’re talking about, fleet-footed master of thievery and rogue extraordinaire, so that can’t be what just happened.

There’s a momentary pause, before-

“You’re very welcome, dearheart.”

He says it softly, low and unusually sincere. You don’t want to think about why. “And for what it’s worth, I do think your blossoms are really rather lo-”

“Alright!” You cut him off before he can finish the sentence - that’s quite enough about your blossoms, thank you very much - and practically drag him after you, bouquet cradled in the crook of your arm as your other hand reaches down to grab his. “No need to lay it on too thick, now.”

He doesn’t stop laughing until you’re almost there, magnanimously letting you pull him along with a shocking lack of complaints. The tangled streets that surround this part of the market are something of a maze, but before long you’re standing outside the tailor’s shop that you’ve been tasked with finding.

Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it’s too busy inside. There’s a few people working, but it’s not as packed as you’d feared - with any luck, it’ll mean that they’ll have the time to work on your requests, rather than just rejecting you outright.

“Ah - just a moment, dear.”

Your hand freezes on the door, and you turn to see Astarion fiddling with a hitherto-unseen pouch of some kind. It looks like leather, and the way he’s holding it makes it look like there’s something delicate inside. How odd. Did he steal it? You don’t recognise it.

“I have a little something for you that might help with our…”

He trails off, eyes not quite meeting yours, gesturing awkwardly with one hand as he tries to find the words. “Our little arrangement, shall we say.”

“Really?” Intrigued, you step away from the door and back to his side. “What is it?”

No reply. Instead, he takes your hand in his and holds it flat, before upending the contents of the little bag into it and letting you see for yourself.

“I do hope it fits.”

It’s just a prop. It’s just part of the disguise, and he would have done it for anyone. Your mind doesn’t stop, your heart doesn’t ache. It doesn’t mean anything, the lovely engagement ring sitting innocently in your palm.

“I…”

Wordless, you can only stare. Perhaps a more critical eye would call it plain, but to you it’s nothing short of beautiful, a tasteful gold band with a delicate tear-shaped ruby in the centre. It looks new, polished and pristine in its finish, not at all like any of the rings you’ve picked up on your travels so far. There’s something inscribed inside the band, but the letters are quite small and difficult to make out - is that Espruar?

Of everything about it, that’s probably the strangest thing. As much as it stings to admit it, at the end of the day it’s a fake ring, so why bother having it engraved at all? Nobody’s going to see the inside except for you.

He can’t possibly have bought it. He just can’t have. Creature of luxury though he is, he’d never waste money on something so… so frivolous. He must have stolen it. That’s the only explanation. He didn’t know it was engraved when he took it, so it doesn’t mean anything at all. And in any case, he’ll probably want it back when this is all over - you’re sure it’ll fetch a lovely price when he’s sold it by this time next week.

You’re interrupted in your examination by Astarion, discreetly clearing his throat, and oh, hells, your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Here. Let me.”

Ever so sweetly, he takes the ring from your hand and slides it carefully onto your finger. Head bowed, gaze fixed on his task. He’s so close. If he looked up, right now, you could almost be kissing. You’d only have to lean forwards a tiny bit.

The thought sends a shiver right through you that you try to hide - but true to form he notices anyway, pulling his hands away like it’s his cool touch that startled you, and you mourn the loss as soon as he does it. He’s right that the metal is cold at first, but it quickly warms with your skin, and you smile as you realise that he’d guessed correctly. Slim yet sturdy, a reassuring weight. It fits perfectly.

“I…”

Sunlight. Washing him in gold, filling the street with light, sparkling on your finger. Vaguely, you remember thinking something about a ring earlier, but you can’t quite remember what it was.

“Let’s get you inside, darling,” he says, and something in his voice aches in a way you can’t describe. “We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

The bell above the door rings cheerfully as he pushes it open for you, one hand on the small of your back to steady you as you step inside. It’s a tiny little place, jam-packed with all manner of fabrics and half-mended garments - you’re barely able to get the words sorry, it’s kind of last-minute out before the no-nonsense lady by the counter is ushering you back behind a curtain, plucking the roses out of your hands, and pulling it shut with a brisk nod and instruction to the assistant there to help you get dressed.

You can vaguely hear Astarion being pelted with questions as you retrieve the bundle of clothes from your bag. Now that you really look, it’s obvious that some of this stuff has suffered somewhat over time, what with all the fraying seams and threadbare patches, but all things considered it’s not that bad. With a little bit of love, you should be able to decently pass yourself off as the minor noble you’re supposed to be.

It’s lucky that Astarion has such expensive taste, magpie that he is. He’d managed to come up with a reasonable ensemble last night with relative ease, thanks to the various spoils he’s picked up while you’ve all been travelling. His doublet is a little bare, though, so he said he was going to see if they could embroider something for him.

Ordinarily, you know he would have done it himself. He tries not to let on, but you’ve seen him picking through his little sewing box - yes, he does have one and no, he refuses to admit it exists - at camp in the evening when he thinks nobody’s looking. Perhaps the others haven’t noticed how his clothes seem to magically repair themselves overnight after a fight, or perhaps they just don’t care to comment. Either way, he’s certainly more skilled with a needle than you’d first thought, but life on the road doesn’t exactly lend itself to fine embroidery thread. He almost certainly doesn’t have any, or at least not enough, and he’s far too proud to ask if anyone else happens to.

He really is very particular about how he looks, and you suppose it makes sense. Considering all that’s happened to him, the monstrosity of his servitude… well. It’s hardly a surprise that any measure of control, even over something as seemingly trivial as the shirt he wears, might be intoxicating. If he wants to dress himself in nice things, however gaudy or over the top they might be, then he may as well. Hopefully, nobody out there is getting on his bad side about it.

Actually, now that you think about it, it’s probably not the best idea to leave Astarion unsupervised in a room full of people who you need to like you. Hastily, you start changing a little faster, in what little space there is behind this curtain - clothes like this are so complicated that the assistant back here has to help you, but there’s so little room that you’d almost rather be alone. At the very least there’s no shouting from the rest of the room yet, but you know what he’s like. No point in risking it-

“-haah-!”

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

Wincing, you emerge from the cramped little corner, fully dressed and clutching your banged elbow. You can’t move all that fast, seeing as some of these clothes are a fair bit too small, but it doesn’t really matter. The lady has you up on the riser in the middle of the room, and you’re swarmed by a handful of shop assistants armed with pins and measuring ropes, all chattering away about letting one seam or another out, let’s put darts in here, this’ll need covering up, I see what you mean about the sleeves…

To be honest, you’re not really paying attention, content to have them just get on with it. Wyll had said that this place deals with rich types all the time, so you’re sure they know what they’re doing far better than you do. Astarion, meanwhile, seems to be having the time of his life lounging in his little chair and making snide comments here and there, occasionally getting up and pointing at various bits of you that need embellishing - you’re strangely reminded of a child playing dress-up with a favourite dolly.

“Lift your arms a moment, if you please.”

The tailor gestures for you to raise your arms at your sides, so you do. Her voice is nice, sweet and smooth like honey, and you idly follow her instructions as she tells you how to move. Some of the assistants have gone off to sift through fabrics, but most of them are still clustered around you, honeybees to a flower.

How long have you been up here again? You’re surprised there are any bits of you they haven’t measured yet.

Your mind starts to drift as they keep picking at you, but fairly soon it catches on one of the girls closer to the front of the shop. She’s strikingly beautiful, all fine features and gentle grace, pointed ears peeking out of long, silky hair that reaches all the way down to her slim waist. She hasn’t come over to you, and at her bench it looks like she’s working on a doublet of some kind, so it makes sense that she’s talking to Astarion. It makes sense, because she’s probably asking what he wants embroidered on it.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be why she's standing so close to him, so she can hear every detail of exactly what he wants. She’s smiling so much and laughing at every little thing he says, because she wants him to feel welcome here. She’s guiding him away from you and closer to her workbench, so that he can make sure that she’s embroidering the right pattern.

It makes total sense. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“And if you could just turn this way, please?”

Only it doesn’t make sense, because you know for a fact he’d never be caught dead in that particular shade of coral pink - it clashes horribly with my eyes, don’t you think? - and he’s never liked that type of slashing on the sleeve.The laces are in the wrong style, and the length is all funny. Astarion wouldn’t wear anything like that, not even as a disguise. It’s garish and tacky and altogether far too tasteless. It can't belong to him.

So what in all the hells does that girl think she's doing?

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem too fussed about her - rather, he looks to be fairly entertained. It’s fine, though, right? He’s probably just humouring her, isn’t he? To say nothing of the way his fingers flex at his side, like he wants to reach out and touch her, or the way his gaze fixes on her face like he can’t bring himself to look away.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter - and it’s hardly your place to tell him what he can and can’t do, anyway. This whole thing is just a ruse. He doesn’t know how much you wish it were true, and he doesn’t need to know. If it hurts, that’s your own fault.

Besides, he’s probably just looking for some fun, right? He’s never exactly been shy about it. He flirts with everyone, but it’s not love that’s on his mind - and you’re not stupid enough to think he’s any different when it comes to this. Whether it’s out of boredom or hedonism, it isn’t because he wants to make you feel good, and it isn’t because he’s just so friendly. It’s because he wants something.

You’re not so naive to think he might actually mean the things he tells you, pretty though they may be. When he says he wants you, when he says he wants to please you - every time, it’s as charming as it is frustrating. Charming, because you think you’d give anything for it to be real, for him to like you - desire you - care for you the way you do him. Frustrating, because you know that someone like Astarion would never bring himself to settle for someone like you.

“Face this way for a second, please?”

