#but unlike a few months ago it feels different to ignore it?

[gregmarriage]

‘i feel like ruining things because i like you too much’ is such a normal thing to think lol

[persephonesdreams21]

Sweet Tooth

A/N: Well let me say first and foremost. My bad guys. Lol I didn't mean to keep this rotting in my drafts for almost a year, but life got crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this

Warnings: Explicit. Oral(fem receiving) Body worship. Finger sucking. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Willy being down bad.

Summary: You’re sweeter than any chocolate he could cook up, and Willy is all too eager to show you just how much he craves you. Your smiles, your attention…your taste.

The last few weeks of your life have been vibrant.

Filled with technicolor so unlike the dreary years you’ve spent in this town. Between the weather and the chipped cobblestone, England was so gray this time of year. Frigid and frozen over with winter winds and a constant flurry of snow.

It was on a particularly cold night that you’d found him.

Saved him, he’d argue whenever he told the story. Saved him from Bleacher and his mangy mutt.

“Don't you ever get tired of harassing people?” you'd sighed as you'd stumbled upon the scene. A familiar one- another poor soul about to get roped into Bleacher and Scrubbit’s barely concealed hoodwink. Everyone who’d grown up in this city knew better.

“Why don't you mind your business, Y/N. And leave us be. Both me and mister-” Bleacher looks to the man. The one with the sharp cheekbones and the ostentatious velvet trench coat.

“Wonka. Willy Wonka” And he’d said it with such innocence gleaming in those bright eyes that in that moment, you knew you couldn't let him fall victim to the cruel scam.

That’s how you’d ended up with an unexpected housemate.

The home you’d grown up in is nothing special and far from fancy, but you do happen to have a spare room. One with an old fold-out bed that’s more comfortable than it looks. It may have been stupid, but you couldn't help but trust him. Want to help him, feel this pull to him…

That was weeks ago. Almost a month now.

Willy living with you, under your roof, feels oddly natural. Like it had been years that the two of you had been co-existing, he fits into your space like he was destined to come to you. Like he belongs there; the two of you working together like a well oiled machine.

You cook dinner, he washes the dishes and wipes down the counters. The house has never been neater. Even though you try to deny them, every day when he returns from the Gallery Gourmet, he leaves silver shillings in the key bowl on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much…but I want to make sure I’m paying my way. I’m real appreciative of all you’ve done for me” he tells you so earnestly it makes you blush. You sneakily slip his sovereigns in the pockets of his trousers when you do his laundry.

He doesn't know it but he’s helped you too. And not just by scrubbing dishes.

You truly hadnt realized how lonely you were until he came along, and you were terrified of losing your found companion. You’d hold on to him for as long as he’d allow.

Your new favorite time of the day is the evenings; quiet ones. With a fire burning in the hearth and the radio playing softly. You and Willy curl up on the couch, warm in your respective quilts. And read. Well, you read to him. At his persistent insistence.

“Aren't you tired of me blabbing yet?” you tease as you pick up the dog eared copy of The Hobbit that the two of you had been working your way through.

Willy gives you a grin, all boyish and crooked “Never that. I adore the way you tell stories”

That makes your stomach swoop dangerously and you shake your head “You’re a flatter, Mr. Wonka”

“No, no. Your voice is more melodic than the bells of Notre Dame” and when he says things like that to you, how are you not supposed to swoon? From any other man it would make you scoff, but from Willy his compliments always feel different.

Like maybe he’s telling the truth…

You ignore it and change the subject to something that feels safer “One day i'm gonna put you in front of a map and make you show me all the places you’ve been”

“Honestly, It would probably be easier to mark off the few places I haven't been-”

“Oh ho ho ho. How modest of you, great explorer” You tease around a laugh and his ears redden a bit at your ribbing.

“It's not like that and you know it” Willy defends “It was a lot less glamorous than it sounds. I spent seven years under the deck scrubbing pots and then collecting ingredients for my chocolate whenever we made port”

“And wooing girls on every continent?” I ask and that blush on his ears spreads to the high apples of his cheeks.

He’s a pretty one and you know even though he pretends to be demure, might come off as innocent, he’s anything but.

You’d gotten a small taste of it, and hadn't thought of anything else since. But neither of you had quite mustered the bravery to talk about that yet.

The two of you settle in on the old worn couch with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, courtesy of Willy. He’d spoiled you rotten, made you develop a terrible sweet tooth. Any cavities you develop, you’re completely blaming on him.

“Willy” you whine.

“Just try it, please. I made this recipe especially for you”

You take a sip.

The first rush of flavor over your taste buds has your eyes fluttering.

“Mmm, oh my god” you can't help but moan. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever tasted. Truly. He’s outdone himself- cinnamon and warmth.The kind that feels like a a lovers embrace. Sweet milk chocolate. Is that a hit of rose? “This is insane, what’s in this?”

At your praise Willy smiles like the cat that caught the canary “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka, Wild roses from China. Coconut milk”

You look over at him, appraising. Trying to figure out why his voice has taken on that husk. Why his eyes are boring into so intensely.

“What a peculiar combination of flavors” you whisper and Willy bites his lip.

“Its become my favorite combination lately” he admits “but I can't seem to get it quite right. You see, I was allowed to taste it only once, and its tormented me since”

Your breath hitches. Flashes of tangling tongues tongues and his lips pressed against yours. It had only been one kiss but it had wreaked havoc on you since.

You eyeball the mug in your hands. Maybe you weren't the only one suffering with the after effects after all.

“Is this chocolate supposed to taste like?...”

“You. Yes. Your kiss. Your tongue and your lips” Willy nods. “I don't know if anything can come close to the real thing, but I tried”

Your heart thunders behind your ribcage. The longing in his voice matches the one within your gut, the need that had been brewing.

“I’ve spent hours. Thinking of you, trying to imitate your taste so that I could have it one more time. Spicy, but not quite. More warm. Sweet…the floral note from your lipstick. I’ve been nearly everywhere and i’ve never sampled anything quite like it”

With his confession, the thin thread of control snaps.

You’d been trying, so hard. Trying not to scare him away. Trying to keep the intensity of your feelings at bay so that he’d stay, even after he secured his shop. That he wouldnt leave you when he found success-

You place the mug down on the old wood of the side table-

“Please” Willy’s pathetic as he grabs at your arm “Don't go, I understand if this was too much but I- I didn't know how else to show you”

You lean into his touch, not away and that seems to calm him if only just.

Of course this sweet silly man couldn't just tell you that he cared for you. That was not his style. He was bad with words, so much better with his hands. To him, he’d shown you the most sincere form of devotion, crafted your portrait with his most loved medium.

“I feel the same” you say, voice quivering just the tiniest bit. His eyes melt and he comes in close, forehead knocking against yours.

When you kiss him its hot from the start. It’s wet and electric, charged with emotion. With desperation. Willy’s sinewy hands are all over you, cupping your chin, squeezing your waist, so much more bold this time. The waiting had lowered any inhibitions he might have had.

It’s frantic, him unbuttoning your blouse and you tugging at his trousers.

You need more. Need to feel his dark silky hair between your fingers, his pale skin under your palms.

Nothing feels like enough. Not when he mouths at your garment covered breasts or when you wiggle out of your skirt.

You reach into his boxers, wanting to palm at the blood hot hardness you’ll find there-

He groans and pulls his mouth away from your neck, where he’d been suckling marks into the delicate skin. “Wait, don’t”

“Why?” you’re confused, you can feel him. Firm and needy under the cloth.

“Because I want to take care of you first. With my mouth. If you’ll let me”

And oh. Oh.

All you can do is nod. Lay back and let him take what he needs, you feel more vulnerable than ever before. When he blankets you with his body, you realize that you also feel safer. Adored by this man, by this odd beautiful man.

Willy is a tactile person. He wants to touch and taste. And so that is what he does.

There’s so much to feel. Your heavy breasts, peaked with hard little nipples that he swirls his tongue round. Your belly and wide hips, so soft, so much give, he watches his fingers dig in and indent. Your thighs, so plush.

He buries his head between them. And inhales, deeply.

“Willy!” you exclaim, scandalized, trying to close your legs, but he shoulders his way deeper.

“You smell so good” Willy reassures you, his nose pressed against the wet patch on your knickers. Groaning like it’s the best scent in the world.

He takes his time, savors the moment as he peels the damp fabric away. His eyes locked on how the strings of slick stretch and shine in the low fire light. You’re so wet, the puffy lips of your cunt sopping already. And when he takes his first tentative lap, he knows that he could do this for hours and there's no way he’d ever be able to replicate it.

Nectar from the gods. Earthy and sour sweet.

You whimper as he feasts, as he gorges greedily. The sight of his dark head bobbing between your thighs makes you shudder. It’s almost unreal. That he’s doing this, that he wants you. His arms are wrapped around the back of your thighs, holding them up, holding you open.

You come for the first time with your fingers buried in his hair, pressing his face deep into you. Riding his nose and tongue.

For the second time you’re arching away from the sharp pleasure.

“Willy” you choke on your whines as his fingers reach deep into you, hitting that sensitive place inside over and over. You’re shaking with overstimulation, but hes groaning like he’s the one being brought to orgasm over and over.

He pulls his wet mouth away every so often. To tell you how beautiful you are. How good you taste.

“I can’t” you whisper, warningly.

“Please” Willy insists, his breath against your clit “One more, one more for me”

You can't deny him anything, can you?

You arch right up from the couch cushions, squealing as you hit that peak again. But this time is different, this time something inside you bursts, pushing wetness out in a flood.

Willy lets out a gutted sound from where he’s smothered by your thighs, that have tightened vice like around his head during your orgasm.

Coming down from it is almost painful and you’ve never sobbed from pleasure but well. There’s a first time for everything. While you shake and shiver Willy’s gentle, petting your thighs and tummy in soothing circles. Pulling away from your over sensitive flesh.

He stares up at you, his gaze heavy and his tongue poking out every few seconds. Swiping at his wet lips. Like he can't stop tasting you. It’s debauched. Beautiful.

“You are the best thing i’ve ever tasted” Willy pants out the vow, raw with honesty. Drunk on the flavor of you.

Wryly, you wonder if he’ll try to manufacture it into a truffle. A fancy bon bon.

You smile as he climbs back fully on top of you, your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. You kiss the shell of his ear before whispering-

“My turn to taste you”

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

I never thought I’d be writing Willy Wonka smut but well. Here I am lol

[irondad-and-spiderson]

Hi! Sorry to bother, idk if you take asks like this (if you don't feel free to ignore!) but do you know any good fics where SI employees bully/threaten/mistreat Peter and Tony comes to the rescue? Thank you so much for your time 💙💙

Hi! I absolutely do! I might just take forever to respond and take your prompt a little loosely 😃 The three under the cut are employees with (valid) security concerns. I know there are more that I can’t find, so anyone feel free to add some 😉

A Big Security Issue by FotiBrit

When Peter lost his Stark Industries Staff ID, Tony handed the kid his own. That was never an issue, until Peter had to check in at the front desk.

-

The Cusp of a Breath by SpaceCowboysFromMars

“That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever experienced.” Peter says as he and Tony make their way into the crowd. He wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs, cringing when he remembers how much the suit costs.

“You got shot on patrol last month.”

“This was worse.”

Or; Peter is introduced as the official heir of Stark Industries, but not everyone is completely welcoming of his presence. Luckily, he has a pretty awesome mentor to keep him on track.

-

the love (and other things) you inherit by ironfidus

“Which is why,” Catherine says, unblinking, as delicately as she can, “the board requires that you name a successor in the event of your untimely demise. The risk has simply become too great for us to ignore.”

Tony Stark’s spent a large portion of his life thinking about legacy: his legacy, his company’s, Iron Man’s. He’s spent a lot of time fighting to protect his legacy, too. But today, with a lawyer as his witness and FRIDAY as his one-AI cheerleading squad, he stops, takes a step back, and lets go instead—because for the first time, his legacy isn’t about him, not really.

And as FRIDAY would say: it’s about damn time.

Alternatively: Tony updates his will and gets himself an heir, Peter gets a promotion (for lack of a better word), and the rest of the world gets a wake-up call—in that order. Ft. an impatient board of directors, a Stark Industries charity gala, and a universe in which Tony Stark gets to be happy.

-

Security Bias by Sara (ctrsara)

Happy Hogan asks Daren Anderson to help him out with a little project.

My take on idk-bruh-20's irondad fic ideas #128: Fic where, after a security incident in which some bozo accused Peter of trespassing at Stark Tower, Happy holds an emergency briefing for the entire SI security team.

The topic of the briefing? The absolutely untouchable, vital-to-know-if-you-want-to-keep-your-job level of importance of one Peter Parker.

:)

Five Times Tony Stark's Fabled Intern Just Showed Up + One Time He Was Invited by kingdomfaraway

While Leroy didn’t like gossip, he wasn’t immune to it and he’d heard about a young boy claiming to be Tony Stark’s intern showing up randomly throughout the building. He just figured it was some random mystery, a Stark Industries cryptid if you will.

Never did he think he’d have a sighting.

“Are you Peter Parker?” Leroy questioned, narrowing his eyes at the young boy, looking for any signs of deceit.

“Oh yeah, that’s me, hi!” Possibly Fabled Intern Peter Parker reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge and lanyard, this one with his face on it and INTERN written underneath it. “Mr. Stark got me a badge so I can get nachos whenever I want.”

-

Chapter 1 of 200 Park Avenue (5+1) by Sara (ctrsara)

Peter hasn't seen Mr. Stark, or been able to go out as Spider-man since he turned down his invitation to join the Avengers a few weeks ago. He ends up at Stark Tower rather randomly, finding an unlikely hero in Mr. Stark's AI, then keeps returning for different purposes.

The first chapter is a short I did for Comfortember 2022 that I've just kept thinking about. I'm building on that story and creating a 5+1 to explore the new dynamic (post-Homecoming) in another way.

Or

5 Times Peter Visited Stark Tower and 1 Time He Stayed

-

Home by patrochilles_trash ((it’s less angsty than it sounds))

Tony had been out of the country for weeks on SI business, and Peter was having a hard time. He missed him, plain and simple.

Okay. Maybe not so plain and simple.

Peter had a rough time in the weeks and months that followed the final defeat of Thanos in the ruins of the Compound. Thrust back into life, only to be forced to fight for the lives of the entire universe for the second time at only sixteen-years-old, and then to be told that his last living relative died in a crash during his five year absence did wonders for his psyche.

He developed a nasty form of separation anxiety toward his mentor-turned-adoptive-father -- not that Tony fared much better himself -- and his therapist had said it was a side effect of PTSD and that it would get better over time.

OR

A small field trip fic to SI where Tony has been out of the country for a few weeks, and Peter isn't handling it well.

Don't be fooled. This garbage fluff to avoid my other fics that I'm writing

[barn-anon]

Thanks for reminding me I have a third Custodes! This is not a happy story! :D Large hands pluck the umbrella from your hands. You look up but you knew to expect it. Your Custodes, already carrying your bag, now is also carrying your umbrella for you. Trying to take it back is pointless, when he has his mind set on something, you know it's impossible to stop him.

In all fairness, he had pointed out that it's unlikely to rain today but in your defence, it's been raining on and off for the past few days. He walks on ahead, you had to hurry to keep up with his much larger strides. You had tried asking him where he's taking you, but he insisted that it's a surprise. You playfully bump into him, making him look down at you, those cold red lenses staring down at you.

If only he didn't wear that armor of his all the time, what difference does it really make when he himself feels like a brick wall? You sigh. Can you really complain? When you first met your Custodes, he was worse than what most people with Custodes say theirs are. While others' are maybe a little weird or distant, yours had been outright hostile. The number of times you felt like you might be in danger... you didn't want to think about it.

But that suddenly stopped a few months ago. It's like your Custodes had a complete flip. Where he had been hostile before, he's affectionate, attentive and caring. It's jarring at first but why question a good thing? Maybe he just needed time to settle in your house?

Then your Custodes comes to a stop and when you rush to catch up, you find yourself at a idyllic clearing with flowers of all sorts of colours. You want to take your phone from your bag but your Custodes refuses to hand it to you. How weird, m-maybe he wants you to live in the moment? Some Space Marines don't like when their humans spend too much time on phones or computers, maybe your Custodes is like them.

You were looking at a cluster of pink flowers when your Custodes comes over and leads you towards the edge of the clearing. He points at something, his hand at the back of your neck. You squint, trying to see what he's looking at. His hand tightens, you don't notice his fingers closing around your neck as he insists you need to simply look harder.

Tight, can't breathe. You try to tell your Custodes that he needs to loosen his grip, but he ignores you. Trying to pry his fingers open, your eyes are wide. His grip slowly tightens around your neck. You struggle, it tightens further. You should've questioned his change of behavior. You try to hit him only for him to catch your hand. You can't scream out when the bones get shattered.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts • @c-u-c-koo-4-40k • @orquidborgo

[propertyofwicked]

people watching | spencer reid

spencer reid x bau!reader

inspo - people watching by conan gray

2.3k words

warnings: none really - canon character death, angst to comfort :)

they're counting months they've been together, almost 49

“y/n - how long have you worked with the BAU?” morgan asked, shooting you a smirk as you threw your head backwards with a load groan. 

“i don’t know? like, 4 years?”

“4 years, and 34 days, 2 hours and based on when we got called out for your first case, 34 minutes,” reid interjects the conversation without looking up from his file. 

“for someone who has worked here for 4 years, wouldn’t one assume that you would know we never get a whole week without a case?” morgan continued, ignoring reid’s comment, chuckling slightly at the face you pulled. you knew he was right, but something about garcia announcing there’s a new case made you grumpy. as a result you simply whined in response and pushed yourself up to walk to the round table room. morgan and jj walked ahead, but spencer stayed back to walk by your side. 

“hey, that made me realise we’ve been friends for 4 years - we should celebrate!” he said, not looking at you but carrying a smile on his face. 

“depending on the case, maybe we could do movie night when we get back?” you responded, but unlike him, you turned your head to respond to him. 

“that sounds good, did you know research has shown that spending time with loved ones, even doing something as mundane as watching a film, can increase your mental wellbeing?” this time he looked at you to respond, the smile still present on his face.

“so spending time with me is mundane?” you quipped, chuckling at the end of your sentence, so he’d know you were only messing. 

“reid, y/n, thanks for finally joining us,” hotch’s voice sounded across the room.

“sorry dad,” spencer joked, taking his seat next to alex.

they met in class for metaphysical philosophy

he tells his friends, "i like her 'cause she's so much smarter than me" 

they're having talks about their futures until 4:00 a.m

“hey spence?” you asked, filling the silence. the film you had been watching ending a while ago, but the two of you stayed sat on his sofa. at some point you had turned to face him, stretching across the chair with your legs over his. he didn’t mind - he compared it to the calming effects of a weighted blanket, rattling off the statistical benefits on anxiety. 

“yeah?” he looked up from his book, with a soft gaze in his eyes. 

“if you weren’t in the bau, what would you be doing right now?”

he paused for a moment, as if to think about his answer.

“i honestly don’t know. i don’t think i knew before i joined the bau either. had i not joined the fbi when i did, i think i’d still be in college just collecting degrees until i’d done them all,” he laughed to himself, “maybe a professor, i have taught a few classes.”

“i know - that’s how we met. you told that god awful joke about a horse who became hyper aware of his own reality.”

“hey! it wasn’t that bad.”

“spence - no one laughed.”

“you did.”

“and i regret that decision almost daily,” you respond, earning a light smack to the shin that was still thrown other his lap. 

“what about you? what would you be doing?”

“i used to think id be married by now but we both know how that ended,” you mention, referencing the ex boyfriend you and spencer both hated, “honestly though, i think id still be in the FBI but with counter intelligence like i had originally planned.”

“im glad you’re not,” he said with a smile. did he mean married or in a different department? you felt safer assuming the latter - it was safer to than getting your hopes up that some feelings might be reciprocated. so for now, you simply hummed in response and allowed the room to fall back into a comfortable silence. 

im only looking just to live through you vicariously ive never really been in love, not seriously

it was clear you had been mistaken, and in the most cruel and soul destroying way - through no fault but your own. he was happy, you could see. the way he no longer had bags living permanently under his eyes - he was sleeping. he’d sneak away to the payphone, assuming no one noticed. it started off serious, like he was only asking the other person direct questions. it didn’t stay that way. soon enough you found yourself sitting in the SUV, staring at him as he laughed into the phone, basically twirling the wire around his finger like a giddy teenage girl. spencer wasn’t yours anymore. you know he never was yours really, but still you held out hope that the lasting glances, the jokes, the comfort and the spontaneous movies nights meant something more to him. it was clear you had been mistaken. 

“you know if you keep staring at him like that your eyes might dry up,” JJ spoke from besides you one day. it made you jump - you hadn’t realised she was stood next to you and you certainly didn’t know how long she’d witnessed you staring at the side of spencer’s faces as he laughed and smiled over the phone. 

“i wasn’t staring,” you defended, but she gave you a look that said she knew you were lying, so you moved on, “who’s he talking to anyway?”

“we don’t know, but morgan and i think spencies got a girlfriend,” she taunted. you didn’t react, this wasn’t news to you - it didn’t take a profiler to work that out. jj didn’t say anything else, she just adjusted the strap of her bag and walked off to find hotch. eventually spencer put the phone down and walked over to you.

“hey you guys find anything?” he asked, it was a general question but it was clearly aimed at you. 

“nothing yet from me, garcia’s still digging stuff up on the victim though. it’s clear the unsub is organised, he’s been disposing these bodies for years, concealing their identities and he’s never been caught.” concealing their identities, you should know all about that reid, you thought to yourself but didn’t allow your face to waver.

“did you know that despite the rich history in the town, only 2,000 visit the area per year on average?”

“i didn’t, no.” it was a blunt response but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. but of course he did, mr 187 who couldn’t gauge most social cues but could tell when you were off with him. it wasn’t fair. how he could act like he loved you still, even though he clearly had someone worth keeping secret in his life. 

his hand reached up to rest on your shoulder, his tall frame towering over you, giving you an intense stare as he did.

“what’s up?” damn you and your profiling skills. you contemplated saying nothing, but that would only lead to more intense questioning, so you deflected, saying you were thinking about the profile. he seemed satisfied and left you to find hotch, just as jj had. 

cut people out like tags on my clothing i end up all alone but i still keep hoping

maeve was gone. that was her name, that was the woman that had made spencer happy in a way you couldn’t. she was gone, and emotionally, so was spencer. for weeks he moped, refusing to leave his apartment. but he was still your best friend. everyday, you sent him a message asking if he was ok, or needed anything, and everyday, it was left on read. whilst he needed his space, it wasn’t in your good conscience to leave him without support. 

walking up to his door was terrifying. why? you had been here thousands of times, spent hundreds of hours watching films on his sofa and yet your heart was beating so fast you felt as though it would tear through your ribcage and fall out on the floor in front of you. if spencer was here, he’d tell you that wasn’t physically possible and you’d more likely have a heart attack. he’d then reassure you by noting the statistical unlikeliness of having you having a heart attack. but he wasn’t, emotionally anyways. you knocked twice.

“go away garcia, i really appreciate everything you’ve done but please leave,” you heard him shout through the door. it was his voice alright, but deep and strained as if he had been crying for weeks - on second thought, he probably had.

“it’s me spence, not penelope. can you let me in?” you called back.

“no. please, i need some space.” ok, if that’s how he wanted to play it, tough love it was. 

“spencer reid if you do not open this door within the next ten seconds i will have morgan kick it down.” it seemed to work, you could hear a muffled sound of him standing up, shuffling across the floor and undoing the latch. you were not expecting the sight you saw when the door opened - it made your heart shred into tiny little pieces that you wanted to sew together and give to him. his hair was greasy, his facial hair had grown more than you’d ever seen it but worst of all, his skin was pale and his face seemed almost a hollow shell of the spencer you knew and loved.

“what do you want y/n?” he grumbled.

“i wanted to check in on you?” suddenly any tough love had gone out the window, and you doubted every word you said to him.

“ok, well im alive. you can go now.”

“spence ple-”

“i said i’m fine. y/n, i know you want me to sort myself out but im not ready to. please leave.”

“i don’t want you to ‘sort yourself out’ spence,” you paused to breathe, “you need to grieve, i understand that but i need you to look after yourself. however, you clearly don’t need me, you’re clearly coping so well on your own.” sarcasm was a defence mechanism - seeing him like that hurt you down to your very core, but they way he was treating you wasn’t fair. you turned on your heal, intending to leave with your dignity mostly intact, but as you go to take your first step a hand grabs you wrist, stopping you from moving.

“y/n, im sorry, please come in.” you offered him a restricted smile and stepped into this apartment, he followed close behind. you were expecting the worst, but this took it to another level. the curtains were drawn closed, takeout containers littered the counter, the floor and the coffee table - at least he was eating. spencer moved to the sofa, shoving books to the floor and offering you a seat. 

“talk to me spence, tell me everything going on in that big brain of yours.” and he did, you must’ve sat there for 2 hours as he told you about maeve, how he first contacted her, how she understood him, the way she laughed. he spoke about guilt, he believed it was his fault and that he’d never be able to forgive himself. only towards the end did he begin to cry, so you wrapped you arms around his torso and pulled him down to rest on your shoulder. to your surprise, his arms snaked around your waist and held you tight. the room fell into silence, as it had hundreds of time, but this one was not one of comfort as it usually was. 

after some time he sat up, “you know, IQ has no effect on the size of your brain. it may be cause a change in external appearance but the size itself will not change.” you couldn’t help but laugh - it wasn’t condescending, just the mere fact that he had spent two hours talking but still remembered to correct your original statement.

i wanna feel all that love and emotion be that attached to the person i'm holding

years passed since that day at spencer’s apartment. it took him a few more weeks, but he returned to work and returned to his normal self. he no longer thought of maeve, he thought of the future, he moved on in life whilst still holding a spot in his heart for her. soon, he became your best friend again - movie nights and take out were reinstated. sometimes he had to beg you to come round after a case to watch a movie. he remembered what life was like. 

that night was a night like many others. the credits rolled and the room became dark with no light blaring from the screen. silence. a comfortable one. tonight, you found yourself with your head laying on his lap, facing the tv, his arm rested on your hip and his fingers played with a hair tie absentmindedly. you said it was comfortable, he didn’t argue - spencer liked your presence. he appreciated you being in his life and never giving up on him. he admired your work ethic, and your friendship. you provided him an outlet, an escape from the stress and constant work.

“hey y/n,” he whispered, and you hummed in response, “i love you.”

“i love you too spencer.” your heart skipped a beat, but you knew he meant as friends, that’s all you were and all you’d ever be - you had grown to accept that. 

“no, y/n, i love you.” this made your head turn and you rolled onto your back to look up at him. “i mean it. i think i always knew deep down, but i couldn’t establish that that was what i was thinking. did you know studies show that some people have to feel love in order to love?”

“i love you too spencer.” you smiled up at him, squinting through your tired eyes, and his hand came down to stroke your cheek softly. 

[httpiastri]

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER FIVE

genre: angst, fluff, comfort, the usual

word count: 5.0k

warnings: hmmmmm don't think so!!

author's note: hello hello !! finally done with this!!!! took me ages 😵 anywayssss i was supposed to include like italian cities and everything but i have 0 knowledge of italy i've realized, it's been ages since i went there... so pls forgive me for that, hope this makes sense anyway :) hope you enjoy!!

series masterlist

"we came home from a run in the mountains about… ten minutes ago?" you start, checking your watch. "the view was actually mental, i will send you some pictures."

your mother hums on the other side of the line. "that sounds lovely, darling." she pauses for a moment and you sit down on the edge of your hotel room bed. "where is ollie now? is he around? can i talk to him?"