Even men like him need a change of pace. When he makes faces at you across the campfire when Gale starts rabbiting on about his magic tricks, when he presses his lips against your neck for just a second before he bites, when he softens every practised line with a flick of his wrist and a teasing smile. You know what it means. It means he knows he doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to play the fool with you - he’s not worried about getting you into bed, because he knows you know he’s out of your league.

He doesn’t want you. He trusts you to not want him either. And you, idiot that you are, thought you’d go ahead and ruin that by falling in love with him. How much worse could it be?

He’s your friend, loath as he is to admit it sometimes. You can’t bring yourself to hurt him with the admission - the part of you that knows he doesn’t come to you for sex, and the part that can’t help but wish he did. If he’s looking for somebody to warm his bed tonight, why would he ever waste time talking to you?

Yeah, that’ll be it. That dull ache deep inside, soaking into all the soft parts of you, watching the man you love give in to a girl he met fifteen minutes ago. And you can’t blame him at all, because it’s your own stupid crush that’s got you into this mess. The pain isn’t his problem. If you were the sort of person he could love, then maybe you wouldn’t have to hurt this way - but you’re not, so you can’t complain.

Gushing, sloshing, seasick. It’s not like he’s actually in love with you.

He’s turned slightly away from you to face her, so you can’t see exactly, but it looks like he’s… smiling? And look, he’s beckoning her closer, leaning down as if he might have a secret to tell her, and if you didn’t know better you might think he was just about to-

“Darling!”

Both of them whip around to face you, and neither of them are as good at acting as they think they are. The girl is breathing hard, pretty lips stretched into what you’re sure she hopes is a convincing grin, and you’ve seen enough of Astarion’s fake, hasty smiles to know when you’re looking at one.

You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say next - blindly, you scramble for an excuse to get his attention back. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” The girl scurries back to her bench as Astarion looks pointedly down at her, but you can still see how she watches him walk over to you, wide-eyed and flushed even as she tries to go back to her work. “Are you finished already?”

Fortunately, one of the assistants comes over to you at just the right moment, holding out a hand to help you down off the riser. Astarion clearly notices what she’s doing and offers his hand to you as well - and if it’s a sick sort of pleasure that runs through you as you deliberately ignore him, taking the assistant’s hand instead of his, then that’s nobody’s business but yours.

(In the corner of your eye, as you step down, he looks almost… well, it doesn’t matter. The moment has passed.)

“The sampler’s on the table, when you’re ready,” says the assistant to you, bowing slightly before vanishing behind a table piled with rolls of fabric, and you take a shallow breath as she leaves.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Your voice is small, too small, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you say it - by all the hells, you’re pathetic. Don’t let him know, don’t let him see what this curse of a crush does to you. Weighed down, one hand that’s so, so heavy.

“Are you sure, dear?” Something dangerously close to worry crosses his face, just for a moment, but that can’t possibly be real. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head and smile as best you can, already starting to step backwards towards the curtain where your ordinary clothes are. Anything, just to get yourself out of this for a second. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

He nods stiffly, eyes narrowed, and lets you go. You’re obviously not off the hook just yet, but there’s nothing he can say in front of everyone in here - gratefully, you take the reprieve and disappear back behind the curtain. It’s almost certainly your imagination, but you could swear you feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning through the back of your skull, setting your skin alight.

It’s only after about thirty seconds before you realise the problem at hand, and you can’t help but swear under your breath at the thought. This fucking outfit - you can’t even reach half of the buttons and laces that keep it on you, and this time there’s nobody back here to help you. Trying on your own will be pointless, seeing as you’ll probably just get yourself even more stuck, and if you go back out there now, you’ll have to face-

“Let me.”

Another lie. You should have known.

Quiet, slipping unnoticed behind you, cold hands searing through the layers of silk and velvet that separate you. Inch by inch, button by button. As always, he sees right through you.

“Careful,” you say, trying not to notice how hollow it sounds. “You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

He scoffs, and it’s something like lighthearted. “What would they say? Heavens forfend, I should spend a little time with the love of my life.”

Does he have to be so cruel about it? Stinging, smarting, lemon juice in the cut.

“I’m told that said time is normally meant to be spent fully clothed.” His fingers work their way deftly across your back, unbuttoning and unlacing all the pieces of your silken armour, and you fight to keep your voice steady. Whose idea was it to put you in this many damned layers again? “You’re a wicked man, my darling.”

“Oh, certainly,” he replies, and you don’t have to look to feel the careless shrug he gives. “Can you blame me? Between you and a second-rate sampler, I know which is the better view.”

“Depends how much you like embroidered flowers.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I commend your choice of entertainment.” The final button comes undone, and you gesture over your shoulder for him to step back outside. “That’s everything.”

He hums quietly in acquiescence, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he just turns to face away. The rustle of fabric is loud in the sudden silence as you step out of your outfit, skin burning with the closeness of him - as you reach past him to the pile of your ordinary clothes, careful not to accidentally touch, you can feel the coolness of his body in the air. A shadow on the wall, drinking in the heat of you.

“It looked like you were having fun.”

It’s a normal thing for you to say, in a normal tone of voice. Easy, casual, teasing in the way a friend might be. Judging from the way he tenses, spine stiffening ever so slightly, you very nearly manage it.

“Did it?” he asks, and there’s something in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “From a distance, perhaps.”

“You know, I think she likes you,” you sing as you pull your shirt back over your head, poking him in the shoulder to disguise the fact that the note is slightly sharp. “How’s that for a scandal?”

“Hardly her fault.” He makes a show of preening himself in front of the invisible mirror, inspecting his nails and raking a practised hand through his hair - if your tongue didn’t taste so sour, you’d laugh. “An occupational hazard for a gentleman such as myself.”

See, if you weren’t already so stupidly infatuated with him, you’d keep pushing. If you were just a perfectly ordinary, entirely platonic companion, that’s what you’d do. So you say it, and you try your best to ignore the horrible churning feeling that settles in your stomach as you do.

“You ought to go back to her,” you muse, as lightly and sweetly as you can. “If you asked, I’m sure she’d make time for a private fitting.”

To be entirely honest, the innuendo isn’t your best work, but that’s not the problem here. It’s a perfectly ordinary comment for you to make, a normal sort of joke that he really should have been expecting. So then, why…?

Astarion freezes, unnaturally still, one hand still tangled in his curls as the words register. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s just your blood running cold - either way, the temperature between you plummets until you could swear you see your breath turning to mist in the air, frozen solid with the chill.

“A pri- sorry, a what?”

It’s a good thing you’re mostly dressed by now - he turns back to face you with an almost comically incredulous expression, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him you’re thinking about asking Lae’zel for ballet lessons. “And why in all the hells would I want to do that?”

“Well, you know…” Your hand waves clumsily in place of words you can’t quite say - surely he knows what you mean. “I won’t stop you, if you want to stay and let her, um… ”

“What?”

It’s a thoroughly bizarre situation, watching the gears turning uselessly in his brain. Normally, you’ve barely had time to think of the innuendo before he’s already said it, and you were expecting this time to be no different. What’s changed? Isn’t that what he was after?

“Darling, you don’t - I didn’t-”

Wait. Oh, shit, don’t say it’s true. You’ve got this totally wrong, haven’t you? He must have genuinely liked her, must have wanted to speak to her - you know Astarion well enough to know that he won’t waste his precious time on somebody he doesn’t care for. That’ll have been why the girl was so close when you saw them speaking, and it’ll be why he’s so confused now. Shame blooms deep and bitter in your stomach as it finally dawns on you - gods be good, he must really think you’re an idiot now, accusing him of trying to solicit some torrid affair when he just wanted to have a chat with someone h-

“Um… excuse me?”

Both of your heads whip towards the voice coming from just outside the curtain - one hand instinctively flies to the still-undone front of your shirt, while the other darts out to cover the sudden flash of light in the corner of your eye. Astarion nearly jumps a foot in the air at your touch, uncharacteristically on edge, but he lets you push the half-drawn dagger back into the sheath at his hip regardless. As much as he might protest, whoever’s speaking probably doesn’t need to be greeted by several inches of sharpened steel.

“Yes?” he snaps, and you notice that he’s moved slightly to put himself between you and the curtain. “What is it?”

“The alterations, sir,” the voice replies. “We can’t start without the, um… without the actual garments.”

Right, yeah, that does make sense. Astarion looks at you as you swallow down the furious humiliation bubbling in your throat, but you can’t look back. Turning around, you’re just reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor when-

“Five days should be more than enough, yes?”

Fortunately, you have the presence of mind not to shout as the world blurs around you, cold hands shoving you gracelessly through the curtain and out into the room proper. Stumbling over your undone boots, you barely avoid tripping headfirst into the poor tailor’s assistant standing just outside.

“I, uh - well, we’ll do our best, sir, but-”

“Excellent.”

You can only watch as Astarion grabs the pile of clothes and dumps them into the woman’s arms along with a sizeable handful of gold, before practically lifting you off your feet and carrying you out of the shop entirely. The elvish girl from before looks up with wide eyes at the kerfuffle, but he swans past without even sparing her a glance.

“Right, then. I suppose we’ll be seeing you all soon, won’t we, sweetheart?”

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. It’s the only explanation you can think of, head spinning from the speed, dazed and dizzy as he coos the words down at you - there’s just enough time to catch the confused assistant’s eye and point to one of the nicer embroidery patterns on the forgotten sampler as he whisks you past it, before the door swings shut behind you and you’re back in the sun-bathed street outside.

(Numbly, you realise that you’re holding your bunch of flowers again, tucked loosely into the cradle of your arms, and that your bag is slung over Astarion’s shoulder along with his own. When did that happen?)

  Silence. Thorns, crawling up your throat, greedy stems clawing their way out of your soft, bloody mouth. Everything tastes like roses.

“Well, then.”

Your voice is remarkably calm, if you do say so yourself. Red sunlight, dancing on the wall every time you move your hand. It’s cold.

“Love, I-”

“Let’s just go.” He recoils slightly at the undertone of venom in your voice, cutting him off, but it doesn’t send more than a faint twinge of regret through you. The more you play this game, the worse it gets - you’ve already put your foot in it once, and you’d rather not do it again. “You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us. I won’t make you.”

Anger and embarrassment bubble in your chest, a sour cocktail that sears a hot flush all down your cheeks and your neck as you extricate yourself stiffly from his hold. It’s useless to try and hide it, but there’s something small and shameful inside that forces you to turn from him anyway, quick steps down the street.

Upset over nothing, you’re making a scene. You won’t cry, you won’t, but you could if you wanted to - clutching the flowers to your chest like they might stop him from being able to hear the rattle of your heart against your ribs, from knowing the heat of your blood as it soaks through your skin.

“You couldn't make me do anything.”

He's quiet, bitter words flung at your back. You slow down, but don't stop.

“Yeah.” Oh, if only he knew how much you wished you could. “I know.”

Sunlight bears down on you, no relief from the fierceness of its glare. Perhaps that's what this has always been about. Selfish from the start, always looking out for yourself, and just too afraid to admit it. This whole fiction you’ve created, that you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. A puppet strangled in its own strings, a control freak in love.

He doesn't love you, and it burns that you can't make him - so here you are, playing house like a spoilt child, forcing him into the charade. Sweet hells. You really are pathetic.

Cool fingers, warmed by the sun, lock around your wrist.

“I always said you were a fool, you know.”

It’s so kind of Astarion, to really twist the knife like this. “Thanks.”

“No - no, not-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, tugging you towards him and sighing when you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” you snap. “It’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine, is it?” he retorts, louder than you think he meant to be. “It’s not fine, and it does matter, because I - I’ve-”

Stone shifts beneath your feet, lightheaded, vertigo. The tadpole.

I’ve hurt you.

He’s in your head, flat pressure against the bubble of your mind. Not pushing, just waiting. A quiet street in the middle of town.

Please. Let me show you.

You want to. Dear gods, you want to, but even now you know that out here, this won’t be good for either of you.

“Not here,” you say out loud, shaking your head. “Not like this.”

He looks a little affronted that you don’t reply in his mind, but acquiesces all the same. “Where, then?”

“Just…” A woman and her son turn down the street behind him, walking hand in hand towards you. They look well-off, to say the least, and you quickly thread your arm through Astarion’s like the lover you’re supposed to be. You can never be too careful. “Inside, at least.”

Not refusing, just postponing. Ever the gentleman, he gestures forwards with a little bow, eyes closed in mock-deference. “Lead on, dearheart.”

After a little bit of walking, inside turns out to be one of the taverns you’d passed on the way here - not the one you’re staying at, but one that might be acceptable for a couple of your supposed stature. It’s only the early afternoon, so thankfully there’s not too many people inside. Astarion goes off to get something to drink while you settle yourself at one of the tables, slightly out of the way and hopefully where nobody else will be able to overhear you.

He’s gone for a little while, coming back with a pitcher of wine and two cups. One for you, one for him, and you watch as he pours them both with a generous hand.

“Any good?”

He takes a tentative sip, pretty lips twisting into a telltale grimace. “Same as ever, I’m afraid.”

“That’s my love,” you sigh, light and airy as you take the offered cup. Contrary to what he’d have you believe, it’s actually fairly nice, much sweeter than you were expecting. “Always such a picky eater.”

“Oh, darling, we’ve been over this,” he moans, betrayed, gently kicking your shin under the table. “Not picky, dear. Particular.”

“Particularly difficult to please, you mean.”

“Difficult? Hardly.” That predator’s grin, sharp fangs in the low light. “I can think of a few ways you could please me, if you’re so inclined.”

You shrug, swallowing another mouthful of wine. “No accounting for taste, it seems.”

“There’s something I’d like to taste, certainly.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing any more.”

He laughs as you roll your eyes, knocking his cup against yours in a poor mockery of a toast. “The story of my life, my sweet. The story of my life.”

The air between you feels a little warmer than it had before, sitting across from him like this, like it’s just another ordinary day. He looks a lot more relaxed than he had outside, and you suppose you must be the same. Dancing in and out of each other’s words, the familiar rhythm of your back-and-forth.

A bunch of roses, lying next to you on the windowsill. This is… nice.

Is this better?

Astarion’s voice is an echo in your head, ripples on the surface of the sea. You look around, but it’s fine. Nobody’s watching.

He reaches across the table, palm face up. Your hand slides into his so easily, fingers brushing over his wrist, the imagined pulse of an undead heart.

Go on, then.

Your mouth tastes like oranges.

Show me.

The world shimmers and swims around you, iridescent like a soap bubble, melting into something new. The chill of the early morning, weak sunlight not yet enough to warm the street that you find yourself remembering.

“Good morrow, sir. Can I help you?”

A haughty mask, concealing the nerves beneath.There’s nobody else in the shop, early as it is, and it’s an enormous relief - you get the strange feeling that if this strange new heart could race, it would.

“I have a rather… urgent request, I suppose.”

“Urgent, sir?” The man behind the counter looks intrigued, smoothing down the front of his apron, and looking altogether far too cheery for such an early hour and his only customer. “How so?”

Unbidden, the scene twists before your eyes in a blur of sunlight, the cold feeling of impatient anticipation swirling through you like ink in water. Vague impressions of the town rush past you, smoke and sound and life as the sun rises in the sky, before you’re suddenly stepping through exactly the same door as you were a minute ago.

“Ah, sir.” The same man as before, a little less neat than he was several hours ago, the sound of hammering metal louder than you’d like. “You’ve been well since last I saw you, I hope?”

Restless, nervous, fighting the urge to fidget like a child. “Yes, yes, quite. Do you have them?”

“Aye, sir. Just a moment, if you please.” The blacksmith in front of him walks over to the side, rummaging through a drawer full of little leather bags. “Oh, it was good of you to write it down for us - we make a lot of posy rings here, sir, but not so many in Espruar, you see.”

He finds the one he’s looking for, soft brown leather with a drawstring, and carefully empties its contents to be inspected. A familiar ruby ring, scarlet fire in the blacksmith’s palm, and a lightly-patterned gold band that you now realise you’ve already seen before, as the hand it adorned paid an unknowing flower seller for a dozen roses.

Both rings are engraved inside, and your borrowed brain supplies the words with no small degree of pleased satisfaction. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie, proclaims the ring that now sits on your finger, ubi amor ibi fides the one that Astarion kept for himself.

“All to your satisfaction, I hope?”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s mouth replies but you can feel that his mind’s far away, curled up warm and content in some possessive, instinctive corner of your shared skull. “Oh, yes… lovely stuff, certainly.”

Seemingly satisfied, the blacksmith tips the rings back into the little leather pouch, exchanging it for no small sum of gold from your own pocket. The rings are hidden away, safe in the depths of Astarion’s bag, and he’s quick to turn on his heel to leave.

“A good day to you, sir.”

From what brief glimpse you catch, the man looks a little taken aback at your hasty exit, but this body doesn’t really care. The sun outside is high overhead as you pull the door open, and you feel yourself waving your hand vaguely over your shoulder. Whatever. There are far more important things to think about.

“Yes, yes. And to you.”

After all, you’ve got a date to keep.

“You see?”

As quickly as it came, the scene disappears around you - blinking, you’re once again sitting opposite Astarion, gentle pressure as his thumb rubs slowly back and forth across the backs of your fingers. “I wouldn’t just be late for no reason, dear.”

You can’t really tell how you feel, to be honest - strangely vulnerable, but pleasantly comforted all the same. Knowing he’d gone to all that trouble, for something that you’d thought was just a stolen trinket…

“Elvish?” you ask, eyebrows raised, relishing the way his head dips just slightly to the right like he wants to hide his face but knows he can’t. “You’re getting awfully sentimental in your old age, you know.”

“I - you!” If he could blush properly, would he? As it is, you can just about catch the faint flush of blood - your blood, taken last night up in his bed, while everyone else was still downstairs in the tavern proper - spreading high across his cheek. “Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You shrug, hand slipping out of his to exaggeratedly inspect your nails, not even trying to hide your grin. He really does set you up perfectly sometimes. “Never had any complaints.”

He laughs, low and surprisingly sweet, and reaches absentmindedly for another mouthful of wine. “Don’t sound so sure, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll get a noise complaint or two out of you yet.”

Bold words for a man who’s barely even seen your bed, let alone set foot in it. “Well, when you learn how, let me know.”

“Darling. Chance would be a fine thing.”

He takes a sip and apparently remembers how bad the wine was the first time - his expression sours, and you very kindly don’t point out that it looks a lot like the face Lae’zel gave him when she caught him absentmindedly licking blood off a dagger she’d grudgingly lent him after a particularly nasty fight a few weeks ago.

(Astarion assured you at length that it had been a very long day and he’d only been having a snack, and really wasn’t it an honour, a real compliment, that he thought her blade to be so immaculately kept that he’d even want to lick it?)

(Shadowheart had not been pleased. Astarion’s not allowed to borrow things from Lae’zel any more.)

While he’s busy making various disapproving - you won’t say endearing, you won’t - little noises about his curse of a drink, you slide the ring off your finger and hold it up in front of your face. It’s warm from the heat of your hand.

Turning it this way and that, idly admiring the way the light plays off the shiny metal, the flaming flicker of the ruby. Hells, it really is beautiful.

Gold band, red stone. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“‘To live in love is my life.’”

He’s watching you, slowly swirling the wine in his cup with one elegant hand. The words are even prettier on his silver tongue, ringing metal like a bell.