"he's in the shower," you tell her, ears instinctively listening for that familiar sound of the shower running and the soft humming by your boyfriend. "but i can put him on when he's done, if you'd like."

the same night of the monaco grand prix, ollie managed to find a way for you to fly out to italy with him the following morning. you were into the idea when he proposed it, but right before you were traveling to the airport, you started to doubt if it was actually that good of an idea. you basically only had racing gear in your suitcase; no swimsuits or clothes to work-out in, and the only outfit even near fancy enough to wear to a real restaurant was the one you had worn to the ferrari celebratory dinner the night before.

but ollie insisted. i'll buy you everything you need, he told you, which you, of course, instantly refused. i want you with me, so if that's the price i need to pay, then it will be worth it.

ollie took a day in modena to re-pack his bags, to visit both prema and ferrari, and to just take some time to recharge with you after the race weekend. the following day, you started your trip down the country. but first, you needed to stop in another few cities for some shopping. after a lot of complaining, you agreed to let him pay for the clothes, but only if you got to pay for the coffee and gelato. pretty fair, if you may say so yourself.

you booked your hotel in a cozy little city neither of you had ever heard of before, somewhere close to the west coast, but you have been around in most neighboring cities by now. romantic dinners in charming restaurants, sunbathing by cozy little lakes, and a lot of hiking and running through scenic trails to keep up your physique during the break.

and, as you hoped beforehand, you've started to see ollie in a new, more romantic and more exciting light. the quiet evenings spent together, far away from the hustle and bustle of your regular lives, have been like a breath of fresh air; it's all so easy, so comfortable, so heartwarming. and after your talk with paul in monaco, there isn't even a dark, rainy paul-shaped cloud hanging over your head like there usually is.

you find yourself enjoying the different layers of him and every detail that make ollie that sweet guy you first went out with, and those initial butterflies from your first few months together have finally made their comeback. it's not a huge change, but definitely enough to make you feel like you're moving in the right direction.

"are you two having fun?" your mother asks, the tone of her voice a tad too innocent for you to ignore. "your father mentioned something about a fight, or…"

you can't help but scoff at her words – you know she means no harm, unlike your other parent, but even just the mention of your father irritates you these days. "we're not fighting, mum. everything is fine."

"i'm glad." another moment of silence, just as suspicious as the whole aura of this conversation. then, she lets out a laugh, her voice growing much more lighthearted. "do you two ever fight at all?"

you aren't having it, however. "not really," you say, continuing instantly. "i think it's silly to assume that it's a bad thing that we're never upset with each other. i don't understand it."

your mom clears her throat. "you've got it all wrong. all we want is for you to be happy," her voice booms out from the phone, a little louder now than before. "but fighting a little is healthy. dealing with your problems is important in a stable relationship."

you obviously understand her side of it, and you know she's right. but how could you ever bring yourself to fighting with ollie and causing him any extra pain when he deserves nothing but happiness? how could you ever put more pressure on him when he's already got the expectations and weight of the entire world resting on his shoulders?

besides, what would you even fight over? the fact that you aren't as passionate about him as you were about paul? or the fact that you don't feel the same way you used to with your ex?

this vacation was supposed to make you feel more, to make you fall deeper. sure, you still have a few days left, but will any amount of time ever be enough to get over paul?

"we have no issues," you say. "it's alright, we've got it under control."

you can hear your mom let out a little breath before she speaks up again. "if you say so, then i trust you." there's the faintest hint of sincerity in her words, enough to almost make you believe her. "he must've been very proud to see you on the podium."

a faint smile appears on your lips at the mention of monaco, nodding to yourself as you think back to the race. "he was. jealous, but proud."

"i think they were all jealous. maybe even paul." a confused frown takes over your face as you lie back over the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. "how was it to share the podium with him again? you two looked quite happy with each other."

"i guess."

"you guess? you two were hugging like…" she chuckles. "well, like it was a year ago."

you take a deep breath. "your point?"

"i was just thinking about how…." her words fall out of focus when your ears catch the sound of the shower being turned off and feet tapping against the tiled floor.

ollie then appears in the doorway to the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and an intrigued look in his eyes. who are you talking to? he mouths.

"ollie just came out of the shower," you tell your mother as you push yourself up to a sitting position again, dropping your phone onto the bed and clicking a button. "you're on speaker, mum."

she calls out for him, and he smiles as he sits down next to you on the bed. "hello, mrs. harper," he says. "how are you doing?"

"lovely now that i get to hear your voice, sweetheart," she coos. "how are your parents doing?"

yet again, everything quiets down; ollie's mouth moves, and you see him politely laugh at something your mother says, but everything you can hear are your mother's words from before.

dealing with your problems is important in a stable relationship.

you reach forward to brush a wet strand of hair out of ollie's face, letting your hand fall down to his cheek. he looks down at you with gentle eyes and raised eyebrows, making you want to open up and tell him everything. about how badly you want to change to be the perfect partner for him, about everything you're feeling and about everything that makes you so terrified that your voice gives up on you. about how scared you are of even giving him a real chance, of actually falling for him, because what if he isn't enough?

but what if he is?

what if you allow yourself to fall and he's there to catch you every time?

today during dinner, ollie got an idea.

he loves the way that you can come up with conversation topics out of nowhere. he loves how you can rant the entire way to the restaurant about a karting race you drove in ten years ago, and he loves your little game of "is the couple at the table next to us siblings, happily married, or is one of them secretly only in it for the money?" during dinner dates.

but it doesn't help him get to know you any better, especially not on the deeper level he wishes to reach you on. it doesn't allow him to come closer, nor does it help you get closer to him, either.

but tonight, he hopes everything is about to change. if he just introduces the idea of talking to you, actually talking, then maybe it will come more naturally in the future, too.

ollie is sitting up in bed when you turn off the lights in the bathroom and enter the bedroom. his back is propped up against the headboard, phone in hands turning black the second he sees you appear. he plugs the phone in to charge, clearing his throat before speaking up. "can i ask you something?"

you nod as you walk over to your side of the bed. "of course."

"i'm pretty sure i wasn't the only one who thought it was strange that you stayed in red bull after your dad started working with the ferrari driver academy," he says, watching you sit down on the edge of the bed. "how come you didn't switch academies?"

you let out a sound, something between a sigh and a chuckle, looking over at him as you hold up the duvet. "do you want the short version or the long version?"

"the honest version."

"well," you start, slipping in under the covers. "there's a lot that went into it. ferrari is a cool brand and everything, and it would be an honor to represent them. but…" you shrug – or as much of a shrug as you can pull off while lying down. "i went to red bull because of my dad in the first place so…"

ollie doesn't say anything when you pause, his expression reflecting genuine interest. he's always been a great listener, and today is no different.

"plus, it's been pretty good not having my dad breathe down my neck every second. i would've gone absolutely crazy by now if he had been my boss."

ollie snorts, a grin appearing on his lips. "your dad is a good boss, though."

"if you say so," you respond with a roll of your eyes, one he can't quite decipher.

ollie takes a deep breath, seemingly preparing for his next words. "you didn't even want to join ferrari just to be with me more?"

you bite back the smile that wants to spread across your lips. "didn't wanna get too distracted from my goals."

"is that so?"

you nod, and ollie just looks down at you for a few moments, that grin still prominent on his lips, before shifting to turn off the lamp on his bedside table. he then lies down, joining you beneath the covers.

"genuinely, though," he begins. "when did you first realize you liked me?"

only the gentle, white light from the moon sneaking past the blinds keeps the bedroom somewhat lit now, but it's enough for you to catch the way the pillow has messed up his hair already. you turn your head, eyes following the beams in the ceiling and the chandelier dangling from it. you think it through for a few moments. "i think… something inside of me always liked you." you pause to find the correct words, but none of them seem to describe what you're really feeling. especially not in a way that will sound good to his ears. "like, something just clicked when we went out on our first date. it was like the puzzle pieces fell into place. like i suddenly realized my feelings."

when you look back at him, his eyes glimmer in the moonlight – or is it because of your answer? – and he doesn't move for a good few moments, just taking you in.

"your turn," you prod, supposing he'll need to think through his answer, too.

however, he answers within just a second. "in 2021," he says, completely serious, "when i saw you for the scouting finals."

you groan. "oh, shut up."

"it's true!" he exclaims, propping his head up on his arm. "of course, i knew of you before that day. but actually seeing you in real life, seeing your smile and hearing your laugh..."

"but you never said anything?" you ask, eyes flickering over his features, mentally drawing lines between his freckles and birthmarks. "or did i miss any signs?"

ollie shakes his head. "even when you weren't actually taken, i knew you were mentally with..." he doesn't say the name; he doesn't need to. instead, he starts talking again instantly. "but when i heard that you two had broken up, i knew i had to shoot my shot. i knew i wouldn't get another chance like that."

his words should fill you with joy. they should make you swoon, make you fall even more for him, make you feel like the luckiest person in the world. you have this perfect man lying right next to you, telling you about how he was waiting for years for his chance to be with you – what could be better?

but instead, there's a sharp pain in your chest.

what if you will never love ollie the way he loves you? in the way he deserves?

the sound of ollie pulling the keys out of the ignition finally draws you out of your thoughts, eyes flickering over to him. you've been mostly quiet for this entire forty-five-minute ride to your destination, your mind still stuck on your conversation from yesterday, but you think you can blame it on just wanting to hear ollie hum along to the italian songs on the radio.

you decided to travel to this cute little coastal town to go for a little swim after your morning run, and the name of the place ollie had suggested seemed familiar enough. you just weren't able to figure out why – until you finally arrived.

"i've been here before," you say as you jump out of the car, closing the door behind you. "me and dino were here two years ago, for our summer break."

ollie raises his eyebrows, pulling open the trunk lid. "just the two of you?" he asks and you shake your head.

"some other friends, too."

and paul. but the words die on your tongue. it's an unnecessary detail, anyway, you think.

in this context, sure. but the truth is that the trip was pretty much divided into two trips; your trip with paul, and dino's trip with your other friends. it was just months after you and paul had first gotten together, and this was your first trip together as more than friends. you were still in that initial honeymoon phase, able to spend hours and hours together without ever getting tired of each other, stuck in a haze of obsession and love and everything in between.

but you're not here with paul now. you can't be thinking about your former boyfriend when you're here with your current boyfriend, at a stunning beach in this beautiful weather.

ollie slings your beach bag over his shoulder, closing the trunk before making his way over to your side. "any good memories?" he asks, taking hold of your hand and beginning to drag you out of the parking lot. "or is there a reason you never came back?"

you hum. "we went here to the beach, and… we went to a nice restaurant in town," you say, gazing over the beach to see if you can find any empty sunbeds. "it had a funny name, but i... i don't remember what it was."

"was it any good?" he asks as he lets you pull him towards two sunbeds near the shore.

you nod, snatching two towels out of the bag before ollie even has a chance to put it down, draping them over the chairs. "they had this lovely pasta," you tug your sundress over your head, folding it up on one chair. "homemade tortellini, with this sauce made of-"

"what are you doing?" ollie cuts you off when he sees you sit down, his frown prominent. "i thought we were going swimming."

he's already dressed down solely in his swimming trunks, but not even the sight of his toned upper body is enough to make you waver now. "i just need a few minutes to tan so i..." you trail off as his frown melts into a pout. now, that is something you have a much harder time saying no to. "do i have to?"

"you do."

once you've stood up again, ollie moves in behind you and practically pushes you toward the water, explaining how good it will feel, post-morning run and everything. but the second your toes make contact with the water, you can't help but squeal, instantly shaking your head and backing away again. "i can't," you tell him. his hand wraps around your wrist as you try to move away, and now it's your time to pull your best puppy eyes. "let me warm up a bit first so that i can actually enjoy it."

"that's what you said yesterday," he counters, his other hand reaching to grab your other wrist. "but you stayed far away from the water all afternoon."

"you're right, but i promise that today-" you let out another screech when he tugs you closer to him before picking your body up in one swift motion. you press a warning finger to his chest as he takes a few slow steps out in the water. "oliver james bearman, you will put me down right this second, understood?"

he doesn't answer anything, because he seemingly doesn't understand. or maybe he just thought 'put me down' meant 'throw me into the icy water'.

he doesn't even look guilty over it; in fact, when you resurface and look over at him, he's grinning like the damn idiot he is. "oh, you will pay for this."

if by 'pay' you meant that he would get to pay for dinner that evening, then you were right.

sadly, not at that restaurant from the last time you were in town, but at a cute little trattoria near the city center. you stayed quite late because ollie got recognized as 'the guy who drove for ferrari in f1!' by the owner of the building, who then treated all customers to free drinks, and you obviously had to stay and celebrate with everyone. after the long ride back to your hotel, ollie was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow.

however, you can't get your mind to rest.

yet again, you find yourself dwelling on yesterday's conversation, and this entire trip in general. no matter what you do, no matter what you try – counting sheep, recalling old racing memories, thinking about the rest of the season – your mind always falls back to the same thoughts.

it's as if your brain works on autopilot when you slowly get out of bed, pull open the door to the balcony, and step outside. the cold air should help bring you to your senses, you assume, but it doesn't really do anything other than make your brain spin even more. the city lights in the dark night seem miles and miles away, yet so close, and you have to sit down on the little chair by the corner of the balcony to steady yourself. what's going on? you didn't even have a lot to drink, and yet you feel more dizzy than your worst nights out. what's real and what isn't?

one of the few things you know for a fact is real is the series of low beeps from the phone in your hand, but it takes a couple of moments for you to realize that they're signals – meaning that you're calling someone.

you blink at your phone a few times as you try to figure out what number you've dialed and how to turn off the call because it's nearing three in the morning, but you don't make it in time. there's a clicking sound from the speakers, followed by a low grunt. "hello?"

suddenly, you're wide awake and clear-minded again.

as you're trying your best to figure out how the actual fuck you managed to call him at this hour – was it a pocket dial? or did he call you? – the person on the other side of the line grows impatient. "is this a prank call or are you going to say anything?"

"i'm so sorry, paul," you manage to get out, your voice getting caught in your throat for another few moments. thankfully, he allows you some time to regroup. "i have no idea why i called you, it- it was a mistake."

paul stays silent for a little longer before the clicking sound of a lamp being turned on plays from your phone. "you must've had something to say, no?" he asks, and your heart clenches slightly at the sound of his sleepy voice.

you take a deep breath. "well... i actually do have a question for you." you shoot a precautionary glance over to the balcony door, checking that you indeed remembered to close it properly. "you know when you, me, and dino went to italy in 2022? during the summer break?" he merely hums as an answer. "do you remember what that restaurant we went to like five times was called? the one with the delicious pasta? it had a funny name, but..."

he lets out a confused sound, and you imagine his eyebrows furrowing together like they always did when you used to ask him stupid questions back in the days. "um... not right now..." he sighs. "you mean the one in the corner of the town square?"

"yeah, that one."

"can't remember. sorry." you both go back to that silence from earlier, and you begin to ask yourself if it's less embarrassing to say goodbye or just hang up right now and pretend this never happened. "a bit of a random question, no?"

you chuckle, nodding to yourself. "well, i've been craving pasta... so i just thought about it..."

"can i also say something i've been thinking about?" he interjects suddenly.

"of course."

"well, i... i'd really like to apologize. for all of the things i said about you in the start of the season." the words hit you like a truck. you had assumed you would be somewhat friendly after monaco, but you never would've thought he would actually apologize to you. "it all got much worse than i had anticipated. i didn't mean it like that, i was just..." he sighs again. "i was worried about you."

in some sick and twisted way, his words actually do feel comforting. you understand where he's coming from, despite how little he's said; maybe it's the fact that you know each other so well by now that makes you understand how sorry he actually is. "i get it, paul. thank you for your concern-"

"like, i genuinely really never meant for that to happen," he says, not able to hold back from cutting you off. "i didn't think it could snowball that big and get so taken out of context. i should've known and been smarter."

"i appreciate that, actually," you say, voice softer now. "it means a lot."

the sincerity of his voice lingers, chipping away at the anger you've been holding onto. there's a strange mix of relief and hurt still swirling inside you, though, and you look around the balcony to try to find something to anchor your thoughts. you accidentally glance back into the hotel room, your eyes landing on ollie, peacefully asleep and so oblivious to the emotional storm you're navigating. the sight of the gentle rise and fall of his chest blends with the memory of paul's tired voice, and your mind gets going again. surely, you woke him up – but what if he was lying in bed with someone just like you were moments ago? what if you not only interrupted his sleep but also someone else's?

the words leave your lips before you can stop them. "how is your girl doing?" you bite down on your lip, shaking your head at yourself as an awkward silence fills the air.

"who?"

don't act stupid, paul, you think to yourself. "the girl you were with in imola." who else?

"oh, her," he says, voice suddenly much quieter than before. "i don't know her. haven't seen her since."

"oh." you can't tell if that makes you feel better or worse; was he willing to just go kiss any random girl?

"how is milton keynes treating you?" he asks, interrupting your thoughts before they can trail off. "pepe bothering you anything? no murders in the stairwell?"

"i'm... actually not there right now."

paul lets out a surprised sound. "where are you then?"

you don't say anything; you don't need to. the silence is enough of an answer for him.

"italy, of course. i get it." he takes a deep breath, which turns into a loud yawn before he speaks again. "well, i really should get back to sleeping..."

"i really am sorry for bothering you this late," you say, the guilt clear in your voice. "i shouldn't have called."

"you can always call me, you know. no matter the time."

this is far from the first time you've been on a call with him like this, late at night and thousands of kilometers away. but the words you're so used to telling him, the ones you almost let fall from your tongue, are the ones you aren't allowed to say – or even think of.

i miss you.

"ollie!"

his name sounds like a curse when it leaves your lips, a mixture of a groan and a whine following it. you can hear the laugh he tries to stifle despite him being many meters ahead of you. "what is it?"

"i'm too tired," you complain, stopping in your tracks. "my body is about five steps from giving up."

for the last day of your trip, ollie wanted to take you to one of his favorite spots in italy. did he admit that it required a bit of a hike? yes. but did he remember to mention exactly how awful of a hike it was, that it would take almost three hours and that it would be worse than any workout you've ever gone through? definitely not.

"we're almost there," he counters, turning around to wait for you to catch up with him. when you do, he wraps an arm around your waist, practically pulling you with him up the last hill. you can see the viewpoint already, but you can't squeeze one last drop of energy out of your legs.

"you've been saying that for the last two hours."

ollie laughs again, a sound that usually wakes the butterflies in your stomach but right now just annoys you. how is it fair that he has all this energy left? "you're going to love the view, come on."

he wasn't lying; the view truly is breathtaking. the valley beneath you seems to go on forever, a patchwork of forests and rivers filling the land. the mountain peaks jut up sharply against the sky as the clouds drift lazily overhead, their shadows dancing on the ground below. and the feeling of your boyfriend's arm around you just accentuates the feeling, making it all seem a little brighter and more colorful.

"worth it?" he asks after a few moments of silence.

"let me breathe for a minute, and then i can decide."

he lets you admire the scenery for a bit – but he's already memorized every tree and every mountaintop far too many times, so his eyes stay glued to your expression instead. he soon snaps out of his thoughts, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders. "i almost forgot," he starts as he crouches down a little, opening the zipper of the bag and starting to search through it. "i have something for you."

your eyes flicker down to him, interest in your gaze. "i hope you brought more of those chocolates-"

when you see what he pulls out of the bag, you instantly freeze. it's not the bag of sweets you had expected; it's a small velvet-lined box.

a ring box.

"don't freak out," he says when he takes note of your expression, and he stands up properly again. "it's not an engagement ring."

"ollie-"

"just open it."

when you remain still, he grabs one of your hands from your side, places the box in your hand, and prods you to lift the lid. the hesitance bubbling in your stomach makes your fingers tremble, but you finally open the lid, revealing a thin golden ring with a tiny heart-shaped gemstone.

"it's a promise ring," he explains. "it doesn't have to be a promise that we'll get married one day, or anything like that. but, just... to show that i'm serious about us."

you finally tear your gaze from the ring, wide eyes blinking up at him. "i..." you start, but no words feel right for this moment.

"i know it's sudden, but you can also think of it as an early birthday present," he tells you. "you don't have to accept it, of course. but it would mean a lot to me if you did."

but do you really have a choice?

can you actually promise to be serious about him, in the way he's serious about you?

yourusername just posted!

yourusername recharging the batteries 💗

show all 61 comments

user thank you both for letting me take a pic with you 😭 made my week

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user gorggg!! hope you've had a good break <3

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redbulljuniorteam can't wait to see you back on track 💪

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user gonna have to steal you from ollie actually!! you're mine now 🫵

→ user i'll take ollie then 🤭

→ user deal

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olliebearman ❤️

[intotheelliwoods]

❗️Angst potential ahead❗️(so don't read if like, you don't like potential bestie angst)

Okay so I've been thinking about how one got to witness sprout as like a kid, teen, whatever you want to call it while he's still in his bad boy era(how the heck do ppl put the tm) and then him as an adult, one barely having aged one bit. This got me thinking about the potential of the time differences between the 2al world and the slau world.

What if one day the besties stop seeing eachother and one goes through his entire redemption arc without poptart having seen it. What if one decides to finally see poptart again to tell him of all the crazy things that he went through and what had happened (and totaly not to try and apologize for being such a bad friend, nooooo, why on earth would one do that?(interpret this how you want))... Only to find out poptart is no longer around. And oh, what this... tears? Now it all makes sense to one. Oneion was so deadbent on trying to let poptart know he was an amazing friend not because the apocolaspe didn't allow him to see him anymore but because the time difference didn't allow him to. He stands infront of the hamto family's ofrenda conflicted. How should he feel, should he even feel? I mean he never really officially stated that poptart was a friend or someone close. So was it right to cry for someone he tried so hard to push away all those times ago... he didn't know the answer so he just stood there.

Though he was grateful he even got to have him in his life even if it was for so little time.

Anyways I hope that made sense, I feel I could add more but that would take way too much thinking...kay bye👋

-lime

WHAT IF THEY GOT TO GROW UP HAPPY TOGETHER INSTEAD! WHAT THEN!! 🥺

And for real, we are a huge fan of the besties angst <3 Dont look at the ideas that @dianagj-art and I have that currently only live on in old discord messages

It is so weird though because, yeah 2AL DOES move faster time wise than SLAU, and hell if I can get my motivation to work on the main comic series back up I would not be surprised if I finish the main series entirely by the end of the year (which includes a time skip!!!! (happy ending promise)) We just... sorta try to ignore that... and pretend that the besties timeline is its own whole separate thing aha

BUT, at some point he besties DO break up, right before Ones redemption/recovery arc. And similar to what you mentioned here, One does have a lot of regret for how he treated Poptart and for how he never acknowledged him as a true friend. Though unlike your idea, One is able to make that apology eventually after a few months, then the besties are stronger than ever with a post-redeemed One😌👊

Will that idea ever make it to drawing form? Ha no clue, though if you want more details I would recommending asking Diana since its a very One centered moment!

[midnightanxietytm]

Magnum Opus

a/n: Baaah... Anyways. I've been chewing on the idea of a swap au too, would yall like that?

Summary: In which Narinder is a prodigy from a family of artists, famous for his marble sculptures portraying death, but he decides to try something new...

word count: 981

“There’s something so mournful about his recent pieces…”

“Well of course, they are all about death.”

“I know that, silly, but the previous ones felt more like an exploration of violence, like a scream of rage. This one, for example, just feels like…Like silent tears, like visiting a grave.”

“Hm… I think I see it…”

He tunes out the conversation, for his own good, after that.

Narinder knows something has changed about his art, and it infuriates him. A few months ago he had his worst artist block so far, something so devastating he even considered trying his youngest brother Leshy’s erratic approach and simply hit his marble as hard as he could like Leshy did with his canvases.

But before he did, he had a breakthrough; he woke up in the middle of the night, ran to his studio like a madman and feverishly started to sketch a new piece, then another, and another, until he drew half an exposition in under a week, bareilly eating, drinking or sleeping in between each sketch and another, just to make sure it would all be perfect before he even laid a mallet on the stone.

Then he worked tirelessly for almost two years, and alas, he made his new exhibition…

But it still wasn’t perfect.

The critics were right, something had changed in his tone. He always had a preference for putting a focus on death, his first ever exposition had been an installation in which red stained glass was arranged so when the lights came on, the viewer would look like they were splotched with blood. Looking back on it, it was too pretentious for his current taste, but it was a good first, something that set him apart in the scene; it screamed; I am here, I am death, I am violent. It was his branding.

That’s why his current viewers spotted the difference so quickly. Marble had been his medium for years now, death had been his main theme for even longer, yet he never managed to sculpt such sorrowful expressions; he had made pain before, agony, anger, but he never managed to convey such emptiness before. It should be a feat, should be an accomplishment to be celebrated with one of  Heket’s famous dinners.

But it’s not what he wanted.

Shamura always told him that his need for perfection could be his downfall, bold talk from someone whose style of choice was photorealism. He had ignored their advice, but now Narinder could feel another block coming.

“I told you so…” It’s what Shamura says when he goes to them for a debrief of the exposition. They pour him some tea anyway, and Narinder sits down at the neat table of their studio.

“I know…” He rolls his eyes. “Can you say something else at least?”

“I think you should rest from the pressure.  Don’t make an exposition this year, nor the next one, only make something if it’s for you, and you only.” They say to him with a smile, and Narinder sighed again.

“Something for myself…” He mutters, staring at his sketchbook. Narinder had been born in art, by the time he was ten, Shamura was already a big name and Kallamar was well on his way too, and he had always been a creative child, especially encouraged by Shamura.

But his first piece was put out when he was just eighteen, and he had been putting on expositions since then, so how long was it since he did something that was just his? The page in front of him is dreadfully empty.

Maybe he would make something peaceful, this time…

A lamb, so unlike him…

Closed eyes, tender smile…

No, no not that, scratch it, throw it away.

Open eyes, dilated pupils, yes, that’s better…

Mouth starting to curl up, but they aren’t smiling yet.

Laid down on their side, arm under their head, nude- 

No, not nude… Light robes, almost sheer ones, fit for mid-spring, fit for basking under the sun.

A sketch is born. And from there, Narinder knows he can rest, he closes his sketchbook and goes to sleep. This one is his, there’s no need to rush.

Narinder starts with a bust, before he starts on the final piece.

He wants to get the face right, wants to capture that lovely face in just the right expression… People say the mind can’t come up with faces it hasn’t seen before, and Narinder wonders as he carefully carves their beautiful visage, where he had ever seen such features, he wondered if he would even manage to capture it; they had such a complexity to their expressions; a softness that covers such mysteries, such loving eyes, yet filled with both rage and sadness, were they a mirror of his own? Or were they a better version of him? Maybe they were nothing like him at all, but instead what he desired most.

The bust is made during a month and a half of almost meditative work; he works slowly, he struggles to get the texture of their wool right, takes him almost a week, but he managed to come up with something, and he’s satisfied with it as it frames that beautiful face, curling in the softest way.

But finally, he goes to sleep that night knowing he’s one step closer to perfection.

And he dreams.

“My my!” Exclaims the melodious voice in his head, sounding delighted. “It’s been so long…” A figure steps out of the fog in his mind, Narinder still feels incorporeal, floating, but he still feels himself purr as The Lamb looks at him with loving eyes. “I was right to bless you, all those years ago, you probably don’t even remember…” They chuckle, and Narinder doesn’t even really care for remembering, just now is perfect, they are perfect. “Oh! You’re already waking up?! Don’t worry, I’ll visit you soon…”

a/n: I was planning to make this longer but i didn't really know how to take it further. Nari is just whipped and he's an artist. Couldn't be me lmao

edit b4 I sleep: just realized thats just about godspousal lol. I sneaked witchcraft in my fic and didn't even notice till it was posted

[carmesi-butterfly]

from me to you

vampire yang jungwon + human female reader. word count 2,3k. vampire au/fantasy au. warnings hurt/comfort, abandonment. &team's appearance. not proofread.

«From me to you. A letter for Yang Jungwon.

I miss you, Won. I don't know where you are, I don't know why you left me, and I don't know if I honestly want to hold that knowledge in my soul until my ends arrive.

Because unlike you, I'm just a mortal spirit. I desire to spend the rest of my life with you but I understand that you don't yearn for the same as me, and even if it hurts my heart, I accept it, by cause of my respect for you and your freedom, since I had the chance to meet you I noticed how you are an untied person and that's what attracted me of you, and that's why I always knew how this would end, I tried to ignore it but… such a free nature being tied to someone? The end was evident.

I'm sorry, at this point I'm just rambling about everything I can, I have sent so many letters this year and no one got a response which makes me feel a bit unmotivated, because of that I chose to start using a diary and set all my thoughts in there! I don't want to wait anymore for an answer that will never come, for a lover that will never come. A diary is for me, I feel it can help me to heal and cure my inner self.

It's my time to go, this will be my last letter meaning that is a definitive farewell for me, forgetting is not an option and even if it was I would never choose it, because ¿why would I forget you? The only man I loved, you opened my eyes to a new world full of beautiful things and a different perspective, and I will always be grateful for that. I love you Jungwon, goodbye.»