“I thought…”

Distantly, a floorboard creaks. Dust, floating in the afternoon sunlight.

“I thought it made sense.”

Carefully, he twists the ring off his own finger, and presses it into your palm. A simple pattern of vines and leaves, curling around the band. Ubi amor ibi fides.

“You should’ve let me pay.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You paid,” you say. “For this. Those flowers. My clothes. You didn’t have to.”

“Really?” It’s almost shameful how your heart stutters when he meets your gaze, even if it’s only so he can roll his eyes at you with a dismissive smile. “Come now, dear. I have to spend my ill-gotten gains on something, don’t I?”

“There are far better things to sp-”

“No.”

His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, tugging it towards him until he can press your fingers to the side of his throat. His ring is heavy in your other hand, knocking against the one already on your finger, clicking against the inside of the band.

“No, there’s not. And if there were, you wouldn’t get to tell me what they are.”

If he’s going to be stubborn about it, so be it. “Clothes that you’re not going to wear are the best things you can think of to waste money on?”

“Do you think about me not wearing clothes that often, darling?” It’s your turn to roll your eyes this time, definitely ignoring the way you can feel the vibrations of his voice through the skin, the purr in his voice as it dips low and tempting. “Naughty.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to throw money away by - mmf!”

Astarion mutters something under his breath you don’t catch, before there’s the sudden rush of air past your face and a blunt strip of pressure against your stomach, pulled forwards until you’re half out of your chair. It takes your brain a second to figure out why your words aren’t coming out any more - there’s something in the way - he’s so close - oh, he’s kissing you-

Fingers going slack, a quiet thud as his ring hits the table. Neither of you hear it.

Without even thinking about it, you’re already melting against him, hand sliding up from his neck to tangle softly in his hair as the other braces your body against the table. Ah, that’s what that pressure is - the edge of the table is digging into your middle where you’re leaning forward over it, but you don’t really care. You’re far more focused on the sharpness of his fangs as they dig into your bottom lip, the insistent grasp of his hand as he cups your jaw, the faint sweetness of wine that still sits on his tongue.

“Shut up, shut up,” he mumbles into your mouth, “I don’t care about the damn money, you heinous little ingrate, I - mmm, I just want you to stop being so - so-”

The rest of his words are lost in a frustrated hiss that absolutely shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you wince as the tadpole behind your eye squirms sickeningly when he breaks the kiss. His right hand is still holding your wrist, warm with your body heat, and he groans as he slumps back into his chair and bows his head, pressing the back of your hand to his face. Something reverent, something sacred, saint and devotee.

Just let me be good enough, he thinks, words floating in the dark water of your mind. Tell me I’m good enough for you.

Your jaw tightens. Why does he have to be so vicious with it? That’s not the problem.

Then what is?

He can’t see it, but even so, you’re not going to cry. How could this be what you want? I can’t - I’m - Astarion, you deserve m-

Gods, how stupid can you be? he spits, freezing venom splattering your skin. I know, alright? I know! I deserve more, I deserve better, all these fucking things you won’t stop telling me - has it ever crossed your empty little mind that I might want to actually have the things I apparently deserve?

If he was looking at you, you’re sure it would be with a scowl. I deserve love, or so I’m told. Yes?

Of course.

Then let me have it, dammit!

He takes a deep breath that you feel more than hear, a thin veneer of calm stretched over the words he wants to say. Darling. Dearest. Sweetness. I am in love with you.

Well, that’s… that’s, um…

Hm. You don’t really know what it is.

A strange shiver races through you, giddy with nerves and bitter excitement. He can’t mean it, can he? This can’t possibly end the way you want it to, he can’t possibly be saying - saying that, of all things.

…Right.

Try not to sound so pleased about it, dear, he mutters. I’m only pouring my heart out for you here.

Well - well, yes, but-

He finally looks up at that, interrupting the stammering jumble of words falling out of your sort-of-mouth, handsome features slightly soured with annoyance. But what, exactly?

You don’t…

Pinned in place by his stare, all you can do is faintly shake your head. You don’t have to lie because you think it’s going to make me feel better. It’s not your fault, alright? It’s not.

You’re desperately fighting the urge to flinch. He deserves to know, but it’s a painful admission all the same. I said before, you don’t have to pretend. You’re not a - a prop, or a toy, or anything like that - and I shouldn’t have made you do all of… All of this. I was just being selfish.

Thin, sharp words, papercuts all the way up the inside of your throat. It’s for the best.

Selfish? Astarion laughs harshly, somewhere between outraged and hysterical. Are you serious?

I mean, I - I just…

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. All you can do is watch in confusion as he smiles, sweet at first before it turns manic, dissolving into some sort of - well, the only words that come to mind are giggle fit, which sounds much cuter than he’d probably like, but it’s true. Even the damned tadpoles give up, connection splintering and falling away as he loses concentration and falls back into his chair - anyone looking would think you’d got him with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter or something, it’s that bad.

“I’m in love with an idiot,” he manages to choke out, “an actual, bona fide idiot!”

Such a charmer, your Astarion. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Any time, darling,” he laughs, one hand on his stomach and wincing slightly as he sits up - belatedly, you realise you should probably sit down again before people start to stare. “I’m here all week.”

His little fit of laughter seems to be a little more under control - you can’t help but melt at the pretty smile that still lights up his face, even though you’re still not quite sure what was so funny. “My love, my love - traveller of the realms, slayer of monsters, and proud owner of the thickest skull south of the Spine. Gods, it must be safe as houses in there - that tadpole of yours is really very lucky, dear.”

“A rogue and a comedian,” you reply dryly. “Don’t quit your day job, I’d say.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you are my day job, darling,” he says, nonchalantly picking up his cup again - he doesn’t drink anything, though, and you’re starting to think it’s just because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.“In case you’ve forgotten, I do have a rather vested interest in keeping you alive long enough to get rid of our…”

Apparently, he’s decided now is the time for him to start being subtle about your collective situation. He waves his hand awkwardly towards his head with his cup, wine sloshing loudly but - thankfully for his doublet - not spilling. “Of certain mutual friends we seem to have acquired lately.”

Well, you’ll play along if it makes him happy. “See, it all comes out in the end,” you sigh, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Marrying me for my famed tadpole-killing expertise. What a fairy tale, hm?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he picks up his ring from where you’d accidentally dropped it on the table, and slips it back onto his finger where it was before.

“Yes. Yes, I…”

Astarion trails off, eyes slightly unfocused, and you get the feeling he’s trying to find the words for something.

“That’s what it was.”

The floor tilts beneath you, a wriggling pulse behind your eye.

“That’s why I did this.”

He meets your eyes. A silent question, or maybe an offering. No laughter - something small and vulnerable in its wake that you can’t quite name, raw and aching, hollow bones like a bird.

You nod. A whirling blur of colour, and all at once the world is a tailor’s shop a few streets away, awfully cramped and thoroughly too noisy.

“Let’s get you inside, darling. We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

This whole your-mind-his-body thing really is incredible - you can feel the smile spreading across his face as he holds the door open for past-you, even though you obviously can’t see it from here. Unfamiliar muscles forming a familiar expression. It’s weird.

A flurry of questions that you’re not really paying attention to, your new eyes lingering on the shape of your real body as it disappears behind a drab-looking curtain on the other side of the room. Astarion’s hands, fishing a doublet out of his (your?) bag and handing it off to some wretched assistant or other, but not before making it very clear that it is to be embroidered in gold, not silver, to match with his betrothed.

The boy he’s given it to scurries off with a nod, and something flickers deep inside - instinctively, you try to look down, but the memory of Astarion’s body doesn’t let you. Oh, it felt good when he said that. Something lighting up in your chest, fluttering and fizzing, a still heart that dreams of beating.

“What can we help you with today, sir?”

You’re still not entirely au fait with this whole mixed-consciousness thing, but it’s gradually getting easier to let Astarion’s mind talk over yours, relaxing into the gaps to watch the memories like you would a play. Well, it’s sort of like a play. It’s more like an opera, really, or you might say a pantomime if you were feeling especially mean - he’s as theatrical in his head as he is out loud, and it’s absolutely fascinating to realise that this really is how he sees the world.

Some woman or other comes over and starts chatting away, steering him over to a chair on the other side of the room, a little closer to the riser. She offers him a drink, but you see him wave it away - it’ll hardly do to be distracted when there’s time to be spent with you. There’s so little time to be alone nowadays, what with everyone else always clamouring for your precious attention. He’s not about to spoil such a golden chance by filling his head with wool.

(The sentiment is unexpectedly sweet, and inside his head where nobody can see, you can't help but smile like a fool at the thought. He likes spending time with you, he wants to spend time with you. With you!)

He can still hear you changing, cloth rustling behind the curtain, so he gradually tunes back into - gods below, is this blasted woman ever going to stop for breath? She’s still twittering on about… well, he’s not been paying attention, so he doesn’t actually know, but it’s probably not that important.

“Just alterations, sir? Or embellishment as well?

Right, right she’s asking about what he wants them to do. Fine, fair enough. “Family legacies, sent by a rather poorly-informed relative, I’m told. See to it that it’s appropriate for evening, and that it matches mine.”

“Certainly, sir. We’ll do our best for you and your… friend - um, companion? Companion.”

Seriously? The nerve. Friend. Well, perhaps it’s a little rude for her to be presuming anything, but he can let it slide just this once.

“Betrothed, actually,” he says, casually running his left hand through his hair and enjoying the satisfied pride that fills him as her eyes focus on the ring on his finger. “Something of a recent development, but certainly not an unhappy one.”

“Ah, is that so?” she says with a smile, much more genuine than before. “I’m sure there’s quite the story there.”

He shrugs, and you can feel how much effort it takes to make it look like he doesn’t care. “Well, it’s not for a lack of trying, I assure you.”

“Oh, my brother was just the same,” the woman replies, like she’s known him for years. “I couldn’t tell you how many times he asked his wife to marry him before she said yes - you know, I told him she’s far too good for him, didn’t I?”

She shakes her head, sighing fondly, and your borrowed heart twinges at the thought of this woman, this glimpse of an ordinary family with ordinary troubles. “But he wouldn’t give up, oh no, I’ll marry that girl yet, Ros, just you wait and see, and now they’ve been married for - ooh, must be going on eight years? Nine? Happy as a clam, he keeps her, and there’s not a man this side of the Spine who loves his wife more.”

“I commend his fortitude.” Astarion tips his imaginary cap to the woman, and it’s so stupidly charming that you could just scream. Bless this ridiculous elf you’ve had the fortune to fall in love with. “I shall have to live up to his example, clearly.”

“Well, obviously your circumstances are a little different, sir, but I should very much hope so,” she says. Her mouth opens, like she’s just thought of something she wants to say, but-

“-haah!”

Astarion’s head snaps towards the curtain where your voice came from, room blurring with the speed, half-out of his chair in an instant. What’s wrong? Who’s hurt you?

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

The curtain that hides you swishes as a hitherto-unnoticed assistant pulls it aside, revealing you in all your stolen finery, and the woman - has he actually asked her name yet? Did she say it? - turns to usher you over. “My congratulations to the two of you. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Yes, I…” Astarion trails off, and something in his voice feels like candle smoke, trailing up into the sky. Wistful. “Thank you. I rather think we will.”

(It’s incredibly sweet that he was so committed to the role, even when you weren’t there. Isn’t he a gem?)

She leads you across the floor, and… oh dear. It really doesn’t fit, does it? Well, that’s what you’ve come here to fix, after all.

It’s an eclectic mix, to be sure, but he supposes that’s what you get when you’re just stealing for fun, rather than to order. You’re all stiff and awkward when you walk like the underpieces are all slightly too small, and the rest of it is all oddly proportioned, sleeves heavy but cut too short, laces pulling tight in some places and hanging slack in others.

As dire a situation as it might seem, with a fair amount of elbow grease, he’s sure it’ll turn out wonderfully. The colour is lovely against your skin, and the embroidery is rich and detailed, gold thread twisting and curling around your body, over your shoulders, your chest, your waist…

Dear gods, he wants to know what it feels like. Raised stitches under his fingers, trailing across your body, pressing delicately until he can feel the soft give of your skin beneath the treacherous cloth that separates you. Would it be warm with the heat of you? Would you want him to know?

That’s my darling.

The sinful, stolen thought blossoms in his mind like sweet honeysuckle, out of control, filling his mind with that heady, giddy scent. Look at you, little love - aren’t you a picture, dearest? Mine, all mine.

His teeth ache, biting back the words as they threaten to tumble right out of his mouth. I want you, let me want you, I want to want you. Just right, just right. Pushing himself out of his chair for something to do, palms itching with the loss of you, restless energy thrumming in his bones. I want this to be real. So beautiful, let me hold you, soft and lovely. Spoil you, spoil you, sweets for my sweet. Honey, honey, honey…

(Sorry, wait - that’s what he was thinking?)

(You - you don’t…)

It’s a wonder he’s able to string words together as he watches you, admiring every angle as you turn, the bubbly taste of gleeful shame as he spots the places where everything’s just slightly too tight, revealing just a little bit more of you than it should. Is that wrong? Because if it is, he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy enjoying the way your eyes seem to glitter in the golden light from the window, the way he can see your chest rise and fall with every breath, slightly shallower than normal as you fight not to rip any of the ageing side seams.

The staff in here are mercifully receptive to his suggestions, clearly appreciative of his discerning eye and tasteful sensibilities. One of the stupider ones tries to say something about replacing the neckline with some hideous striped monstrosity, and he takes a grim sort of pleasure in thoroughly rejecting that particular brainwave - same with the one who seems to be advocating for a sort of avant-garde asymmetrical sleeve thing, that looks less like a fashion statement and more like it’s already been chewed by that little owlbear. Twice. Honestly, it looks ghastly.

He’s just about to say the thing about the owlbear out loud - the others won’t get it, but it’ll make you laugh, so it’s worth it, really - when there’s this… this voice.

“Oh, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

No. No, no, no. He knows that tone.

The laughter falls from his lips as his gaze flicks to the left, to be met with some waifish elven girl standing altogether far too close for comfort. She smiles when his eyes meet hers, in a way that’s just slightly too pleased to look as demure as she thinks it does. “I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“Quite.”

He’s terse, tension locking him in place and filling his voice. The girl’s hand comes up to just barely brush against his elbow, so lightly that he doesn’t even really feel it - but even that is enough to make him jolt, instinctively jerking away and one hand drifting towards the comforting weight of the dagger at his hip.

“Would you come with me a moment, sir?” she asks, undeterred, delicate fingers twisting in her hair and swishing it back over her shoulder - obviously, almost embarrassingly coy. “My workbench is just over here, but there are more rooms this way if you’d rather talk in private.”

Ugh. She’s not even subtle about it - he doesn’t need any sort of elevated senses to be painfully aware of what she wants. Her heart’s fast, eyes bright, breathing a little too hard. It’s almost comical. He’s been faking the exact same thing for longer than she’s been alive.

“And what, exactly,” he spits, “could I possibly have to say to you?”

She laughs - laughs! Normally, the vitriol dripping from his voice can clear a room in seconds, especially combined with the crimson glare that he’s currently levelling at her. Apparently, though, this idiot girl is an exception to the rule.

“Your doublet, sir? I’m an embroiderer, sir, and…”

If she fiddles with that ridiculous hair any more, he’ll cut it clean off and take her fingers with it - does she not see the way he’s desperately trying to keep his hand away from his dagger? “Well, I’d hate to disappoint you, and you seem like the sort of gentleman who’s very knowledgeable about all sorts of things…”

So she’s stupid as well as vain. Dear gods, darling, pick a battle.

“Do I look like I want to talk about embroidery?” He resolutely turns his back and tries to focus back on you, still as lovely as ever up on your little perch. “Do excuse me. My betrothed requires my attention.

“Oh, no need to trouble anyone else, sir.”

Forget the hair. If she makes that infuriating giggling noise again, she’ll be lucky to leave this room with a head.

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about…”

Her hand comes to lay lightly at his elbow again, and that’s it. That’s it. You’re going to have to apologise to that woman from earlier for him, because he’s about to stab this pathetic little worm right in front of everyone, and he’s not even going to feel the tiniest bit bad about it.

She lights up as he turns to face her properly, beckoning her a little closer with a single finger. It soon turns to horror as she sees the predator’s grin that splits his face, the façade of politeness cracking like a duck egg, fangs unashamedly on display.

“Shall I tell you a secret, little elfling?”

(You’ve always known that Astarion’s attitude to murder is a little unconventional, but murdering someone for the crime of threatening a relationship that isn’t even real? His head spins with the euphoria of the kill-to-be, and you’re dizzy with how much he wants it. Is it bad, that he likes the taste of her fear? Is it worse, that you like it too?)

The girl freezes on the spot as he leans in, something sharp and brittle in the way she trembles but can’t force her feet to move. Shivering, shuddering, perfect glass splintering like ice. A prey animal. This is going to be fun.

“There’s a funny thing that always seems to happen, to people who try to get in between my darling and I.”

“It - sir, I - I didn't-”

He laughs over her, dark and wicked, already salivating at the thought of what’s to come. Ooh, you could just kiss him.

“Don’t worry, little madam, I’ll give you a clue. It starts with please, sir, I’m sorry, and it rhymes with I don’t want to d-”

“Darling!”

It’s you - sharply, he pivots on his heel to face you, hurriedly smoothing his expression back into a slightly more pleasant, we are in public, Astarion, stop looking so bloody murderous all the time smile. The swarm of people around you has dissipated some, and it’s nice to finally have an unobstructed view of you. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” Bless you, bless you for the excuse to abandon this grasping little wretch. He fixes the terrified creature next to him with one last self-satisfied smirk for good measure, enjoying the way she gasps and trips over her own feet as she stumbles away, before letting the magnet in his chest pull itself gleefully back to you. “Are you finished already?”

Some hapless assistant comes drifting by, clearly not noticing him, and holds out a hand to help you down off the stand. Well, that certainly won’t do - does nobody in this accursed place know that he’s engaged to you? Because he’d thought he’d made it really rather obvious. The ruby on your finger glitters in the light, and he thinks about the words he knows are pressed against your skin, a secret promise.

Amorie ent vivas est ma vie. It’s only right, it’s only fair. How could anyone ever look at you and not know that you were made to be loved? You were made to be doted on, kissed and held and adored like the precious thing you are - spoilt absolutely rotten, thoroughly and entirely, toothache and cavities.

You deserve love, so much more than he could ever give you, but by all the hells, does he want to try. This stolen, golden day isn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps he’s tipped his hand a little too far this time, but it’s true, it’s true. Ubi amor ibi fides, where there is love there is faith. Two hundred years of blood, cracked open on the altar, a broken heart that can’t afford to cry. He’s been abandoned by gods before. A faithful sunflower, ever turning to face you, held blissfully captive in your gravity. All that love that lights your path, that fills your world - would you let it be his, poor and pitiful as it is? Divinity. The crackle of a campfire, truth is faith is you.

Why, then…?

Don’t you notice it when he reaches out to you, palm upturned to help you down beside him? Weren’t you expecting him? Surely, surely he’s not done such a poor job as your fiancé that you didn’t think he’d want to hold your hand, that you’d choose some random shop girl over him.