The body of a man lay on the ground of a big lounge, surrounded by an immense amount of envelopes and letters, all opened, his friends standing near him encircling the space.

"She sent fifty-five letters, those are at least one letter a week" announced Jake, impressed by the situation.

"I feel bad… maybe we shouldn't have left" followed Sunoo with a hand on his chest, slightly caressing it.

"Maybe? She was heartbroken, and this letter was from a month ago so who knows how she is now" answered Sunghoon trying to be honest, but slightly being a bit rude at the end.

All the voices resounded in Yang's ears but he didn't seem to notice.

"Guys, this is not helpful for any of us" The conversation was interrupted by Heeseung, who seemed worried about his friend's state and how the others managed the situation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think I could cause more problems than planned" apologized the leader of the pack of wolves.

"Don't apologize, K" a soft voice echoed over the rest, comforting his friend who seemed a bit conflicted. Jungwon left the cloud forming on his mind, bringing his feet back on the earth. "It was my fault, I managed the situation poorly" his hand reached his head, messing his hair with frustration that tried to hide behind a tiny smile.

"I think it's our time to leave," offered the second oldest of the opposite group, holding his comrade's shoulder.

"Are you okay with that, Jungwon?" kei asked.

The relationship between both groups was clearly out of the ordinary, vampires and werewolves forming an alliance, it could even be considered against nature, two categories who faced each other since the start of their lineage collaborating in search of a common good: peace, not only for vampires and werewolves but for the humans too, because ignoring the amount of suffering humans caused to their people, there were a few ones with a golden heart willing to help any creature just in behalf of the mere wish of assist the fellows, precisely like you.

"Yes" affirmed, accompanied by a nod, "I think it's time to rest, especially for all of you," said referring to the predators, "we don't need sleep hours, but you do. Especially after this long trip, the best is to go rest right away"

They assented, and the head of the wolves talked again. "We owe you a favor, search for us when you need it"

By the time all the werewolves crossed the entrance their presence became undetectable, fusing with the big trees that make up the forest and blending into the darkness. With that, the vampires dispersed in the house choosing to mind their own business, leaving their friend alone to have his time for himself.

"Are you going to be okay, Jungwon?" Jay asked, preoccupied with his confidant.

"Yes, don't worry, I have to fix the mess I created" sighed, his tone became serious showing his friend everything he needed to know: determination.

Between vampires and other magical species that knew him, Jungwon had a reputation of the solve problems in his group, one that tends to be a magnet for problems as pure vampires with a high range tend to get into problems easier than other vampires with a lower status, adding to the mix the uncommon union with a few werewolves, it gives the perfect recipe of a disaster. Because of this, a case where Jungwon committed a mistake was unusual, and now in a position where he had to resolve his own problems the logic that characterizes him is pushed into the background and his heart takes the lead.

«Since I had the chance to meet you I noticed how you are an untied person and that's what attracted me of you, and that's why I always knew how this would end, I tried to ignore it but… such a free nature being tied to someone? The end was evident.» The words materialize in his mind, recalling the letter he read just a few minutes ago. "She thought I abandoned her," thought, feeling his heart break like a crystal shattering on his chest.

He has to search for you, no matter the late hours or the poor lighting because of the recent night arrival, he had a mission before and achieved it sacrificing your union in the process, his mission now was to rectify his mistake, even if that doesn't bring you back to his arms like you were before, knowing that you're aware of the events that lead him to fade away and giving the most sincere apology was enough for his soul.

As if someone dropped a spell over him his body began moving by itself, heading to a small cabin near a lake that was pretty well-known to him. It was your house, probably one of the places where he keeps most happy memories, and where a lot of new emotions blossomed on his inside.

Since the start of his long-lived life, Jungwon had the opportunity to experience what love is, the love for his brothers, for his life, for his home, for his hobbies, and the nature around him amongst a lot of other things, but the feelings unfolding in his chest caused by you were a new experience, a ton of butterflies hovering on his stomach directing to his heart, a heart that hasn't beat in a long time but now felt warm and alive.

His journey ended with your portico in front of him, a lamppost lit up the entrance that was decorated with bindweed hanging over the top of it, flower pots beside the door; red carnations, crimson roses, and few aloes. Like a final touch, baby's breath surrounded the area. All of those plants were new, there was no way you could keep a plant alive, because as you said to him once: «I always forget to water my flowers! This is the third time I have killed a cactus, why do I have to be so reckless?».

Without noticing, tears started to fall from his eyes, on a familiar place that felt distant, with flora that didn't have to be there and memories from a faraway moment that now felt overwhelming, the young Jungwon got off the deep end, crying intensely while all sorts of emotions impact him, the remorse and fear, he should have told you, even if it was an emergency, how long would it have taken to inform you about the recent urgency? He just needed to tell you, but he didn't, and now he probably lost you forever, and that's such a long time for a vampire. Despite his recent thoughts about not needing your love again and only wanting to deliver his apologies in search of your wellness, his body quivered just thinking about it, the suffocating feeling of knowing that he could lose the person who showed him what is love, was eating what he had left of a soul.

But the situation had to be confronted, he was the one who chose to appear, if he had to talk to you with his face full of tears, reddish eyes, and his nose dripping then he would.

Three knocks on the door were enough to wake you up, and distrust invaded you while thinking "Who is knocking on my door at this time?" it was suspicious not to say the least, at first you decided to not open it, perhaps whoever was knocking your door in the middle of the night would choose to just go and come back in the morning, but when the second banging started it worried you, what if someone is in danger? There were sightings of wolves near your area, it could be someone at risk of being attacked and searching for help in the desolate house close to the forest. As a precaution you approached the front door with a sword in hand, maybe it was a bit exaggerated for the situation, but the elegant weapon had sentimental value being a gift from an old lover who yearned for your safety.

"Who's there?" you asked, raising your voice as a try to make your voice clearer for the person on the other side.

"I-I am Jungwon…" mumbled, his weak voice exposing the crying session he had just a few minutes before.

The answer petrified you, it was him, it was his voice, after a year of waiting patiently, after months of feeling heartbroken, and after a few weeks of giving up on ever seeing your significant other again, it happened, Jungwon came back. Without a doubt, you opened the door desperately searching for your once-lover, dropping the sword in the process.

When the entrance opened, both maintained an ecstatic stand, you wanted to jump into his arms, searching for the warmth and comfort only Yang can give you.

Taking the initiative the boy said "Hi, y/n…" while collecting the courage needed for the words he was planning to say. "I know that maybe it's not the best moment to come and that it's egoistic on my own to show up like this… but I couldn't wait anymore, not after all this time".

The words unfolded through your ears like soft petals falling out of a tree, it was enough for your tears to start sliding over your cheeks until they reached the end of your jaw, and a gasp came out of your mouth "Did you receive my letters?".

"I wasn't here to read them, but I've received all of them. I never knew you could write so good" A tiny smile showed up on his face, emphasizing his soft cheeks and shrinking his sharp eyes.

"I thought I was never going to see you again" cried with a weak voice, "Where were you?... Why did you disappear just like that?" the efforts of the boy in attempting to make a more agreeable space for the conversation worked, in spite of your questions each one more intense than the other one, your body language demonstrated comfort, especially for the way your eyes searched his and your distance reduced discreetly with a few steps made by you.

"I can explain everything, that doesn't mean you have to forgive me" Delicately his hands cupped your face, brushing your cheeks softly.

"Why wouldn't I forgive you?" you asked, a smile showing up on your face while your hands took his and caressed them, also maintaining the embrace on your cheeks.

The question confused Jungwon, who didn't manage to formulate a question before you talked again.

"Even if you truly leave, I forgive you, because that's what you decided although my heart may not take it well," said with a giggle "I already forgave you, there's no bone in my whole body that can be mad at you" the happiness you tried to demonstrate was overshadowed by crystalline years balling through your eyes. "I love you Won, and love hurts sometimes, I'm willing to experience that pain for you" Your testimony shocked the vampire, who felt touched by your words.

"I don't desire to hurt you, not anymore" And with that, helping himself with the grab he had on your face, Jungwon placed a kiss on your lips, after a long time of missing this kind of connection. A few seconds passed and the kiss got intense, the result of more than a year of dreaming with any dose of contact now unleashing, but sadly, you need to breathe. When the kiss broke, with irregular breathing spoke "Maybe we should talk inside… so I can explain everything, and you can talk to me about your new hobbies" referring to the new plants that formed part of the environment, "I'm interested in reading your diary entries if you let me"

All the pages you had the opportunity to fill talked about him, from top to bottom without wasting any minimal space, and because of that the petition made you feel a bit embarrassed, but you agreed intending to show more from you to him.

[thedreamlessnights]

A Little Rest

Here's my last fic for @bg3-apprecimaytion! I knew that I would have to write something for @davenswitcher's Rockstar!Astarion from the beginning of this event. It's a bit late, but here it is! Ever since I read this fic, he's been on my mind 24/7 - I had so much fun crafting up this fic for him and his favorite groupie, and a soft moment between the two! It's set at some point in the future of their relationship, post-Cazador ♥

I used the prompts sick and borrowed clothing, and I hope you enjoy @davenswitcher! You are so lovely and talented, and this fic has me on my toes with every update! I can't wait to read more of your beautiful lyrics ♥

AO3 Link

Warnings: Descriptions of a headache and general cold symptoms, mentions of being overworked, and past addiction. Explicit sexual content - slightly rough sex, fingering, praise, and penetration.

The headache is the first sign. 

Astarion is no stranger to those. He’s spent more time in the last few years with a throbbing skull than without. Still, from the very beginning of the ache in his temples, it’s clear that this one is different from the others. 

Unlike the slow, steady build of his migraines, the pain comes out of nowhere. It’s as if someone has struck him across the head. As it goes on, it spreads outward – circling around the crown of his head until it feels as though his skull is being crushed by some invisible force.

Still, it’s manageable. He’s performed in much worse conditions. The pain isn’t blinding, and though his thoughts feel a bit slow, filtered out through the ache of it, he should be well enough to concentrate on the lyrics.

Then comes the sore throat. Concerning, but nothing new, even combined with the discomfort of his head. Many of his mornings have started off with a scratchy throat and a pounding headache – the price of his indulgence the night before. But he’s been sober for months now, and considering the amount of tea he’s been drinking, there really shouldn’t be any irritation.

When the exhaustion sets in from limb to limb and his nose starts running, Astarion is finally forced to admit to himself the thing he’s been skirting around all morning: he’s well and truly sick.

A cold, likely, but enough to make him want to curl into his bed with a soft blanket and sleep the day away.

But, of course, he has a concert scheduled later that night.

He’s missed several shows in the past, and been late to even more of them, but ever since Cazador was finally booted from his life, he’s been trying to be more consistent. Huge crowds of people have flocked to the city just to see him perform, and the thought of letting them down blooms guilt deep in his gut.

So, as he has so many times in the past, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Gale.

A: Gale? Wru?

G: At the store, getting some equipment for tonight’s show. Why?

It’s the answer he was hoping for. Thank the gods that Gale had finally learned his commonly-used acronyms, because every second Astarion spends staring at the blinding light of his phone is worsening his headache. 

A: Need medicine ASAP. Head is killing me. Feeling ill

G: I bought you painkillers a week ago. Check your belongings?

A: Cold medicine. Sore throat. Nose won’t stop running

Gale spends a minute or two typing, all of which has Astarion anxious. Gale can be a pain, but surely he’ll bring the medication. Won’t he? 

Finally, the message comes through, and Astarion can’t help but scoff when he sees it.

G: The best remedy for sickness is rest, Astarion.

A: Gods, Gale, I know!

A: Just bring it.

A: Please.

G: Fine 🙄

Gods, who had taught him how to use emojis? Now he’d be insufferable.

Trying to ignore the sensation of his skull splitting in two, Astarion drops his phone on the bed next to him and shuts his eyes, hoping the pain will fade. When that doesn’t work, he stares blankly up at the ceiling, mindlessly counting away the seconds. 

It’s agony. The store can’t be far, but every moment of waiting feels like decades. His nose keeps seeping liquid, and no amount of blowing or wiping alleviates it. When he finally hears the door opening, he lets out a breath of relief and sits up.

“Thank the gods. It took you long enough–”

But it’s not Gale who is at the door, holding the treasured bag of medication. It’s someone he’d much rather see, giving him a bright smile, her multicolored eyes shining in the light.

“Estellé,” he breathes.

The sight of her alone is enough to dull the throbbing of his skull.

“Gale told me you weren’t feeling well,” she says, stepping closer and setting the medication out on the bed. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Now that you’re here?” he starts, flashing a smile. “I feel well enough to take on the world.”

But to his horror, just as he’s finished speaking, a sharp cough rips from his lungs, startling him and ruining all his attempts at being debonair. “Oh, for hell’s sake,” he groans, leaning back on the soft pillow and shutting his eyes again. 

What a horrid thing this sickness is, robbing him of the sight of her.

But Estellé simply lets out a laugh in response, sitting beside him and smoothing the hair away from his face. “How has everyone taken the news?” she asks. He can hear her twisting open the medication, shaking out a pill or two and pouring some water for him from the bedside pitcher.

“News?” he asks.

She places the water in one hand and a pill in the other, and he forces his eyes open to gulp it down. The sooner he gets it into his stomach, the sooner the blasted thing can work.

“The concert,” she says. “Were people angry it was canceled?”

“No, my dear,” he answers. “It’s not being canceled. Believe me, I fully intend to go out there and give them the performance of their lives.”

He can’t see her face, but he can hear the sharp intake of her breath. “Astarion,” she says, and her tone has taken on a hint of chiding. “You have to cancel it. You look terrible.”

“Darling,” he exclaims softly, drawing his hand over his heart. “You wound me!”

“You need to rest,” she insists. “It won’t help anyone if you make yourself feel even worse.”

“You sound just like Gale,” he grumbles. “But fine – for you, my lovely Estellé, I’ll cancel.”

Once again, he opens his eyes, squinting and feeling around for his phone. As his fingers close around the cold metal, a flutter of shame moves through his chest. It’s rare that he cares about the negative newspaper articles, but ever since he met Estellé, something has changed.

He doesn’t want her to think badly of him. He wants to show her what he can be. She’d helped free him from Cazador, and that isn’t something he takes for granted. It isn’t something he intends to waste, lost in the drugs and the sex and the fame, as he used to be.