I thought - I just-

Silently, he watches on as you step down from the riser, the phantom warmth of your hand in his. Does it matter? Of course not, of course not - how could you know that it even matters to him at all? You probably just don’t want to trouble him, or maybe you really didn’t see. It’s his own fault, after all, for trying to find meaning in the very charade he’s brought upon himself.

But I’m here, his traitor’s heart whispers, confused. Won’t you let me help you? What did I do?

So caught up in his own puzzled musings, he barely even notices it when the assistant mumbles something and runs off. The too-loud beat of your heart, the too-quiet sound of your breath, echoing through his skull.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Shit, shit, what’s wrong? You won’t even look at him now, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, and you sound all - all sad…

“Are you sure, dear?” He won’t push it, not out here in front of everyone - no matter how much his empty arms ache to hold you, press his mouth to your temple, smooth away the tiny, worried creases in your skin with his thumb. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.”

It’s worse than he thought. Before he can even do anything, you’re already backing away from him - inch by inch, step by step, like he won’t notice if you move slowly enough. You’re scared. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

You’re afraid - no scent of your blood in the air, no lingering taste of magic, but he’d know your fear anywhere. Fingers trembling ever so slightly, eyes forgetting to blink, pulse beating against your skin like a drum. Did someone hurt you? Say something to you? Fuck, he must have missed something. Who was it? Who was it? Tell him, and he’ll have them turned inside out before you can s-

The thought hits him like an arrow, cold shock spreading through his chest before it turns to horrified pain. He dismisses you with a nod that surely must look as wooden as it feels, unable to take his eyes off you as you scuttle away behind that damned curtain - but in his head he’s still half a mile away, replaying the last ten minutes in his head over and over in search of the thing he must have done wrong. One hand unconsciously comes up to his chest, just to make sure that the crater in his ribs hasn’t bled all over his front.

Broken heart, punctured lung. Are you afraid of him?

A low, stifled curse from the other side of the room brings him back with a jolt, and without really realising it, he’s already ducking through the curtain. Fingernails catching on velvet, still air, floorboard that creak underfoot. Something about forgiveness or permission, or one of those other things he never remembers to ask for.

“Let me.”

Quick fingers skimming across your back, undoing buttons, untying laces. Flashes of a thousand others in your place, pushed haphazardly to the back of his mind, gritting his teeth to stay, stay, stay. Seams tearing, lace ripping, buttons scattering across the floor - but that’s not right, he’s here with you, and you - and you-

“Careful.”

A quiet sort of affection, creeping up on him, the gentle blade that slots between his ribs and begs to stay buried there. Greedy, guilty hands, craving to ruin you, only knowing how to destroy. Protective, possessive, cursed for sure. Dread. Satisfaction, thick, dark blood smeared across his face, the carnage of his feast painted down your neck. The softness of your body, curved against his chest - desire, rich and syrupy, honey-sweet and terrifying in its sincerity.

“You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

I wish they would, whispers something in his head. I wish they knew - and I wish you knew too.

You feel your shared mouth open, but he doesn’t let you stay any longer - before past-him can reply, the scene dissolves into mist and falls away, leaving only Astarion looking back at you across the table.

“Clear enough for you, darling?”

The words crackle against your senses slightly, electric. You nod, left in something of a daze.

“Quite.”

You don’t say anything else, for a little while.

(Absentmindedly, you take a sip of your wine. It’s still not great, but it’s better than nothing.)

He’s on edge, fidgeting slightly in his seat, but it barely registers - your head is swirling with everything you’ve seen, everything he’s shown you. So he - so he had wanted this? It hadn’t been… everything he’d said…

It doesn’t make sense. How could he be so stupid?

You’re not good to love - you’re not good at love. Someone so precious, something so treasured. What could you possibly give him that he couldn’t find elsewhere? What do you have that he hasn’t seen a thousand times over?

You don’t know how to help him, or even where you could start. He ought to have someone he can trust with all those deepest, darkest parts of him, who understands him the way he doesn’t even know he needs, who knows just what to say, just when to listen. Someone confident and funny and kind, someone with the sort of love that’s warm and all-encompassing - a sunny summer’s day, a lighthouse in the storm. Sturdy, dependable, honourable. Safe. He deserves safe.

Instead, all you’ve got is a silly, reckless crush, a clumsy, gangly, unpracticed thing that you barely even know what to do with. Can you even call it love? Would he recognise it, if he saw it? Some trembling, pathetic infatuation, the best your body can do, thin and liquid in the marrow of your bones. Not blood, just water, filling but not full. Nothing that would satisfy him.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He’s lovely and he’s wicked and he’s clever, he’s cruel and he’s sweet and he’s made for so much more than you.

“I, um…”

He’ll thank you later. Not out loud, obviously - this is Astarion you’re talking about, after all - but he’ll know this is all for the best.

“Well, I’m very flattered, but…” Carefully, you arrange your face into what hopefully looks like sympathy, rather than pity. He’s clearly not in his right mind - he needs to think this is you offering to fix this together, rather than you letting him down gently. “Maybe this isn’t th-”

“Oh, for the love of - for once in your life, will you take the fucking hint?”

Reeling, your jaw drops as he practically shouts the words at you, hands slamming down onto the table with a thud.

“I didn’t even-!”

“No! No, you didn’t!” The tadpole in your head writhes as his mind opens to you once again, white-hot and shaking with rage. Does he even know he’s doing it? “Because you gave me that big, sad, I’m-so-sorry-I’m-so-useless look as you opened your silly little mouth, and I knew exactly what you were going to say!”

Snarling, biting, this must be what it’s like to be hunted by him. “So here’s what’s going to happen, darling - I am going to tell you what’s going on here, and you are going to sit there and listen, yes?”

Snap, snap, snap - he clicks his fingers insistently in front of your face when you don’t reply. “Yes?”

“Yes, mother,” you grumble, thoroughly chastised. “Listening.”

He narrows his eyes at the name, but lets it slide. Apparently, he’s got bigger fish to fry here.

“I am not a child.”

A thousand sarcastic replies flit through your head, most of them involving some variant of you’re right, a child wouldn’t be such a messy eater, but the murderous look he gives you as you open your mouth tells you that now might not be the time.

“I don’t need you to choose things for me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he spits, fingernails biting into the wooden surface of the table. “I have had enough, of other people giving me orders, deciding things for me - do you hear me?”

His voice, low and bitterly cold. “You don’t get to be my master.”

There’s nothing you can really say to that, so you just nod, feeling slightly sick. Where’s he going with this - gods, what have you done?

“Oh? So you do understand!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in apparent frustration. “So it’s finally dawned on you, has it? You’re finally going to let me do what I want, is that it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, voice thin and cracking. “I - yes.”

“So if I told you I wanted to - to write a book about the uselessness of lockpicking, or let Gale turn me into a frog, or dye my hair purple, or something, you’d believe me? No matter how out of character you thought it was? You’d let me do it, even if you thought I’d lost my mind?”

There’s not even space to get a word in edgeways - he’s really, properly ranting now. “Or if I said I wanted to, um - oh, I don’t know, rob a bank, or run for mayor, or go into business writing terrible Sylvan love poetry - you’d believe me, yes? You’d say to yourself, oh, that Astarion, he’s big enough and bad enough to know what he wants, wouldn’t you?”

Another nod, a little bit more confused this time. Faerie love poetry? “I would.”

“Oh? Is that so? My, you sound awfully confident.” He feigns shock, one hand splayed mockingly across his chest. Sarcastic, almost jeering, a theatrical gasp.

“I must be so lucky, hm? To have someone who knows me so well, who trusts me to do whatever I want? Respecting me, caring about me, telling me that what I think matters?”

Something moving very fast - wine spilled all over the table with a clatter, a curse, a crescendo. “Well, then, dearheart - why can’t you seem to keep it in your ridiculous little head that I am in love with you?”

A beat.

“And before you say it - no, it’s not a joke, or whatever fool excuse you’re busy coming up with,” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you like it’ll keep the words from forming in your head. “I’m cruel, dear, but not that cruel.”

Sighing, he flicks his hand and the dripping, crimson wine stain soaking his sleeve disappears.

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he murmurs, reaching slowly across the table, pausing just before he can touch your face. “What did I tell you, hmm?”

“About my open mouth?”

Your voice is weak and the joke’s not your best, but you lean forward, letting him graze his fingers lightly across your jaw. “Not to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Gods. I really have taught you well.”

Words spill unbidden into your mind like oil, writhing in what might be fury or terror. Crawling into the strange, empty space that lies between you, dark and filled with agony, out of your body and inside your head.

Know me, see me - what a joke, that I should want to be seen at last, and by you, of all people. Are you there? Are you listening?

A thousand tiny moments, rushing past you in the current of his madness. You couldn’t make me do it, can’t you see? You couldn’t force me to love you - I have no need of force, not for you! It’s no pretence, it’s no game.

You couldn’t make me, but I did it anyway because it’s real, it’s all been real - why can’t you believe me? Do you think me so spiteful, so cruel, that I would do that to you?

Walls collapsing, worlds colliding. Where you go, he follows - always a step too slow, reaching out a second too late to find your hand already gone.

The words you think I wish to say, the pity and the scorn and the endless mockery that you imagine fills my head when I look at you. Is that what you want? Am I to be nothing but a hapless instrument of your own self-hatred, your own monstrous thoughts spilling from my lips, poisoning you with every word, every kiss?

My love, he wails, my love, my love. You’re so cruel to me.

Is this still only in your mind? The air is thick and close, seeping heavy into your skin. You make me sound so hateful, full of spite and loathing, bent on your destruction. Do you think me incapable of love - of loving you?

Tell me, savage darling of mine - tell this vicious, twisted creature that you say you see before you. Why can’t you believe that I could ever be in love with you?

Ragged, fevered fingernails tearing at the brickwork, half-mad with wanting. Ageing silk, soft and fragile as it frays. A whimper that might be a screech that might be a howl.