But she’s watching him with a muted anxiety, as if she’s worried he’ll attempt to go out anyway, and he really can’t resist her. 

When he swipes his phone open, he finds a text from Karlach.

Hey, Star. You alright? Need us to cancel the show?

Ten minutes ago, he would have denied her offer in a heartbeat. It’s almost painful to take it, even though so much of him wants to.

Unfortunately, yes, he writes back. I’d love to perform, but…

But his head is squeezing in on itself like a fist around a stress ball.

But his voice can barely rasp out his words, much less croon one of his songs to the audience.

But his girlfriend is here, looking as though she might cry if he decides to move.

But I don’t feel well enough to go on, he finishes, sending the message through.

Aww, Karlach writes. That’s okay, Star! Get some rest and feel better – we’ll handle it. 

A rush of gratefulness for his band washes over him. They’ve been there from the beginning, dealing with his lashing out, his anger, his irresponsibility. He’s been through horrible things, but everything he’s experienced would have been so much worse if they hadn’t been there for him.

He doesn’t even want to think about what that would have been like – performing nightly with strangers who didn’t give two shits about his well being. Trapped with Cazador, battling out the urge to drink.

Gods, he thinks, suddenly overwhelmed. Maybe it’s his illness getting to him, or maybe the medicine is just starting to kick in, but he’s feeling well and truly sappy.

He drops his phone and flashes Estellé a grin. “There you are, love. I am now yours for the evening.” 

Estellé affectionately rolls her eyes, scooting closer and brushing damp strands of hair away from his clammy forehead. Then she rests the back of her hand against his skin, and her brows pinch.

“You’re burning up, Star,” she says.

“It’s just the effect you have on me,” he shoots back, wanting to see her smile.

As predicted, the corners of her mouth pull up, but the concern doesn’t fade from her eyes. Still, she bends down, grazing her lips against his temple. “Stay here,” she instructs. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment she leaves his side, Astarion immediately feels worse. The throbbing behind his eyes is suddenly awful, and his mouth and throat are unbearably dry.

He can see glimpses of her in the bathroom, fiddling with something in the drawers. He hears the water faucet turn on and off, and then she’s coming back to him, dabbing a washcloth over his burning forehead.

It feels heavenly. Her touch always does.

When she pours him another glass of water, she tilts it back for him, and it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. His dry mouth abates, his sore throat soothes, and he contentedly lays back against the pillow, watching her.

The next few hours pass like that, with her slowly getting comfortable. His nose continues to run, so she keeps him supplied with a box of tissues, occasionally re-dampening the cool cloth on his forehead. She turns on some awful TV show, but he happily watches it with her, holding her hand and drifting in and out of sleep. Eventually, it takes him fully, sweeping him away from his hotel room and into the emptiness of sleep.

When he wakes, he finds a cup of tea with honey at his side, as well as a bowl of soup. Next to him, Estellé is curled up with a soft blanket, her eyelids fluttering as she sleeps. The TV is still on, so he leans over her to grab the remote and shut it off.

She looks so incredibly peaceful like this, tucked into his chest, the soft puff of her breaths brushing against his skin like silk.

If he didn’t feel like he’d been run over by a truck, he’d say that getting sick isn’t so bad.

Eventually, he gulps down the tea and eats some of the soup, finding it still warm. It’s comforting and nostalgic, and the thought of her caring for him like this makes the sap he’d felt earlier grow until it feels like it’s splitting his chest open with the feeling of it.

Love. The word comes without warning, and without permission. He’s in love with her. 

Maybe it should have been obvious earlier, but it feels fragile and new in his mind, and it’s accompanied with a healthy amount of fear. For months on end now, she’s been the thing he looks forward to each morning, and the last person he wants to talk to at night. The person he truly feels comfortable with, the one who truly sees him. 

To her, he’s so much more than his fame. It’s a rare thing, to not feel the need to put on a persona like he does with everyone else. Still, even after everything she’s done for him – love? Does she love him back? If he conjures up the nerve to tell her, what will she say? Is it too soon, when they’ve been seeing each other for so long?

Love isn’t necessarily new. After several bottles of wine, he’s admitted his love for his band. He loves his parents. 

Why does it feel so different with Estellé?

Something tugs at his chest when he thinks of her, but love is not something he’s ready to jump into quite so fast. It’s delicate, like fresh ice formed over a lake in the wintertime, threatening to crumble with too much weight.

After much deliberation, he decides that this is a subject to explore when he’s not feeling like there’s something drilling into his head. After all, he shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions – who knows was in that medication Gale bought for him.

Yes, the love debate can come later. For now, more rest. Recuperation. If the gods are merciful, perhaps he’ll feel better next time he wakes, rather than worse.

With one last glance at the beautiful image of Estellé sleeping peacefully next to him, he settles down, closes his eyes, and allows the sweet lullaby of rest to sweep him away once again.

The lullaby of rest, he thinks, on the verge of sleep. That would make for a good song.

When Estellé wakes, for a moment, the room around her seems like a dream.

She’s stayed the night at Astarion’s hotel room before, but it’s still a rare occurrence, given the risk of paparazzi seeing them out and about. Anyone who lingers too long in his life is dissected in the papers, pulled apart piece by piece for strangers.

They’ve been decently cautious (most of the time, at least – even she can’t resist his occasional impulses to throw caution to the wind and fuck on the beach) and so far, they’ve only been spotted together once or twice. Most nights spent together have ended with getting redressed and heading home.

Waking in his bed is still new, and she tucks the feeling of it away to cherish later.

Astarion’s body is warm, but not searing like it had been the day before. He’s still resting, but when she tests his temperature with her hand, she can already tell that he’s doing much better. There’s more color in his face, and his expression looks less troubled.

When she looks at the nightstand next to him, it’s clear that he drank the tea she left for him, and ate a helping of soup.

It’s a good sign that he’s eating. Overall, she’s much less worried than she had been last night.

When Cazador was still his manager, Astarion had been so overworked. Now that he’s free, she’d expected him to rest, but he’s been more determined than ever to put on a good show. It’s a sweet thought, but concerning - especially since she had to talk him into canceling yesterday’s show.

What was he thinking, wanting to go to the concert? From the moment she walked in, already worried from what Gale had told her initially, it was clear that he hadn't been feeling well.

His silvery locks had been tangled and messy, spreading around his pillow around him – so unlike the casual, chaotic air he usually embodied. There were dark circles under his eyes, his eyes were puffy, and his nose was pink. When he talked, it sounded like he was pushing out the words through gravel.

Gods, she thinks, looking at his sleeping figure. The peace in his face, the even rise and fall of his chest. His perfectionism would be the death of him one day.

Taking one last glance at Astarion, she decides that he’s sleeping soundly enough that she’ll be safe to go grab the two of them breakfast from a nearby bakery. Her clothes are wrinkled from sleep, so she rummages through his belongings and finds one of his shirts, slipping into it. Last night’s jeans will have to do, though.

After slipping out of the hotel, she finds the morning air brisk and the streets clear – no lingering paparazzi. It’s easy enough to make her way to the bakery and select a few different pastries to be shared, then return to Astarion’s room.

At the sound of the door closing, he stirs. 

“Estellé?” he asks groggily.

“I’m here,” she assures him, setting the pastries down on the nightstand. 

He opens his eyes, smiling when he sees her. When his eyes sweep over her clothing, he stalls. “Darling, is that my shirt?”

“Yes,” she admits. “I didn’t bring any spare clothes with me, and I borrowed it. Is that alright?”

He props himself up on his shoulders, and this time, he takes his time taking the sight of her in. “It’s more than alright,” he grins. “You should wear my clothes more often.”

She laughs, turning to grab some of the pastries. “Alright, handsome. Here. I bought us breakfast,” she says, sitting beside him. “You can have the first choice.”

He digs through the bag, eventually picking an éclair and chomping down on it. He really does look better today. His cheeks are flushed with color, and his blue eyes are bright and clear, the flecks of gold inside them sparkling in the hints of sunlight that stream through the gap in the curtains. 

Still, when she places a hand over his forehead, he closes his eyes and leans back onto his pillow, sighing contentedly.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Dreadful, darling,” he croaks, accentuating the words with a melodramatic groan and a forced cough. “At this point, I’ll be shocked if I ever recover.”

“That’s a shame,” she replies, biting back her smile. “Looks like you’ll have to stay in bed, letting me take care of you.”

He hums in response, his eyelids fluttering. “You’re right, my dear. I feel much too ill to move. How awful,” he says. 

Once they’ve finished eating, she takes to doting on him – wiping his brow with a damp cloth, brushing out his hair with careful precision, massaging his tense shoulders. He’s much more present than he was yesterday, and every time she turns away, she can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her neck. 

“I think a shower would do you good,” she tells him. “Do you feel well enough to get up now?”

“Maybe,” he answers, his gaze fixing on her shirt again. “If… you were to come with me?”

Insatiable, she thinks to herself, a streak of arousal shooting down her spine.

“Alright,” she agrees. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

This time, she can’t suppress her smile.

He gets to his feet with seemingly no trouble, giving her one last heated look before he makes his way into the bathroom. After a moment, she hears the water kick on, and the muffled sound of him humming Love Bites follows shortly after.

She pushes the door open and finds his clothes in a pile on the ground. Through the clear shower door, she can see his foggy silhouette in the steam that’s rapidly filling up the room.

It doesn’t take her long to discard her clothes, leaving them on the floor next to his. When she steps inside, she finds him shampooing his hair, his silvery locks doused with water and hanging down his back. His body shimmers with glistening droplets that cling to his skin, and even though she’s seen him hundreds of times, she can’t help but be struck by the sight of him.

“How’s the water, handsome?” she asks.

“Better with you in it,” he says instantly, turning toward her voice. When he sees her, his head tilts. His eyes sweep up and down her body, and his gaze darkens. “Well?” he asks.

She moves closer, slower than she knows he’d like her to, letting the warm water pour over her. It’s hot but not boiling, and as it wets her hair, it melts the tension away from her shoulders. She makes a show of running her hands down her body, all the while watching Astarion’s face grow impatient.

He pulls her in, settling his hands on her waist and positioning the two of them so the water isn’t hitting their faces. Then, after tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he kisses her.

It’s hungry and desperate – soft lips against hers, the heat of his body pressing against her, her back meeting the cool tile of the shower wall behind her. He kisses her like a man starved. Like he hadn’t taken her three times only two nights ago, and left marks on her neck, breasts, and thighs that still stain her skin. 

Want pools in her gut, hot as flame. She grasps desperately as his shoulders, leaning her head back as he kisses down her jaw. It isn’t long before he’s nipping at the skin, leaving more marks to match the others.

“Astarion,” she breathes. 

He groans against her skin. “Estellé,” he says, his hold tightening on her waist. 

Her knees already feel weak, and she knows that they’ll only continue to buckle under his touch. Luckily, he’s steady in front of her, his arms strong and sure from all his time at the gym in the mornings, keeping her upright and stable. 

He crowds her against the wall, his lips moving back up her neck, and this time, he slips a hand between her legs. Just as she’d predicted, her legs nearly give out underneath her at the feeling of his talented fingers. And he knows her much too well – knows what drives her crazy, what makes her tremble. 

It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before she’s shuddering into a climax, her back arching against the wall and Astarion coaxing her through it, keeping her feet planted on the floor. The sound of her panting echoes in the small space, evidence of her pleasure meeting her ears in waves, over and over.

“You are perfect,” Astarion murmurs, pressing an uncharacteristically soft kiss to her lips. “Every time. Although….” 

His thumb rolls against her clit again, and she gasps – sensitivity and overwhelming pleasure mixing into one dizzying sensation. 

“I think you can give me another,” he says. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you, darling?”

“For you?” she chokes out with a laugh, rolling her hips with the movement of his hand. “Anything. Anything you want.”

“Good girl,” he replies, and that’s nearly enough to send her crashing over the edge right then and there. By the grace of the gods, she holds on a little longer, because she wouldn’t be able to stand the inevitable teasing that would follow if she instantly came like that.

Still, the sensuality of his slick skin against her, the maddening rhythm of his fingers, and the hungry look in his eyes – it all leads to another very quick orgasm, sparking through her limbs with just as much intensity as the first.

When her body finally comes back to her, he kisses her again. There’s something about him that’s unusually restrained, although it might just be the remnants of the sickness in him.

Then he props her back, nudging his knee in between her legs to hold them apart. One finger slips into her cunt, then two, then three, all with relative ease.

 “Oh, you’re ready for me, love,” he practically purrs. “Turn around.”

She makes a show of it – slow, graceful movements that show off her ass as she braces her arms against the shower wall and bends over for him, hearing the sound of his breathing go heavier behind her. 

Water drums against her spine, slowly growing cooler by the minute, but it’s the last thing on her mind. All she can think about is Astarion – his smile, the color of his eyes, the look on his face when he sings to her.

The sound of his voice in her ear, and the warmth of his skin when he holds her. The pet names he gives her, and all of the times he’s told her she’s special. 

The fleeting hope she has that maybe, despite all of the logic screaming in her mind, she might spend the rest of her life with him.

He positions himself against her entrance, drawing her back to the present as he places his hands on her hips and slowly presses into her. “Gods,” he groans. “You feel… hells. Incredible.”

In response, she lets out a soft whine, rolling her hips back to meet him. His grip tightens and he groans again, setting a rough, quick pace that has her struggling for breath. 

He feels so fucking good inside her, filling her up, his grip almost bruising on her hips. He rambles out praise, telling her how good she feels, how beautiful she is, how he wants to keep her there with him and make her come over and over until she can barely move. Judging from their past experiences, she knows that he’s being completely and utterly truthful. 

“Fuck, Star,” she whimpers. “I’m close.” Her cunt clenches around him, and he lets out a choked noise, thrusting harder. Her body starts to tense, coiling up from head to toe, and he fists a hand in her hair.

“Come for me,” he instructs.

Her body obeys immediately. Her vision blacks out, and for a good few seconds, she can’t remember how to breathe. Her knees are trembling, her mouth is dry. The water has gone ice-cold, and she’s not sure she’ll be able to walk out of the shower on her own after this.

Behind her, she can hear Astarion reaching his own climax, moaning out the sound of her name as his thrusts lose rhythm and he finally spills inside her.

For a moment, neither of them move, both still recovering from the aftershocks of pleasure. Then he pulls out of her, gently easing her upright. She’s expecting him to shut the water off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lathers her up in soap, gently massaging her aching muscles, kissing over the blooming bruises he left. 

“Was it alright?” he asks softly. 

“It was perfect,” she responds, lost in the bliss of his touch on her skin. 

It seems to be enough, because he carefully washes the soap off her skin, moving on to shampoo. He takes care not to get it in her eyes as he rinses it out, then he does the same with conditioner. It smells like him – herbal and sharp, mixed with a hint of warmth. 

Only then, when both of them are clean, does he turn the shower off and help her out. Her movements are slower than usual, and she knows that she’ll be feeling the effects of their shower later.

“You might need to be the one caring for me tomorrow,” she teases.

“In that case,” he says, giving her a grin, “I’ll be spending the day with the loveliest woman in all of Faerûn.”

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/755811657734930432/httpswwwtumblrcomwritingsofwesteros755748916

Imagine after Daemon leaves, Alyssa gave birth to her fifth babe and reality began to set in. She realizes that her father had lied about the “fatherly affections” Valyrian fathers do, but instead of feeling disgusted she likes it. After discovering her father wanted to desperately fuck a daughter he had no idea existed until a year ago, he made up a whole story to fuck her, it just made her pussy wet. She loved her brother-husband and would never leave him for anyone not even her father, she just liked her father’s cock that is all. So after months of not seeing him, she asked Baelon if he could invite them for a moon’s stay so he could met his newest grandchild. Baelon had began to rethink about his thoughts regarding his father since during the dance he knew his father had stayed with Alyssa and their children keeping them safe and company while he ensured some deals with other houses. So he agreed and invited his father and Rhaenyra alongside his babe siblings.

Daemon remembered the fuck fest he had with his pregnant daughter a few months ago but chose to ignore those sinful actions since his wife and children were with him now. While Rhaenyra and Baelon were busy talking about making him hand since, Cregan stark was too young, Alyssa led her father to her babes nursery. There she let her father hold his grandchild for the first time and saw a different side of him she had never seen before. Once the babe fell asleep and was comfortably laid down on his little cot, Alyssa sat her father down to talk about what had happened since Rhaenyra had been crowned queen. Distracted by his own voice, Dameon hadn’t noticed Alyssa’s fuck me eyes and he was abruptly stopped when his daughter had sat on his lap to give him a starving kiss. Daemon grew hard feeling her hips grind harshly on to his and moaned at wet kiss she refused to break apart from. Remembering about his wife, Daemon pushed his daughter of him and stood up to leave the nursery. However he stalled when he saw Alyssa strip herself nude and walked up to him to grab ahold of his cock, while whispering to his ear that she knew he had lied and took advantage of her those past few months. Daemon stood still at his daughters words and told her he refused to bed her again but was shocked to hear his daughter tell him, that she would tell Rhaenyra and Baelon about his perverted behavior while they were off fighting a war.

In order to not hurt his wife or lose his son, he agreed to bed her once more. Daemon was an evil bastard, he had killed their mother and manipulated his daughter to lay with him but he couldn’t think of any other worse thing then fucking and cumming inside he’s daughter, while his grandchild laid asleep in the same room and his wife and son discussing details about the crown down the hall. Unfortunately for Daemon, he was punished for what he had done to his daughter. Despite only agreeing to bed her once more, the girl fucked him anytime he was alone. She made him cum inside her claiming that she wanted her last babe to be his. The girl was out of control, she had fucked him while he’s wife laid asleep in next to him, she fucked him when they had gone dragon ridding, she fucked him while her husband was distracted with their babes welcoming party, and she fucked him while his wife played with his babe children and grandchild.

However, the time came for Rhaenyra and Daemon to leave and Alyssa couldn’t have been more happier than to send them a letter a few months later claiming she was with child again and wished to give birth her babe at the Red Keep to speed up the process of her husband becoming Rhaenyra’s hand. Nearly six moons later, on a hot summer night, a baby boy was born inheriting a pure Valyrian look unlike his older siblings. The fat little babe cried loudly, which triggered a loud screech from Caraxes, the prince-consort dragon who remained restless until the end of lady Alyssa’s painful labors.

"I wish to name him after you, my love," Alyssa said to her husband beside as she held the babe with a happy smile and a full heart.

"Thank you my heart. A handsome name fit for my handsome boy ," Baelon said, smiling.

Alyssa smile grew, a finger rubbing the babe's fat cheek. "He is my love, doesn’t he look just like his daddy, father?" Alyssa tells Daemon while flashing him a playful smirk, who stood stoic next to his wife, who was happily smiling and wishing her step-children a tearful congratulations.

Note: the reason Daemon changed as compared to the last suggestions is because I see him having marital problems with Rhaenyra during the war which makes him his and her own worst enemy ykyk. After the war, I can see him feeling guilty for the things he has done while rhaenyras forgives or fixes his problems.

Also I love the thought of Alyssa being more likely Daemon in secrecy. Like Baelon is the loyal warrior part of him but Alyssa is the perverted corrupted part of him. Baelon proudly shows it and Alyssa has to be corrupted to reveal hers.

THE HOTTEST!!!!!!!!

Baelon proudly shows it and Alyssa has to be corrupted to reveal hers. YES PLEASE!

[chuuya-fan-page]

hello it’s me again (anon who asked if this is a character analysis account, if the answer’s no then just ignore this ask)

ok so. I am absolutely desperate to read some hot takes on one specific Chuuya topic that I never see anyone posting about.

what are your (‘your’ plural, if there are different opinions among the mods) thoughts on Chuuya and his relationship with his own social class status?

He went from homeless to extremely wealthy in a very short span of time. How does he feel about that? Does he enjoy the luxuries of his new life or does he feel like a class traitor? A bit of both? neither?

I feel like I’ve posted this exact thought word for word on my own blog, so there isn’t much of a point of me being on anon. but whatever I still haven’t found any analyses on this in all the time since then

THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING TOPIC, ILY ANON

(Stormbringer spoilers ahead!)

I've always imagined that Chuuya would care about different parts of his new found luxury in different ways.

We see from the opening of Stormbringer that he has a large closet filled with expensive clothes, but there's no awe around it, he's so casual about getting dressed, despite how different his street clothes were from the things he now wears. He chooses a shirt at random and chucks on a pair of emerald cufflinks, like...sir????

We also know from this part that Chuuya doesn't care about money, but I do wonder if he cares about other things, other things that would be more difficult to find on the streets, for example; food, medicine, shelter, basic hygiene products, etc etc.

In general Chuuya's focus in Stormbringer is entirely on finding out about his past, so it's difficult to get a read on his approach to most things as he's laser-focused in on that one target.

I do think he feels a level of shame for ascending so quickly in class, just an extra splash of guilt on top of the betrayal of the Sheep that he was told was his own fault, but less so focusing on his higher class but the fact that he has more than the Sheep ever had, and yet they gave him more than he ever gave them (given that the Sheep never treated Chuuya's protection as something he was giving them but something they were owed).

I find Chuuya's outfits throughout the arcs as a possible exploration into his perspective of his newfound wealth.

Stormbringer Chuuya wears a plain black suit, no discerning features to make it him, he's lost in this world of silk ties and dress shoes, all he's ever known is the streets, and yet he's simultaneously unimpressed by it all. His appearance in Stormbringer also heavily resembles Verlaine, but that's a whole OTHER can of worms.

DHC Chuuya's outfit differs the most from the rest of the one's we see him wear whilst in the mafia; it's quite rough and tough compared to what he had worn just a few months ago, including his hair which is suspiciously short (unlike a certain SOMEONE previously mentioned). I believe DHC Chuuya is trying to regain some of his individuality, he's rejecting the rich clothes of the mafia and leaning back into his many-layered outfit of Fifteen.

Chuuya's outfit in the current canon show that he's embracing the riches he's found in the mafia. He's come to terms with it as a part of his identity, although he still wears the Hat (yet another Worm Can yet to be opened), as well as his many layers we see him donning in Fifteen (Seriously bro was wearing like three shirts, are you not sweating under all that????)

So, to summarise, I do think he feels some guilt at suddenly having so much more than he once had, he is initially uncaring for symbols of wealth but comes to appreciate them (and I think part of his rejection of the appearance of wealth could easily be because of the death of the Flags and Verlaine as well as his own issues with identity).

-T

[gerrystamour]

feel the lives that i have taken (what little soul that i have left) [gift fic]

Explicit★OMC Ship★2250 words★Complete

Okay so this is actually a gift fic I wrote for Niko months ago for his birthday and I just??? Never posted it??? But hey, want to post it now!

Happy (not belated because I wrote it on time) Birthday Niko!

Sam: mine

Dom: @patchworkgargoyle

Tags & CW: Pirate!AU (specifically Davy Jones type nonsense), rough sex, unsafe sex, Davy Jones!Sam being heartbreaking

Sam stared at the stars shining through the clear night between the masts. They were floating in the Locker, so the stars were different than the ones Dom would have seen back home. The world around them was quiet, as quiet as the sea could be (which was nearly silent there).

Their conversation had been long, meandering and inconsequential, where they both said many things but told each other barely anything at all. It had started while they waited for Dom’s merfolk friends and their news from his former captain— ‘His true captain,’ Sam corrected himself internally— and then eventually, somehow, they found themselves sitting on the deck for the rest of their conversation.

Sam wasn’t sure when they laid down, but soon enough he was on his back, watching the stars with Dom. They were laying in such a way that their heads were next to each other, but their bodies were stretched out in opposite directions; whenever they turned their heads to face each other, it almost looked like Dom was upside-down. One time when they looked at each other, Sam couldn’t help the little laugh that left his throat, and the way Dom grinned before covering his mouth and looking back up at the stars again had the void in Sam’s chest aching.

“Fuck, it’s beautiful,” Dom sighed, gesturing at the sky with his chin.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed easily without looking away from Dom’s profile, tearing his gaze away just before the other man glanced at him again. Before he could think better of it, Sam said, “I wish I'd met you under different circumstances, Dominik.”

Next to him, the man went very still. It wasn’t like he moved a lot, especially when they were quiet like this, but there was still a very noticeable lack of movement now.

“Why?” Dom’s voice was quiet, patient in the way beautiful, deadly creatures of the sea were. One misstep in the conversation that followed would have Dom storming off to his quarters and unlikely to speak to Sam like this again for weeks.

Lifting a hand to his chest, Sam stroked the tip of his forefinger up and down the jagged, messy scar that was there, exposed to the night air with the open neckline of his shirt.

“I want to kiss you, but it feels wrong to want that since you hate being here,” he admitted, clenching his jaw as he squinted up at the stars. “It feels cruel to even admit it to you now.”

If Sam had thought Dom was still before, he now knew he was mistaken. Sam wasn’t even sure if Dom was still next to him, that the man hadn’t turned to mist and disappeared completely.

“What circumstances would you have preferred meeting me under?” Dom asked after a few long moments and Sam couldn’t tell if he wanted to sigh with relief or grimace.

“I wish I had met you a century ago, before I became this,” he admitted, too quickly to play it off like he hadn’t thought about it a thousand times. Then, a bit quieter, he added, “or after you actually died, while I was ferrying your soul through the Locker. You could’ve asked to join my crew, to be here.”

His words were met with more quiet and stillness from Dom, and Sam let out a tired, sad sigh.

“I should have declined your captain’s deal, Dominik. Ignored their summons. I have rules and I broke them,” Sam continued when Dom didn’t ask another question. “Now you’re miserable, separated from everyone you love— your partner, your captain, your family— and I have the audacity to desire you as if I haven’t taken enough from you.”

There was another beat of silence, long enough that Sam started moving to get up. In a flurry of movement that was too fast for Sam to see and almost too graceful to be fully human, Dom spun around and was on top of him, pressing his mouth desperately against Sam’s.

Sam didn’t waste a single moment to hesitation, immediately tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Dom’s head. His mouth opened under Dom’s questing tongue as his other arm wrapped around his waist. Sam wasn’t sure how long that first kiss lasted, but when they pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their mouths red and wet.

It couldn’t be helped, the pang of hopeful sadness that thrummed deep in the empty void of Sam’s chest as he stared up at the beautiful man on top of him. 

Dom’s expression twisted subtly, as if he was about to say something sharp, but when he opened his mouth, he said, “I hate this less because of you. It’s… better because of you.”

Before Sam could properly process those words, Dom was kissing him again and he couldn’t help but meet the ferocity in kind.

When he felt his body begin to stir below the belt, Sam didn’t even pull away from the kiss to ask, “How far are we taking this, sweetheart?”

Dom shuddered. “Don’t have to go further than your bed, but I can take you right here if you want,” he responded, words muffled against Sam’s lips as he began to grind their hips together.

With a bright laugh, Sam began tugging at Dom’s clothes insistently. “Have to get this out of the way then,” he hummed before wrapping both hands around Dom’s hips to hold him in place while he rocked his hardening cock up against him.

Dom’s response was immediate; a sharp gasp as he sat up straight, head thrown back as he rode out the sensation of their dicks pressed together through their layers of clothing. With another soft sound, Dom’s hands reached down to start pulling at the ties of Sam’s pants, getting them open so he could get his smallclothes out of the way as well. When Dom’s hand closed around the shaft of his cock, he gasped and looked down at Sam hungrily.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dom all but whimpered, squeezing Sam before slowly stroking him.

Smirking, Sam rumbled out a low, “Flatterer.”

Impatient now that he had Dom’s hand on him, Sam managed to rip the seams of the man’s pants and smallclothes open. With clothes out of the way, Sam returned his hands to Dom’s hips and dragged him down against him, rocking the length of his cock up and down the seam of Dom’s dripping cunt.

He wanted to see what sort of noises he could drag out of Dom just like that, but soon the teasing pleasure became too much for even Sam to bear. Tightening his grip on Dom’s hips, Sam rocked him back while he ground his cock up against his dick. Then, as he pulled Dom’s hips forward again, the head of Sam’s cock passed over the dripping opening of his cunt. Timing his next thrust while guiding Dom’s hips back again, Sam sunk inside the man’s wet cunt until he bottomed out.

“Fuck!” Dom shouted happily, rapturously even, before he slapped a hand over his mouth. His other hand was braced on Sam’s chest now, his nails digging into the skin around the scar.