Why did I have to be a monster? he sobs, voice splintering and cracking - a phantom hand, all claws, desperately searching for your ankle. Couldn’t I have just been a man? Couldn’t I have just been in love with you for my own sake, because I care for you more than anyone I’ve ever known?

Please, my darling, I beg. Don’t make me this way.

You…

You don’t know what to say. Formless, faceless in this imagined space between - how would you speak, even if you tried? What words could reach his heart, could soothe this pain?

Whatever you say next, it can’t be a lie. Not again. He’ll know.

Paralysed with fear, but why? You like him. You want him, want to love him - and here he is, telling you that he feels the same. What’s the problem, then?

I’m scared.

The edge of the cliff, crumbling away beneath your boots. You know how to want love, but you don’t know how to do it - what does that even mean, for people like you two? How does it even work?

You don’t know what you don’t know, and it’s terrifying. Foolish and inexperienced - won’t he be ashamed of your clumsiness? He always seems so… so capable, so much bolder than you are. Confident, if a little too arrogant, and a healthy dose of vanity on top of that - ever unshaken, ever above it all. And yet, even in the moments when the act stretches too thin, when you can see it for the charade it is, it doesn’t matter. Astarion’s still miles beyond you, braver than you could imagine being.

He always seems to have an answer, he always seems to know. You’re embarrassed that you can’t match him.

I won’t - I can’t-

But that’s not all, is it?

He’s so precious to you. He matters, more than he thinks and more than you’ll admit, and he’s in pain. You don’t want him to be in pain. But you’re afraid that your love, weak and unpracticed as it is, won’t be enough to stop it.

Is it because you don’t want to see him hurt, or because you don’t trust yourself not to hurt him? He should want more, he shouldn’t settle for you. Selfish, lazy you, wanting but never deserving, complaining but never really trying. All these ugly, shameful parts of you that he must not know, or else he never would have said any of this.

Surely, he can’t know. Nobody could know all these things about you, and still pretend to love you the way he does.

And yet…

He says he doesn’t suffer fools, and you’ve seen him threaten to stab enough of them that you know it’s true. He says he doesn’t waste his time on things he doesn’t care about, that he doesn’t bother with anything he doesn’t like, and yeah, those also seem to be threatened with stabbing on an alarmingly-regular basis. So maybe it’s more about the propensity for knives than any particular economy of affection, but even so - you still believe him, don’t you?

He’s a liar. It’s the one thing he’ll always tell the truth about. But now, knowing what you know, you’re starting to think that’s not quite right either.

It all comes back to fear. Scared that it’s not true, that he’ll change his mind, that he was lying the whole time. Scared that you’ll be hurt, that you’ll hurt him, that he really is as cruel as he thinks he is. Can you do it? Trust him when he says you’re enough for him, that you’re what he wants? Trust him, when he says he means it?

It’s too much.

Your messy, sticky heart. A breathless, fluttering creature, laden with roses and sick with love.

I don’t want to get it wrong.

A cool hand cups your cheek, and the world comes back to you.

Stinging, your eyes open - weren’t they already open? - to find Astarion close, much closer than he was before. While you weren’t looking, he must have moved, but how on earth did he…?

“Steady on, darling. My eyes are up here.”

However he did it, Astarion looks down at you from where he’s perched in your lap, sitting sideways across your legs with one arm around your shoulders to keep himself balanced. Slowly, he coaxes your face up from the floor to look at him, fingers pressing into the softness of your cheek.

“Ah, that’s better. There you are.”

He doesn’t look angry, as you’d feared. Maybe pleased is the right word? No, that sounds too much like self-satisfied - not reverent, that’s too grand, and not proud either. It’s something softer than just happy, something contented and uncharacteristically tender. Charmed, perhaps.

Slightly awkwardly, you quietly clear your throat. Your body hasn’t cried, but it feels like your mind has, and the gap between the two is kind of disconcerting.

“I’m sorry.”

Astarion tilts his head, pretty eyes faintly confused, but you carry on. “It’s just a bit… you know. There’s a lot.”

Your hand stutters as it waves stiffly through the air in front of you, like that’ll somehow help you say what you mean. Everything that’s happened today, everything you’ve done, all summed up in some inept little gesture in your lap.

Luckily, he seems to understand well enough. With a sigh, he leans forward until his head is resting on yours, pulling you gently towards him to settle your head against the curve of his throat, safe in his embrace. Without really realising it, your arms find his middle, settling loosely around his waist in return.

“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says slowly, fingers tapping idly against your skin. “I think we do have time, after all.”

Bemused, you frown against his shoulder. “Time for what?”

Another memory, teased out of your brain by the tadpole. A sun-filled street, and a plan that couldn’t possibly go wrong.

What say you, dearest? Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Even now, you find yourself smiling at his overblown antics, the cocky flick of his wrist as he took your hand and kissed it. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart… Did he sound quite so mournful the first time? Or do you just remember it that way? I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

“Let me ask you again, darling,” the real Astarion asks you. Well, with his chin resting lightly on top of your head, he more so asks your hair, but the meaning is clear. “Properly, this time.”

“Mmm…”

Is it a tiny bit mean of you, to make him wait? Probably, but he likes it when you’re mean. “You’ll have to convince me…”

“Oh?” Of course, he plays along, with a smirk that you don’t have to see to recognise. “Then set the scene for me, dear. However shall I win your hand?”

It takes a few long seconds for you to settle on an idea, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his back. This is nice.

“Tell me how it’s supposed to be,” you say, warm words against cold skin. “Tell me how this should have gone.”

“Well, it wouldn’t start like this, certainly,” he declares, tracing tiny, maybe-unconscious circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. “I wonder how we would have met? Something grand, I’m sure…”

He makes some gesture you can’t see, painting the picture in the air. “Perhaps a ball, or a gala, the kind they have in the Upper City - ooh, maybe in the foyer of an opera house or a theatre or something.”

“How… refined.”

“Oh, it would be terribly dull, I assure you,” he replies. “You’d have been to a thousand of these things before, and you’d be bored out of your skull.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way the words fall out of his mouth, full of longing and yet totally blasé. “And you’d save me from it, I assume?”

“Naturally.” Astarion runs a practised hand through his hair, adjusting himself in your lap slightly so he doesn’t fall. “I’d catch sight of you across the room and be utterly captivated by your beauty, darling. Then, I’d bring you a glass of wine and make some excuse to get you talking, and we’d spend the rest of the evening being absolutely awful about everyone else there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Oh, you can’t help yourself - you have to stretch up a bit awkwardly, but you lean up to kiss his cheek, just once. Maybe twice. “Then what?”

He hums, deep in careful consideration. “I suppose I’d have to - oh, we’d both be living in the Upper City, by the way - I suppose I’d have to find your family’s home the next morning.”

“Bold, don’t you think?” you ask with a grin. “It’s barely been half a day since we met.”

He scoffs. “Like that would matter to me. They might show me into the drawing room, but they wouldn’t let me see you - I fear I might make quite a scene, you know. I’d stay as long as I could, waiting for you to come downstairs, and I wouldn’t leave until I’d begged permission to court you properly.”

The image of Astarion in all his finery pops into your head, perched defiantly on the sofa in the lavish drawing room of some imagined townhouse in Baldur’s Gate, arguing with the maid as she tries to shoo him away - it’s so ridiculous, and yet so absolutely him. Who else would turn up on your doorstep and elbow his way into the parlour, setting himself in the middle of the furniture like he owns it, and refusing to leave without an offer of courtship from the family?

“And what’s so funny about that?” He pretends to be affronted as you muffle your laugh into his shoulder, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t tell me you’d keep me waiting, now.”

“Never, my love,” you proclaim, thoroughly charmed. “Once I heard the racket from downstairs, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away.”

“Racket - you think I’d be making a racket, darling? In what world?” he gasps. “I’ll have you know I’m the very picture of politeness. Very subtle. You wouldn’t even know, unless I wanted you to.”

“Right, right, subtle…” You nod exaggeratedly, taking in his perfect look of offended outrage. “And I assume that’s why the picture of politeness is sitting on my lap and trying to get his hands up my shirt in the middle of a tavern?”

Cold hands freeze against your sides, skin against skin, and you grin. Got him. “Nice try, though. I was almost convinced.”

“Of my subtlety? I’m sure I could persuade you...” He raises an eyebrow down at you, gaze dark with half-hidden promise. “You don’t think I could be quiet?”

“I’d be disappointed if you were. You mean you wouldn’t let me hear you?” You’re deliberately disappointed, a little whiny in the way you know he understands - a familiar dance, made all the sweeter by the fresh excitement of this new air between you. If he wants to play the game, you’ll play too. “Besides, I thought you liked it loud.”

“Oh, I do,” he breathes, one hand sneaking out from under your shirt, index finger pressing softly against the underside of your chin to keep your eyes on him. “Especially when you’re the one offering, darling.”

See, now you're speaking his language. “Who said I’d offer you anything?”

“Please. You wouldn’t get the chance, dear,” he scoffs, unfairly handsome in his arrogance. “Offering it to me? No, no. You’ll be begging me, pretty thing, and you’ll like it.”

The way he shifts to resettle himself in your lap is certainly no accident, and you really have to fight to keep your gaze up - you can just about keep looking at his face, but you can’t quite stop yourself from staring at his lips as he continues. “So how about it, hm? Would you be loud for me, my sweet?”

“I - well, I…” Your thoughts melt into nothing as the hand under your shirt slips just barely higher, words stuttering and faltering on your tongue. Curse his stupid face, curse his awful voice, curse his ridiculous hair and his strong hands and his pretty smile and his sweet kisses…

“Mm, I think you could be,” he muses, smug like the cat that’s got the cream. “I’d ask you very nicely, you know. And you’d be good for me, wouldn’t you? If I asked you nicely?”