Without pulling out, Sam rolled them until he was looming over Dom, giving him a few brutal thrusts before dragging the man’s hand away from his own mouth.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Sam ordered in a low growl, nosing at the underside of Dom’s jaw as he got his thumbs hooked under the man’s knees and slowly folded him in half beneath him. “Let the whole Locker hear you.”

After that, everything went a bit fuzzy as he fucked Dom right there on the deck of his ship. From that point on, Dom was plenty vocal, moaning and whining under Sam, clinging to him and screaming his praises for Sam’s cock. Sam was desperate to keep him at that high, to drag Dom through as many orgasms as he could manage before letting himself come apart completely.

By Sam’s count, he managed to fuck Dom through two releases before he finally let himself go, pumping Dom’s perfect cunt full of his cum. He shivered at the way Dom sobbed out, “Jones!”

A large part of Sam wished, not for the first time, that Dom knew his actual name.

Pulling out before the aftershocks of his own release were fully over, Sam crawled down Dom’s body and pressed his tongue inside the man’s sloppy cunt, moaning at the taste of them together there. With single-minded purpose, Sam ate his own cum out of Dom, and when he was done with that, he took Dom’s pretty little dick between his lips. Sam worked him until he came with a shattered scream that was guaranteed to wake up half the crew.

A few minutes later, Sam was catching his breath, cheek resting on a shivering, pale thigh while Dom played with his hair. The position wasn’t particularly comfy on the ground, but Sam was content to stay put for as long as Dom wanted.

“Why didn’t you keep to your rules?” Dom asked after a few beats of quiet, and Sam looked up the line of Dom’s body. The man was watching him, frowning slightly despite the blissed-out expression he was still somehow wearing. “When Kez summoned you?”

Sam let out a slow breath and kissed Dom’s thigh. “It was clear how much that entire crew cared about you. I haven’t seen a crew so united around a single person outside my own, so I was intrigued. Moved, you could say, even. I wanted to know what sort of person rallied such loyalty,” he said after some thought before smirking. “Imagine my surprise when you turned out to be a massive cunt.”

There was a deeply sad twist to Dom’s expression that brought back Sam’s regret full force all over again. The guilt was even worse with the sweat of their coupling still cooling on their skin. At Sam’s jab, Dom visibly stifled his sadness under a laugh, kicking at Sam ineffectually and saying, “You asshole!”

Kissing Dom’s thigh one last time, Sam crawled back up the length of the man’s body until he could cup his cheek and meet his eyes properly. “I’m not necessarily sorry that you’re here, but I am sorry that you’re trapped. If I had the power to free you, I would. If you believe only one thing I say, please believe that.”

Dom squirmed under Sam’s intensity and nodded. “I believe you,” he said after a moment, and he looked almost like he was surprised that he meant it. Then he asked, “Would I be able to visit them at least?”

Sam considered that for a moment; it was risky letting the Dutchman be seen too often, especially near other ships. That was how inconvenient legends started to resurface. It would be safer to do it on the open sea, to locate Dom’s crew and let him off the ship for a couple days. They wouldn’t be able to leave with Dom in tow because his life was tied to the Dutchman, so there was no real worry of them running off.

But that just reaffirmed all of Sam’s guilt. Meeting on the water felt like he was just extending the boundaries of Dom’s prison without allowing him any real freedom. He wasn’t getting away from Sam, and there was always that chance that Sam might be spying or could appear out of thin air. Dom’s real crew would never relax.

The sea was Sam’s domain.

“Pick a port, pick a date, and send a letter to your crew. I’ll make sure you’re there to meet them,” Sam said, his tone firm with his decision, ignoring the way that Dom’s eyes widened. “We can test how long you can be off the ship before you start fading.”

“You can’t make port! That’s too dangerous,” Dom insisted, and Sam’s chest ached where his heart should be.

“The closest to freedom I can give you is arranging to meet your crew on land, Dominik. I cannot follow you, so you will be completely alone with them,” Sam explained softly, stroking a knuckle across Dom’s cheekbone. “You can spend as much time with them as the curse allows.”

Dom stared up at Sam, frowning at him as he thought. Eventually, though, his expression softened, and he pulled Sam into a slow, almost sweet kiss.

“Thank you, Jones,” Dom whispered against Sam’s lips, and that soft gratitude broke down what was left of Sam’s resolve.

“Sam,” he whispered between their mouths. “My name— before I was Davy Jones, my name was Sam.”

Dom pulled away and stared up at him, almost alarmed. “You give too much away, Captain.”

At that, Sam just laughed and shrugged. “I’ve told you already that I’m tired, that I’m not concerned about my secrets coming to light, even if that means I finally get my turn to be ferried across the Locker,” he said almost flippantly.

Dom frowned and shook his head a bit. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he eventually said, pulling Sam back into a slow kiss before adding, “but thank you. It’s— fuck, just, thank you, Captain.”

There was a pang in Sam’s chest again at Dom’s subtle refusal to use his actual name, but at least he didn’t use Jones. Sam wouldn’t push him on it, he decided. 

Letting it go, Sam pulled Dom into another kiss and whispered, “Of course, Dominik.”

[kasienda]

So you reblogged a post recently about how you should never give unsolicited cc on ao3 fics and I 100% agree but I want to hear your thoughts on something.

Once several months ago I read a fic where the main characters were very misogynistic and the narrative was justifying their misogyny. I went into the comments and there were a few other people who pointed out the misogyny in the work. I replied agreeing and said it was kind of uncomfortable. The author replied basically saying "don't like don't read".

Ever since then I've wondered if I was being a jerk for making that comment. Is unsolicited cc justified if the author is misogynistic? Or should I have just ignored it and moved on to a different story? I've been wanting to ask someone else for a while now but I've felt kind of guilty about it

Hey anon!!

I don’t know if I’m an authority on this topic, but I’ve actually been in similar situations, and here are my few thoughts.

1) I don’t think the rules are different when I come across stories that don’t agree with my values. And I think that criticism will still come off as rude. And I think it’s up to YOU to decide if it’s something you care about enough to not care if it’s rude or not. And if it’s something you care about then, I don’t think you need to worry about hurting that author’s feelings. It’s definitely not worth your guilt for days or longer after the fact. Like it’s a can I live with being rude? Can I live with myself for NOT saying something even if it is rude?

2) on the other hand, saying something in the comments is not really going to change anything. There’s lots of people who are prejudice in some way and that’s always going to come out in their artwork. That’s the world they live in in their head. And hearing from a stranger on the internet is not likely going to change their minds or make this person suddenly reflective and self aware.

I have learned (by making a lot of mistakes! Haha!) usually that if I’m reading a story that I don’t like because the author and I clearly have very very different values, that I’m better off just not engaging. I hit that back button. Because if I do say something, and the author responds we usually just get in a back and forth and I get all worked up and angry, and they get all worked up and angry and double down, and it’s just not worth it.

Now I have made an exception before when it felt like the writer wasn’t aware of how it was coming across, and would want to know. But even then, I don’t phrase it as criticism! I usually say something like, “omg! This is so good! I have so many feelings! I can’t believe character x didn’t respect character Y’s no!! I can’t wait for Y to kick them into the sun!” And this works because a lot of the time the author DID mean to write it that way and this comes across as me engaging with their story instead of criticizing the story! And if they didn’t intend for x to be unlikeable in that scene, well, now they know that it landed that way anyway!

I will tell you that if someone has already commented about my issue, and the author has responded defensively or reflectively, I don’t need to say anything.

It also helps me to remember that stuff I find awful is always going to exist! Always! And it being awful is not a reason for it not to exist! Because there’s someone out there who is going to find some of my stuff just as awful! (I’ve even heard from some of them!). My comments and values are not going to stop that kind of stuff from existing. I respond by creating stuff that I wish existed instead. I call that spite fic! Haha!

I also want you to know that I’ve messed up before, I’ve been rude on purpose before (usually in defense of writers, but not always), I’ve apologized for my impact before when something didn’t land as positively as intended, and I’ve not commented on stuff that I abhored before. I’ve done it all! And from that, I’ve learned how I want to engage with fic and fandom. And I have gotten to a point where I almost never comment criticism to a writer I don’t know. But it wasn’t always this way. I LEARNED that by doing it other ways and it blowing up in my face. Mistakes are awesome like that because they are the biggest opportunities to learn.

So if you take one thing from this, I hope it’s this - your guilt is not needed. If it was a mistake, learn from it and move on. But only you can decide if it was actually a mistake or not.

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 5: Tom/Daria, Night

I... do not know what's going on with me.

I didn't work on the College AU this weekend because I was too busy doing nothing of worth. But I did write this little thing in the same verse. The story isn't Tom/Daria but this thing is!

~700 words, written in about 18 minutes

*

Two weeks into the new semester, a cold Monday in January, she accidentally falls asleep in Tom's dorm--which has happened before, but not like this. The first time, she'd woken up disoriented, quickly figured out where she was, and then lain quietly and thought about how funny it was. How funny, that her first real, solid, true friend in the world was a guy, and if they'd met in high school, and then dozed off in the same bed while reading, her mother would have thrown the worst of all fits. Lectures about responsibility, allusions to birth control and also Armageddon. Shift the plot a few months and Daria's in college a half day's drive away from home and she can do whatever she wants. Fall asleep with her head squashed between a pillow and the neutral white wall of the dorm and Tom's arm in her immediate field of vision, her leg asleep, the pages of her book creased under her, and it's fine. Like some sort of secret only the two of them and their roommates will ever know.

This time.

She has this sense that it's snowing outside, something about the way the single light reflects off the window or the way the streetlights outside shine in. Or just something in the air, how cold it's been. There aren't any books around her. They'd been reading first, felt themselves growing sleepy, and then Tom had taken anything that counted as schoolwork, swept it up and threw it down in the direction of his desk. And after that it was just the two of them.

In his dorm, unlike hers, the rooms are very small: his double is so tiny that the beds have to be lofted above the dressers, which means she's up high on a top bunk, and even before she remembers where she is, she feels that too. That and the snow. And the confusion of the lights, most of which are off, except for the desk lamp down below them. She fell asleep with them on. She's pretty sure. That means his roommate must have come back, and now he's asleep on the other side of the room. She puzzles it out neatly, simply, doesn't move except to open her eyes and then close them again.

After they gave up the charade of studying, and she yawned again so hard that her jaw popped, she started talking about going home, even though she didn't want to move. And he talked about that being a good idea, but he didn't move either. He lay down on his side and she stretched out longer and easier, in the narrow space between his body and the wall. And that felt safe somehow and good. He wrapped his arm around her and bent his legs like her legs, so they were slotted together, but they didn't get under the blanket, because that would have been admitting too much. She'd get up any minute. Any minute. Five more minutes.

When her glasses started to dig into her temple and the side of her nose, she took them off, but kept them near her, safe enough between her body and her arm.

What's different about it now is that he holds her close on purpose and sometimes she can feel his nose in her hair. What's different is that a week and a half ago they said they'd try this dating thing. Because when he kissed her in December, on the night after her last paper of the semester was due, she'd kissed back, and absolutely everything about it had felt like the greatest relief.

The first, real, best friend she's ever had.

If she screws this up. If she screws it up.

There's nowhere safer to put her glasses. She checks that she still knows where they are. Then she curls her hand around his hand, like she's making sure he won't leave, ignores the light still on down below them on the desk, and closes her eyes again and listens to the silence of the snow.

[fangsanddaggers]

Admissions of the Lost ||magnusmodig||

Hiding away could work for only so long. After the moss, Astarioon had become a shell of himself, no matter how put together he could act when he forced himself back to work. A shadow skittering in the night, a gleam of red hungered eyes in the dark that ran whenever the blonde was seen.

He hadn't meant to make Thor feel like he was frightening or a monster or anything negative at all, it was Astarion who was. He still felt the blood on his skin, even after seeing Steven was alive.

Their meeting had been maddening. The fight in the forest, the sort of comradery they'd built in a moment and he'd slipped away from. He had an under scent of something akin to Loki, a taste in the air of static like a storm. It was fun, he wanted to stay, but he was hungry and what they fought wasn't exactly the easiest to eat.

Sunshine. If he had to explain Thor in a single word, it'd be sunshine. Like Karlach, a ray of light in the darkest time, even during the aftermath of the moss he felt safe when Thor would catch him in the dark of night trying to get to the fridge. He wanted to open up, to trust.

The last person he did that to was eaten alive.

But Steven was fine now, he had more memories than he could cope with so he'd distracted himself. The dresses for Lilith he'd promised months ago, stuffies of people he'd seen and thought connected. Unlike the gifts he'd order to the home from his place hidden in Roberto's bathroom, these he brought with him.

He knocked on the door, arms carefully holding the bundled package. Fine red robes embroidered with daffodils, poppies and little suns were neatly packed in a box. Above, a basket filled with artisanal mead, a stuffie of Loki and Roberto - as he'd picked up Roberto was at least kind of important to the man as well. He'd thrown in with it all a perfectly made box of cookies thanks to Nico's training under Legato and topped it all off with a hand written letter incase the man didn't want to hear him out.

It was hard, entrusting another would want to listen, to hear him out when he's been nothing but evasive and cagey. But times were different now, there had to be clear communication if they were to co-exist in this world.

Plus, he had to make up for the months the man had to live with a starved vampire - what did Loki call him? A Draugr? Whatever it was, Thor had to ignore his probable discomfort of having a relative stranger that showed up as little more than red glowing eyes in the night for a few months now, even if Astarion really did try to stay at his own home more than Roberto's. It was just impossible when his mind begun to replay the horrors of the moss again.

Don't get him started on the newest memories of the Shadow Curse.

"Thor? Are you home?" He called out, forcing his voice to be light and smooth despite the jittery itch that had him wanting to sprint all over again. This was a god. And whilst that doesn't hold much to Astarion who couldn't care less about the magical bastards who never helped him, Thor was different.

For one, he smiled. Two he interacted with humans and mortals as if they were equals - at least he presumed due to the briefest hints of words he'd caught when sneaking into Roberto's room whilst he was doing whatever Roberto did hanging out with Thor.

For three, the man didn't kick him out. He knew Astarion was there, yet he never chased him, never yelled at him, simply watched with soft gentle eyes as the spawn sprinted away like a rabbit terrified of a wolf.

For Roberto, he had to try.