The tadpole twitches behind your eye, the heat of something liquid and indulgent, a tantalising taste. Half memories, half dreams. Clever hands keeping you close in the middle of a crowded market, pulling you into a side street, pressing you hungrily up against the brick. The swish of a soft curtain, voices just outside, quiet now, darling, or do you want them to hear? Soft and warm and sweating, a trail of fabric in your wake - closer and closer, snatched up in his arms and - and-

Words, you have to say words - dizzily, your hazy mind latches onto whatever it can find. “Nicely?”

“Yes, honey. Nicely,” he sings through a wicked smile, faintly condescending in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “That’s right, sweetheart. Very good.”

He knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all. You’re not going to fall for it, you’re not. Was it always this warm in here?

“Look at you, darling. Feeling a little hot, are we?”

The flash of fangs as he presses the back of his free hand to your cheek, blessed coolness, before sliding it down your neck to toy with the collar of your shirt.

“You should have said something, poor thing. I know a way we could cool you down.”

He looks thoughtful for a second, expression pensive before it melts back into a smirk. “Well. Maybe not straight away. But I’d get you out of all these layers, at least…”

Promises, promises. Your hummingbird heart, fluttering out of control. Graceful fingers picking at your collar, digging playfully into the softness of your waist, skimming across the skin. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“You want to do this here?” If you sound a little more out of breath than normal, which you’re not saying you are, then that’s neither here nor there. “Whatever happened to biding your time?”

“It’s your many charms, my darling,” he replies, endearingly - um, infuriatingly ready with a comeback, leaning down to kiss just beside your eye. “A man can only resist so long.”

“Bastard.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

The self-satisfied look is quickly wiped off his face by the bitterness of his wine - he takes one last sip before disgustedly dumping the rest of his cup into yours. “Gods, this stuff is vile - let's be off, darling, before anyone tries to palm another bottle off on us.”

Pushing himself up off your lap, he turns back with a neat little bow, palm upturned to help you out of your chair. “Delightful as the company may be, life is far too short to spend it drinking such dreadful wine.”

“This from he, the undying.”

“And I wouldn't waste another second of my undeath on it,” he sniffs, pulling you gently to your feet and brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “I’ll have you know, being dead is no excuse for subpar drinks.”

“Your idea of a nice drink is human blood, dear,” you reply dryly as you pick your roses up off the windowsill, paper crinkling in your hands. “I’m not sure you're exactly an authority on the matter.”

Astarion rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Touché, my love, touché.”

He leads you back through the tavern, stepping across to hold the door open for you. The barkeep lifts a hand in farewell, and as you go to do the same, something glitters in the sunlight coming in through the open doorway.

It’s true, it’s true. Sweet relief and incredible terror all at once, resolving into something bright and brave and fizzing. Where there is love, there is faith. Is this what stories feel like? Wanting and wanted, a kiss that’s a dance that’s a promise.

Thin gold, red light. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“...Darling? Hello?”

Startled out of your reverie, you look up just as Astarion raises an eyebrow, amused, motioning towards the door. “Some time today, my sweet.”

“Right, right, yes…”

Hastily, you duck out of the doorway and step out onto the street, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Astarion follows, offering you his arm with a flourish, and you take it gladly.

“Where to next, then?” you ask, falling easily into step.

He shrugs, gesturing in front of the pair of you with a wry smile. “Why, wherever the road may take us, of course! We’re free as birds, dear - the very world is our oyster.”

“Back to the others then.”

“Well, yes.”

“Thought so.” Wordlessly, you turn to head back through the market, a little less noisy than this morning but still busy enough. “Unless you were planning on throwing even more of your money at the flower boy, that is.”

He gives you a playful nudge, discreetly shifting you both to the right to dodge a man walking the other way with an enormous crate of apples. “Don’t tempt me, dear. Five minutes to acquire the necessary funds, and you’ll be walking home with more than an armful of roses.”

“Planting me a garden, are you?”

“You’ll have a veritable meadow, my sweet,” he replies like it’s nothing, grand as you like. “As many as there’s room for, and one more for good measure.”

His free hand reaches across to yours, lifting it to his lips and kissing it like a prince from a storybook - it’s almost embarrassing how much it gets to you, and you’re sure he can hear your heart speeding up at his touch. “You’d never buy perfumes or oils again, if I had my way - in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to wash the smell of roses off of you, my love.”

Oh, you can’t let him off that easily. “They’d be roses, would they?” you ask, thinly feigning disinterest, although the effect is somewhat lost when you have to speak up a bit to be heard over the woman hawking fish just behind you. “So cliché.”

He lets out a tortured sigh, pained expression on his pretty face. “It happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right, it does,” you muse. “Can’t imagine why it’s happened to you, then.”

“Oh, you-!”

He makes a grab for you, but you’re already gone, slipping out of his grasp and away into the crowded market, ducking through the gaps between the stalls and laughing as he chases after you. “Get back here, you villain!”

It’s a doomed endeavour - you know he’ll catch you, but you run anyway. Weaving in and out of the crowd, he’s never far behind. Fingertips that just barely brush the back of your shirt, shouted threats that grow more and more ridiculous each time you twist away.

“When I catch you-!”

If he wanted to, he’d have you in an instant, but it’s not about that, is it? The chase, the catch, the game. It’s the one you love to play, and you love it even more when you lose.

“There you are, darling.”

Rose petals flutter in your wake, a ruby glitters on your finger. Cold hands pull you close, and the sky, the sky, the sky.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[scythesms]

The sound of innocent bickering from the two youngest Ambroise children echoed throughout the overgrown yard, amusing the attentive ears of Edmund, who maintained a watchful eye over the playful children. Cecily sat beside her father and observed him in thoughtful silence with a gaze both curious and contemplative. 

Though she’d never been one to shy away from expression, Cecily often found her thoughts speaking louder than her words. She possessed a meticulous nature, in which she preferred carefully weaving her words into coherent thoughts before they were vocalized—a trait notably distinct from her unrestrained siblings. Eugene, driven by an impulsive desire to articulate every mean thought, seemed driven by a need to release his critical opinions from his mind as swiftly as they entered. Josiah, on the other hand, remained indifferent to how others perceived him, prioritizing his own understanding above all else—an attribute that irked those around him, particularly his reluctance to repeat or rephrase. Once spoken, his words stood no chance of being altered or corrected—something Elaine had picked up on. “Think before you speak, Elaine,” Cecily said at least twice a day in response to improper sentences like, “When I’m old, I’ll do a bakery and plant pies” and unreasonable questions that follow such as, “Why can’t I plant pies?”.

Similar to improper conversational etiquette, Cecily held a very low tolerance for stuttering and mumbling. It was like chalk grating a pristine slate to her ears. At her young age, she knew she preferred momentary silence in thought as opposed to stutters from faltering lips and vacant minds. And so she sat, dedicating time to piece her thoughts and curiosities together into a narrative that reflected her intentions precisely.

“Father,” she began, “may I ask you something?”

Edmund, attuned to the gravity of her tone, turned his complete attention to his daughter. Carefully, he said, “You can ask me anything.”

"I was thinking about your lady friend," she confessed. "How did you come to know her?"

Though he had anticipated this very question—wondering which one of his eldest children would broach the subject first—he resented it just as much. There’d been a time early on in his reconnection with Imogene where he had considered sitting his children down, offering them insight into her presence in his life, and disclosing his entire history with her. Yet, he had balked at the notion, second guessing the necessity of such a conversation. If she were merely a friend and there were no further intentions, then perhaps there was no need for an "explanation"... or so he had attempted to convince himself.

“I knew her when I was a young boy… just before meeting your mother. Imogene was… a part of my past.” 

He chose his words carefully. Cecily appreciated that, but it wasn’t enough. She pressed, “Did you love her? Imogene?”

Edmund’s shoulders sagged as he released a sigh before admitting honestly, “Yes, I did.”

He always thought discussing his past with Imogene to his children would stump him, and he’d be a sputtering lying fool. Yet, in that moment, he felt no such indulgence. The admission flowed with an unexpected ease—almost relieving.

A thoughtful pause lingered between them before Cecily ventured further, her voice barely above a whisper, "Did you love her more than my mother?"

He stared ahead. “No.” His response was swift and concrete. “Rosalyn—your mother… holds a place in my heart no one can surpass.”

Cecily was relentless. “Do you still love Imogene?”

“No.” It sounded so simple. 

“Could you love her again?”

He returned his attention to his daughter—her wide eyes void of resentment or detest. “Cecily–”

“I don’t think Mother would be upset with you for loving her again. She would want you to be happy.”

Exhaling softly, Edmund carefully watched Cecily—a reflection of her mother in both demeanor and insight. “I am happy,” he expressed while looking at her side profile, her gaze now fixed ahead. “I’m happy. You four make me happy.”

She shrugged. “You could be happier.”

Cecily had no intention of shoving her father into the arms of any woman, but she wasn’t blind. She’d observed their interactions keenly—a bit foolish if she were to admit. She simply couldn’t imagine someone making her stutter and blush the way her father and Imogene did when in each other's presence. She knew she needed to make it clear to her father that if he decided not to pursue a relationship with the woman, it’d be his sole decision and not one influenced by herself and her siblings… (Addressing Eugene's bitterness would be a concern for another time, should it arise).

While she lacked deep perception of her mother, her memories painted a portrait of a woman akin to an angel. Cecily couldn’t imagine her mother being resentful of her father for seeking love after years spent in mourning.

Edmund, who prided himself on believing he possessed a more intimate understanding of Rosalyn than perhaps anyone else in the world, acknowledged that his daughter's insights held truth in more ways than one.

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